Here it is."
As he spoke he poured some of the opalescent liquid into a tumbler and
handed it to Julian. While he did so his eyes were on the doctor and they
gleamed again with a sort of audacity or triumph. He seemed recovering
himself, returning to his former mood and veiled intentions. And Doctor
Levillier thought he saw the flame of Valentine's soul glow more deeply
and fiercely. The three men, as if with one accord, ignored the lady of
the feathers at this period of the evening. Valentine, having shot his
bolt, left his victim to shudder in the dust. Julian and the doctor, full
of pity or of wonder, were drawn instinctively to leave her for the
moment outside of the circle of intimacy, lest the conflict should be
renewed. They did not know how far outside of it she felt; how dim the
twilight was becoming to her eyes; how dim the voices to her ears. She
lay back on her pillows, in the shadow of the divan, and they supposed
her to be listening, as before, to what they said; to be drawing into her
nostrils the scent of the hyacinths, and into her soul--it might be--some
fragments of their uttered thoughts. But for the moment they seemed to
put her outside the door.
Julian did not protest against the absinthe.
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