were reddened,
as though she had actually wept.

"Now I know you. Now you are my own again," she whispered. "How could I
know you as you were then? I'd never seen you like that--seen you cold
and sensible."

He looked down at her without speaking, in a preoccupied way.

She touched his face with her finger. "Here are lines I don't know--I
see them now for the first time--lines of reason, of common sense, of
all that is strange to me in you."

He caught her hand, continuing to gaze at her with the same expression
of aloofness. "I need them for us both. You have none."

Her lips parted in a smile. Then this faded, and she looked at him with
eyes that reminded him of an untamed animal, or of a startled child.

"Mine ... still mine!" she said passionately.--And in the hours it took
to reassure her, his primly reasoned conclusions were blown like chaff
before the wind.

II.

The next fortnight flew by; and familiar faces began to appear again.
The steps and inner vestibule of the Conservatorium became a lounge for
seeing acquaintances. In the cafe at the corner, the click of billiard
balls was to be heard from early morning on.

Maurice looked forward to meeting his friends, with some embarrassment.
It was unlikely that the events of the summer had remained a secret;
for that, there was a clique in the place over-much on the alert for
scandal, to which unfortunately the name of Louise Dufrayer lent itself
only too readily. He could not decide what position to take up, with
regard to their present intimacy; to flaunt it openly, to be pointed at
as her lover, would for her sake be repugnant to him. It made him
reject an idea he had revolved, of begging her to let him announce
their engagement: for, in the present state of things, the word
"BRAUTIGAM" had an evil sound. Eventually, he came to the conclusion
that they must be more cautious than they had ever been, and give
absolutely no food for talk.

One day, in the GRASSISTRASSE, he came upon a little knot of men he
knew. And it was just as he supposed; the secret was a secret no
longer. He saw it at once in their treatment of him. There was a spice
of deference in their manner: and their looks expressed curiosity,
envious surprise, even a kind of brotherly welcome. After this, Maurice
changed his mind. The only course open to him was to brazen things out.
He would not wait for his friends to show him what they thought; he
would be beforehand with them.