'Ten minutes more, said the warder.
'Things haven't turned out quite as we expected them to, have they? said Margot.
They talked about some parties Margot had been to and the books Paul was reading. At last Margot said: 'Paul, I'm going. I simply can't stand another moment of this.
'It was nice of you to come, said Paul.
'I've decided something rather important, said Margot, 'just this minute. I am going to be married quite soon to Maltraven. I'm sorry, but I am.
'I suppose it's because I look so awful? said Paul.
'No, it's just everything. It's that, too, in a way, but not the way you mean, Paul. It's simply something that's going to happen. Do you understand at all, dear? It may help you, too, in a way, but I don't want you to think that that's the reason, either. It's just how things are going to happen. Oh dear! How difficult it is to say anything.
'If you should want to kiss good‑bye, said the gaoler, 'not being husband and wife, it's not usual. Still, I don't mind stretching a point for once…
'Oh, God! said Margot, and left the room without looking back.
Paul returned to his cell. His supper had already been served out to him, a small pie from which protruded the feet of two pigeons; there was even a table‑napkin wrapped round it. But Paul had very little appetite, for he was greatly pained at how little he was pained by the events of the afternoon.