The minutes passed, the light waned until I could
see her no longer, and yet I knew that she had not moved. The strange
sympathy between us kept me silent until I heard her voice calling my
name.
"Yes," I answered.
"The candle!"
I drew out my tinder-box and lighted the wick. She had turned, and was
facing me even as she had faced me the night before. The night before!
The greatest part of my life seemed to have passed since then. I
remember wondering that she did not look tired. Her face was sad, her
voice was sad, and it had an ineffable, sweet quality at such times that
was all its own.
"The Alcalde should be coming back," she said.
"Yes," I answered.
These were our words, yet we scarce heeded their meaning. Between us was
drawn a subtler communion than speech, and we dared--neither of us--to
risk speech. She searched my face, but her lips were closed. She did
not take my hand again as in the afternoon. She turned away. I knew
what she would have said.
There was a knock at the door. We went together to open it, and the
Alcalde stood on the step. He held in his hand a long letter on which
the red seal caught the light, and he gave the letter to the Vicomtesse,
with a bow.
"From his Excellency, Madame la Vicomtesse."
She broke the seal, went to the table, and read.
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