the various eloquence of passion. She trembled a little under his close caress; the dusky red of the box whirled around her; the shouting of the multitude below beat like the sound of a distant sea on her ears.
As he kneeled at her feet she touched his forehead one moment with her hand in a gesture of involuntary tenderness.
"It is of no use," she said, faintly again. "You do not understand—you do not know."
"Yes: I do know," he answered her.
"You know!" ———
"Yes: your brother told me."
"And yet?" ———
"Since we love one another, is not that enough?"
She breathed like a person suffocated; she loosened herself from his arms, and drew away from him, and rose.
"It makes no change in you, then!" she said, wonderingly, and looked at him through a blinding mist, and felt sick and weary and bewildered, as she had never thought it possible to feel.
"Change in me? What change? save that
