With her hand she
groped along the mantel, and finding a candle, lit it. She did not
care where she was, so long as she was alone; alone with her unhappy
thoughts. She sat with her back toward the Chevalier, who had fallen
into a slight doze. Presently the silence was destroyed by a
hiccoughing sob. She had forced the end of her kerchief against her
lips to stifle the sound, but ineffectually.
The Chevalier raised his head. . . . A woman? Or was his brain
mocking him? And masked? How came she here? He was confused, and his
sense of emergency lay fallow. He knew not what to do. One thing was
certain; he must make known his presence, for he was positive that she
was unaware of it. He rose, and the noise of his chair sliding back
brought from her an affrighted cry. She turned. The light of the
candle played upon his face.
"Madame, pardon me, but I have been asleep. I did not hear you enter.
It was very careless of them to show you in here."
She rose without speaking and walked toward the door, with no uncertain
step, with a dignity not lacking in majesty.
"She sees I have been drinking," he thought.
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