"
"Wait till we've had dinner."
"Mamma," cried Leonore, appealingly, "don't you see that--that--that I
suffer more by not knowing it? Tell me."
"Oh, Leonore," cried her mother, "don't look that way. I'll tell you;
but don't look that way!"
"What?"
Mrs. D'Alloi put her arms about Leonore. "The Anarchists have exploded a
bomb."
"Yes?" said Leonore.
"And it killed a great many of the soldiers."
"Not--?"
"Yes."
"Thank you, mamma," said Leonore. She unclasped her mother's arms, and
went towards the door.
"Leonore," cried her mother, "stay here with me, dear."
"I'd rather be alone," said Leonore, quietly. She went upstairs to her
room and sank down by an ottoman which stood in the middle of the floor.
She sat silent and motionless, for over an hour, looking straight before
her at nothing, as Peter had so often done. Is it harder to lose out of
life the man or woman whom one loves, or to see him or her happy in the
love of another. Is the hopelessness of the impossible less or greater
than the hopelessness of the unattainable?
Finally Leonore rose, and touched her bell.
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