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The color began to die out of Sabine's cheeks and a strange look grew in her eyes. The footmen were removing the fish plates, but she was oblivious of that. Then the tones of Michael's voice changed and grew deeper. "Soon all the vision fades into gloom, and the only thing I can see is that she is tearing my ring off and throwing it away into the darkness."
Christmas Eve was particularly frosty and bright. The sun poured through Sabine's windows high up when she woke, but her heart was heavy as lead. She had not had a single word alone with Henry the night before, and knew the dreaded tête-
"How interesting!" and Sabine's voice was strained. "You saw the girl what was she like?" "No, I never saw her it was all settled one afternoon when I was out and I thought it such a thundering shame that I left that same night." "And if you had stayed you would have met her how curious fate is sometimes isn't it? Perhaps you could have prevented your friend being so foolish if you had stayed."
But he had absolutely no right to stand in either of their lights. He had not even the right to undermine his friend's influence by deed or look, since he had given him his word of honor that he would not do so. What a blind fool he had been all those years ago to let passionate rage at Sabine's daring to leave him make him write her that letter.
Once again he was at Sabine's, beside Marianne, so lovely in her sky-blue gown, and with her wavy locks. If he had been free, he would have gladly sought the opportunity to see that woman again as soon as the morning commenced. He felt a kind of infantile joy in being thus perturbed and haunted. It seemed to him that this emotion made him feel younger.
He had nothing to reproach them with: they were too honest, and too pious not to have thrust back their feelings in the face of death. They knew Christophe's grief and respected it, whatever they might think of it: they never uttered Sabine's name in his presence. But they had been her enemies when she was alive: that was enough to make him their enemy now that she was dead.
He was smarting under Sabine's insolent dismissal of him, and burning with jealousy over that witnessed caress, the violent passions of his race were surging up and causing a devil of recklessness to show in his very handsome face. Lord Fordyce saw that something had disturbed him. "What's up, Michael, old boy?" he asked.
"I will send round a note this evening." De Breulh pressed her hand, and hurried down, and was met by Andre at the door, for he had been unable to sit still in the carriage. "Keep up your courage. Madame de Bois Arden had not heard of Mademoiselle Sabine's illness, and this looks as if it was not a very serious matter. We shall have the real facts in three hours."
Presently there was a sound of low voices, and the corner gave vent to all sorts of bitter reflections. "I declare," murmured Mme Chantereau, "just fancy if the countess were to return to life. Why, can you not imagine her coming in among all these crowds of people! And then there's all this gilding and this uproar! It's scandalous!" "Sabine's out of her senses," replied Mme du Joncquoy.
So they had gone to Paris together, to order clothes such a joyous task and to make herself forget those hours so terribly full of strange emotion was all which occupied Sabine's mind at this period. Other preoccupations came later; and it was then that she listened to Simone's suggestion of going to San Francisco. The maid knew it well, and there they spent several months in a quiet hotel.
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