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The last door on your left opens into a room with a huge double bed. It was too big for our hospital. That's the only reason we didn't bring it down. It's at your disposal. Don't thank me. Good-night." When I got a moment I went to Yvonne's room. "Did she think she could get up a little: long enough to take some dinner?
Kneeling I took careful aim at him, and as God lives, I would have saved much trouble that was to follow had I been allowed to fire. But at that moment a hand was laid upon my arm, and Yvonne's sweet voice murmured in my ear: "You have fought a brave and gallant fight, M. de Luynes, and you have done a deed of which the knights of old might have been proud. Do not mar it by an act of murder."
Edith and Frances were looking at each other in puzzled bewilderment but Max suddenly changed the subject. His eye had fallen upon Grayfur, the big cat that had purred himself into the room in the shelter of Yvonne's skirts. "Hello, old chap!" he said, snapping his fingers. "Do you like cats, Frances?" "No," confessed Frances. "I love dogs. Edith is the one who likes pussies.
Yvonne's adieu was cold and formal so cold and formal that it seemed to rob the sunshine of its glory for me as I stepped out into the open air. After all, what mattered it? I was a fool to have entertained a single tender thought concerning her. Scant cause is there for me to tarry over the details of my return to Paris.
Yvonne's nose and temper waxed sharp and her talk blunt. Her pans and kettles grew dull, but her eyes had caught their flash. She pointed out to the poet that his neglect was reducing the flock and bringing woe upon the household. David hired a boy to guard the sheep, locked himself in the little room at the top of the cottage, and wrote more poems.
It was just at the boundary of the parish of Ploubazlanec, where many houses straggle along the roadside. But she had the strength to rise and hobble along on her stick. "Old Yvonne's tipsy!" The bold little creatures stared her full in the face, laughing. Her coiffe was all awry.
At last, however, our journey came to an end, and I sprang ashore some five hundred paces from the little chapel, and almost exactly opposite the Chateau de Canaples. I stood for a moment gazing across the water at the lighted windows of the chateau, wondering which of those eyes that looked out upon the night might be that of Yvonne's chamber.
Yvonne's maid knocked at the door and called: "Mademoiselle, c'est l'heuer!" "Answer!" hissed the woman. Yvonne, speechless, holding both hands to her heart, kept her eyes on her sister's face. That face grew ashen; the eyes had the blank glare of a tiger's; she sprang up to Yvonne and grasped her by the wrists. "Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! c'est l'heure!" called the maid, shaking the door.
After dinner the women sat a long time chatting over their coffee, while Fuselli squirmed uneasily on his chair, looking now and then at his watch. His pass was till twelve only; it was already getting on to ten. He tried to catch Yvonne's eye, but she was moving about the kitchen putting things in order for the night, and hardly seemed to notice him.
Clifford stood holding her crushed and splintered fan. He looked at Elliott, who looked gloomily back at him, as Braith entered hurriedly. "What's the matter? I saw something was wrong from the floor. Rex ill?" "Ill at ease," said Clifford, grimly. "There's a sister turned up. A devil of a sister." Braith spoke very low. "Yvonne's sister?" "Yes, a she-devil." "Did you hear her name?"
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