She began to cry softly. I put my arm round her shoulders, and
comforted her. She sobbed out incoherent things. She wished she
had never seen Pasquale. I was good. She would stay with me
always. She would never run away again.
I took her upstairs, and opened the door of her room with the key
that I had carried for a year on my bunch, and turned on the
electric light.
"See what are still usable of your old things," said I, "and I
will send Antoinette up to you."
She looked around her, somewhat puzzled.
"Why should I sleep in your room when this one is ready for me--
my night dress--even the hot water?"
"My dear," said I, "that hot water was put for you a year ago.
It must be cold now."
"And my red slippers--and my dressing-gown!" she cried,
quaveringly.
Then sinking in a heap on the floor beside the dusty bed, she
burst into a passion of tears.
I stole away and sent Antoinette to minister to her.
A year before I had raved and ranted, deeming life intolerable
and cursing the high gods; I suffered then, it is true; but I
hope I may never again go through the suffering of that first
night of Carlotta's return.
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