And still she
lingered, keeping him.
"Are you going to your lodging at once?" she asked--for the sake, it
seemed, of saying something.
"I?" he answered a little hurriedly. "No, I was thinking of paying
Rochefoucauld the compliment of seeing him home. He has taken a new
lodging to be near the Admiral; a horrid bare place in the Rue Bethizy,
without furniture, but he would go into it to-day. And he has a sort of
claim on my family, you know."
"Yes," she said simply. "Of course. Then I must not detain you. God
keep you safe," she continued, with a faint quiver in her tone; and her
lip trembled. "Good night, and fair dreams, Monsieur."
He echoed the words gallantly. "Of you, sweet!" he cried; and turning
away with a gesture of farewell, he set off on his return.
He walked briskly, nor did he look back, though she stood awhile gazing
after him. She was not aware that she gave thought to this; nor that it
hurt her. Yet when bolt and bar had shot behind her, and she had mounted
the cold, bare staircase of that day--when she had heard the dull echoing
footsteps of her attendants as they withdrew to their lairs and sleeping-
places, and still more when she had crossed the threshold of her chamber,
and signed to Madame Carlat and her woman to listen--it is certain she
felt a lack of something.
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