I imagined, after achieving this piece of audacity, that I was

perfectly calm, but within me there must have raged such a tumult of

love and dark foreboding that in reality I could scarcely have known

what I was about.

Rosa's eyes fixed themselves upon me, but I sustained that gaze. She

stretched forth a hand as if to take the packet.

"You shall decide," I said. "Am I to open it, or am I not to open it?"

"Open it," she whispered. "He will forgive us."

I began to break the seal.

"No, no!" she screamed, standing up again with clenched hands. "I was

wrong. Leave it, for God's sake! I could not bear to know the truth."

I, too, sprang up, electrified by that terrible outburst. Grasping

tight the envelope, I walked to and fro in the room, stamping on the

carpet, and wondering all the time (in one part of my brain) why I

should be making such a noise with my feet. At length I faced her. She

had not moved. She stood like a statue, her black tea-gown falling

about her, and her two hands under her white drawn face.

"It shall be as you wish," I said. "I won't open it."

And I put the envelope back into my pocket.

We both sat down.

"Let us have some tea, eh?" said Rosa. She had resumed her

self-control more quickly than I could. I was unable to answer her

matter-of-fact remark. She rang the bell, and the maid entered with

tea. The girl's features struck me; they showed both wit and cunning.

"What splendid tea!" I said, when the refection was in progress. We

had both found it convenient to shelter our feelings behind small

talk. "I'd no idea you could get tea like this in Bruges."

"You can't," Rosa smiled. "I never travel without my own brand. It is

one of Yvette's special cares not to forget it."

"Your maid?"

"Yes."

"She seems not quite the ordinary maid," I ventured.

"Yvette? No! I should think not. She has served half the sopranos in

Europe--she won't go to contraltos. I possess her because I outbid all

rivals for her services. As a hairdresser she is unequalled. And it's

so much nicer not being forced to call in a coiffeur in every town! It

was she who invented my 'Elsa' coiffure. Perhaps you remember it?"

"Perfectly. By the way, when do you recommence your engagements?"

She smiled nervously. "I--I haven't decided."

Nothing with any particle of significance passed during the remainder

of our interview. Telling her that I was leaving for England the next

day, I bade good-by to Rosa. She did not express the hope of seeing me

again, and for some obscure reason, buried in the mysteries of love's

psychology, I dared not express the hope to her. And so we parted,

with a thousand things unsaid, on a note of ineffectuality, of

suspense, of vague indefiniteness.




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