And then … and then there was that man’s voice behind the door—“You must love me!”—and no one in the room. …
Why did she laugh when he reminded her of the incident of the scarf? Why did she not recognize him? And why had she written to him? …
Perros was reached at last. Raoul walked into the smoky sitting-room of the Setting Sun and at once saw Christine standing before him, smiling and showing no astonishment.
“So you have come,” she said. “I felt that I should find you here, when I came back from mass. Someone told me so, at the church.”
“Who?” asked Raoul, taking her little hand in his.
“Why, my poor father, who is dead.”
There was a silence; and then Raoul asked:
“Did your father tell you that I love you, Christine, and that I can not live without you?”
Christine blushed to the eyes and turned away her head. In a trembling voice, she said:
“Me? You are dreaming, my friend!”
And she burst out laughing, to put herself in countenance.
“Don’t laugh, Christine; I am quite serious,” Raoul answered.
And she replied gravely: “I did not make you come to tell me such things as that.”