looked over.
She felt that he was listening with his whole nature for the sound
of wheels. She felt that she heard him listening, that she heard him
demanding the sound. And as she looked at his dark figure, beyond which
she saw the vagueness of night and some stars, she was conscious of
the life in him as she had never been conscious of it before, she was
conscious of all his manhood terribly awake.

That was for Vere.

A quarter of an hour went by. Artois remained always on the balcony, and
scarcely moved. Hermione watched him, and tried to learn a lesson;
tried to realize without bitterness and horror that in the heart of
man everything has been planted, and that therefore nothing which grows
there should cause too great amazement, too great condemnation, or
the absolute withdrawal of pity; tried to face something which must
completely change her life, sweeping away more than mere illusions,
sweeping away a long reverence which had been well founded, and which
she had kept very secret in her heart, replacing its vital substance
with a pale shadow of compassion.

She watched him, and she listened for the sound of wheels, until at last
she could bear it no longer.

"Emile, what are we to do? What can we do?" she said, desperately.

"Hush!" he said.

He held up his hand. They both listened and heard far off the noise of
a carriage rapidly approaching. He looked over the road. The carriage
rattled up. She heard it stop, and saw him bend down. Then suddenly he
drew himself up, turned, and came into the room.

"They have come," he said.

He went to the door and opened it, and stood by it.

And his face was terrible.

CHAPTER XXX

Two minutes later there was the sound of steps coming quickly down the
uncarpeted corridor, and Vere entered, followed, but not closely, by the
Marchesino. Vere went up at once to her mother, without even glancing at
Artois.

"I am so sorry, Madre," she said, quietly. "But--but it was not my
fault."

The Marchesino had paused near the door, as if doubtful of Vere's
intentions. Now he approached Hermione, pulling off his white gloves.

"Signora," he said, in a hard and steady voice, but smiling boyishly,
"I fear I am the guilty one. When the balloon went up we were separated
from you by the crowd, and could not find you immediately. The Signorina
wished to go back to the enclosure. Unfortunately I had lost the
tickets, so that we should not have been readmitted. Under these