also.
Was Maryan leaving the house? Perhaps. It was impossible to
foresee what that self-sufficient and stubborn youth was capable
of doing. But whatever happened he would not yield, and he would
permit no longer that vain method of life, with its mad excesses,
excesses which are costly. But in those recent hours everything,
not excepting Maryan, had concerned him considerably less than
before. Why was this? He did not answer that question, for he
heard a noise of steps, and a whisper:

"Aloysius!"

He looked around. It was Malvina greatly changed. Beneath her
hair, dressed with stern simplicity, her forehead was furrowed
with a dark, deep wrinkle; the corners of her pale mouth were
drooping; on the back of her head a heavy roll of hair, coiled
carelessly, dropped to her dress of black material, which was
almost like the robe of a religious. She stood in the descending
darkness, some steps from him. She had pronounced his name, but
was unable to go further. Her white hand, resting on a small
table, trembled; her head was inclined, and she raised to him
eyes which were dim but had a painfully timid and anxious
expression. They looked at each other for a moment, and then he
inquired:

"In what can I serve?"

The question was polite and formal. After a moment of hesitation,
or of collecting her strength, she began:

"Irene and I are to leave here in a few days. It is impossible
for me to do this without speaking to thee, Aloysius. I have
waited for a convenient moment, and seeing thee here, I have
come."

She was silent again. She breathed quickly, and was excited.
Standing toward her in profile, the definite and sharp outline of
his face was fixed on the background of the window, beyond which
was darkness; he inquired:

"What is the question?"

She answered in a whisper:

"Be patient--this is hard for me--"

And as if fearing to exhaust that patience for which she was
begging, the woman began hurriedly, and therefore without order,
to say:

"A common misfortune has struck us--thou hast been, Aloysius, so
kind, so immensely loving to our poor Cara--when I go from here
with, thou wilt be so much alone--Maryan has some project of
travel--so perhaps--if it were possible--if thou couldst forget
the past--I do not know even--forgive--if thou shouldst wish, I
and Irene would remain--"

While speaking she gained some courage; some internal motive was
to be felt in her, which forced her to speak.

"I will n