"
"I saw you kiss her hand when you got up, and so I supposed that
the conversation had been serious."
"Less serious than ours must be," replied Anastase, sadly. "I was
saying good-bye to her, and now--"
"Good-bye? Why--?" Faustina checked herself and looked away to
hide her pallor. She felt cold, and a slight shiver passed over
her slender figure.
"I am going to the front to-morrow morning."
There was a long silence, during which the two looked at each
other from time to time, neither finding courage to speak. Since
Gouache had been in the room it had grown dark, and as yet but one
lamp had been brought. The young man's eyes sought those he loved
in the dusk, and as his hand stole out it met another, a tender,
nervous hand, trembling with emotion. They did not heed what was
passing near them.
As though their silence were contagious, the conversation died
away, and there was a general lull, such as sometimes falls upon
an assemblage of people who have been talking for some time. Then,
through the deep windows there came up a sound of distant uproar,
mingled with occasional sharp detonations, few indeed, but the
more noticeable for their rarity. Suddenly the door of the
drawing-room burst open, and a servant's voice was heard speaking
in a loud key, the coarse accents and terrified tone contrasting
strangely with the sounds generally heard in such a place.
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