rs. She said gently:

"Gustav, it's all right. Lean on me; we'll go up."

His hands, that seemed to have no power or purpose, touched her cheeks,
mechanically caressing. More than disgust, she felt that awful pity.
Putting her arm round his waist, she moved with him toward the stairs.
If only no one heard; if only she could get him quietly up! And she
murmured:

"Don't talk; you're not well. Lean on me hard."

He seemed to make a big effort; his lips puffed out, and with an
expression of pride that would have been comic if not so tragic, he
muttered something.

Holding him close with all her strength, as she might have held one
desperately loved, she began to mount. It was easier than she had
thought. Only across the landing now, into the bedroom, and then the
danger would be over. Done! He was lying across the bed, and the door
shut. Then, for a moment, she gave way to a fit of shivering so violent
that she could hear her teeth chattering yet could not stop them. She
caught sight of herself in the big mirror. Her pretty lace was all torn;
her shoulders were red where his hands had gripped her, holding himself
up. She threw off her dress, put on a wrapper, and went up to him. He
was lying in a sort of stupor, and with difficulty she got him to sit up
and lean against the bed-rail. Taking off his tie and collar, she racked
her brains for what to give him. Sal volatile! Surely that must be
right. It brought him to himself, so that he even tried to kiss her. At
last he was in bed, and she stood looking at him. His eyes were closed;
he would not see if she gave way now. But she would not cry--she would
not. One sob came--but that was all. Well, there was nothing to be done
now but get into bed too. She undressed, and turned out the light. He
was in a stertorous sleep. And lying there, with eyes wide open, staring
into the dark, a smile came on her lips--a very strange smile! She was
thinking of all those preposterous young wives she had read of, who,
blushing, trembling, murmur into the ears of their young husbands that
they "have something--something to tell them!"

VI

Looking at Fiorsen, next morning, still sunk in heavy sleep, her first
thought was: 'He looks exactly the same.' And, suddenly, it seemed queer
to her that she had not been, and still was not, disgusted. It was
all too deep for disgust, and somehow, too natural. She took this new
revelation of his unbridled ways without resentment. Besides, she