THE SWEET-SCENTED NAME
"Every year?" asked Kragaef, his voice hoarse with malice or agitation.
"Every year," said she, "somebody comes to me at this time, and every year it is as if the actual soul of my husband rejoiced in my accidental tormentor. Then, after my dreadful night, my anguish leaves me and I can live again in the world. It happens so every year. This year he wanted you to come to me. He desired me to wait for you here in this garden, dressed as I am, barefoot and with my hands bound. And I have obeyed his will, and I sit here and wait."
She looked at Kragaef, and on her face was that blending of expression which he afterwards represented with such art in the picture.
He got up with a somewhat unnecessary haste; his face had become very pale. He felt in himself an evil passion, and seizing the lady by the shoulder he cried out to her in a hoarse voice which he could not recognise as his own:
"It's been like this every year, and this year will be no different from the others. Come!"
She stood up and began to weep. Kragaef, still grasping her by the shoulder, drew her towards the house, and she followed him,
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