"I'm not sure I believe you."
"You reduce me to despair. How can I convince you?"
Madame Briande walked suddenly to the door and went out. I heard her invite Vohrenlorf to take a glass of cognac, and his ready acceptance. Coralie was sitting on the sofa now, looking at me curiously.
"I have liked you very much," she said slowly. "You are a good fellow, a good friend. I don't know how it is—I feel uncomfortable to-night. Will you draw back a curtain and open a window? It's hot."
I obeyed her; the cool night air rushed in on us, fresh and delicious. She drew her legs up sideways on the sofa, clasping her ankles with her hand.
"Don't you know," she cried impatiently, "how sometimes one is uncomfortable and doesn't know why? It seems as though something was going to happen, one's money to be lost, or one's friends to die or go away; that somehow they had misfortunes preparing for one."
"I know the feeling well enough, but I'm sure you needn't have it to-night."
"Oh, I don't know. It doesn't come without a reason. You've no superstitions, I suppose? I have many; as a child I learned them all. They're never wrong. Yes, something is to happen."
I shrugged my shoulders and laughed.
"You'll come to-morrow?" she asked, with increased and most unusual urgency.
"If possible," I answered again.
"But why won't you promise? Why do you always say 'if possible'? You're tiresome with your
