For he did not look her way, or, for a
time, speak to her. He stood once to snuff a candle, doing it with an
absent face: and once to look, but still absently, and as if he read no
word of it, at the marriage writing which lay, the ink still wet, upon
the table. After each of these interruptions he resumed his steady
pacing to and fro, to and fro, nor did his eye wander once in the
direction of her chair.
And she waited. The conflict of emotions, the strife between hope and
fear, the final defeat had stunned her; had left her exhausted, almost
apathetic. Yet not quite, nor wholly. For when in his walk he came a
little nearer to her, a chill perspiration broke out on her brow, and
shudderings crept over her; and when he passed farther from her--and then
only, it seemed--she breathed again. But the change lay beneath the
surface, and cheated the eye. Into her attitude, as she sat, her hands
clasped on her lap, her eyes fixed, came no apparent change or shadow of
movement.
Suddenly, with a dull shock, she became aware that he was speaking.
"There was need of haste," he said, his tone strangely low and free from
emotion, "for I am under bond to leave Paris to-morrow for Angers,
whither I bear letters from the King. And as matters stood, there was no
one with whom I could leave you.
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