The little mask-like face changed and grew soft till she
looked more a girl, less an embodied tragedy. Vardri's wild spirits
were infectious, and, as on the night of the Hippodrome fiasco, Youth
called and Love made answer.
"_Mon ami_, I am so glad you have come."
"Is this the first time you have been out? Who said you could get up?
The doctor?"
"No, it was Emile."
Vardri nodded towards the communicating door of the bedroom. "Poleski
is here then?"
"No, and he doesn't know I'm here. He has gone to Saria and will not
be back till late. I was horribly irritable this morning, so he thinks
I'm all right now." A ripple of amusement broke her voice as their
eyes met.
"My sweet, you must ask me to believe some other little _histoire_."
"Oh! but it's true. You should have heard us! I knew that it was
funny afterwards, but there was no one to laugh with at the time. It
was about that dreadful old coat of Emile's. He threw it on my bed,
and--I can't help being a Jewess, can I? and I so loathe dust and
dirt, and I said so.
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