Emile had been kind in his way,
but he had been always rough. Her own emotions had always lain buried
deeply, and now they had been called to life she longed for the natural
expression of her love through the medium of physical things, by word
and touch.
"Now for my reward," Vardri said. "I want to take your hair down."
Arithelli bent her head towards him without speaking and he drew the
pins, and undid the braid with deft fingers, spreading it out till it
covered her as with a veil.
"If only I could paint you! How beautiful you are to-night, but how
still and cold! Fatalite, tell me you love me a little, _mon coeur_!"
She put her arms round his neck, laying her cheek against his. "_Mon
ami_, I love you!"
He held her in his arms as one holds a child, rocking her to and fro.
"_Voila cherie_!" he whispered. "After to-morrow I shall have you
always, I shall never let you go again. My dream is coming true."
Arithelli listened with dry eyes and an aching heart. She was past
crying, and her brain felt curiously reasonable and alert.
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