arid look after a hot day's
sun. The hair-dresser's shop below his rooms was still open, and the
private door ajar: 'I won't ring,' she thought; 'I'll go straight up.'
While she was mounting the two flights of stairs, she stopped twice,
breathless, from a pain in her side. She often had that pain now, as if
the longing in her heart strained it physically. On the modest landing
at the top, outside his rooms, she waited, leaning against the wall,
which was covered with a red paper. A window at the back was open and the
confused sound of singing came in--a chorus "Vive-la, vive-la, vive-la
ve. Vive la compagnie." So it came to her. 'O God!' she thought: 'Let
him be in, let him be nice to me. It's the last time.' And, sick from
anxiety, she opened the door. He was in--lying on a wicker-couch against
the wall in the far corner, with his arms crossed behind his head, and a
pipe in his mouth; his eyes were closed, and he neither moved, nor opened
them, perhaps supposing her to be the servant. Noiseless as a cat, Leila
crossed the room till she stood above him. And waiting for him to come
out of that defiant lethargy, she took her fill of his thin, bony face,
healthy and hollow at the same time. With teeth clenched on the pipe it
had a look of hard resistance, as of a man with his head back, his arms
pinioned to his sides, stiffened against some creature, clinging and
climbing and trying to drag him down. The pipe was alive, and dribbled
smoke; and his leg, the injured one, wriggled restlessly, as if worrying
him; but the rest of him was as utterly and obstinately still as though
he were asleep. His hair grew thick and crisp, not a thread of grey in
it, the teeth which held the pipe glinted white and strong. His face was
young; so much younger than hers. Why did she love it--the face of a man
who couldn't love her? For a second she felt as if she could seize the
cushion which had slipped down off the couch, and smother him as he lay
there, refusing, so it seemed to her, to come to consciousness. Love
despised! Humiliation! She nearly turned and stole away. Then through
the door, left open, behind her, the sound of that chorus: "Vive-la,
vive-la, vive-la ve!" came in and jolted her nerves unbearably. Tearing
the gardenia from her breast, she flung it on to his upturned face.

"Jimmy!"

Fort struggled up, and stared at her. His face was comic from
bewilderment, and she broke into a little nervous laugh.