She smiled faintly with her lips. For another moment she could not
snatch her eyes away from Kraill's.
Then she said faintly:
"It's all very well, Louis. You're always being sorry! Aren't you?"
"This is the last time, Marcella, that there'll be any need to be very
sorry," he said solemnly. "I was going to clear out for good, but Kraill
made me come back."
"That's all very well, too. Professor Kraill is going away. He doesn't
have to put up with you. He doesn't have to sleep with you. You will be
drunk to-night, and every night when there's any money. And next day
you'll be whining about it. I've lost hope now. I'm tired, tired of
to-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow."
Kraill's eyes were on her. The echo of a cock that crowed outside a door
in Jerusalem nineteen hundred years ago came to her and her eyes filled
with tears.
"Oh I'm so sorry! You asked me for my courage," she said to Kraill.
"There's no need for it now--on Louis's account, Marcella. You believe
what I say to you, don't you?"
He smiled at her; he looked very friendly, very kindly.
"You know I believe you!" she cried.
"Then I tell you that Louis is quite better now. He is going to take
care of you and Andrew. I can't prove it to you, yet. But you will see
it as time goes on."
"I don't want him any more," she cried, "I want you--Oh no--no--!"
His eyes held hers again, tragic and terrible.
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