“I want to punish myself for asking an explanation about Godensky, by not allowing you to explain this other thing,” insisted poor, loyal, repentant Raoul.  “Then—­at the time—­it made all the rest seem worse, a thousand times worse.  But I saw through black spectacles.  Now I see through rose-coloured ones.”

“I’d rather you saw through your own dear eyes, without any spectacles.  You must tell me what you’re thinking of, dear.  For my own sake, if not yours.”

“Well—­if you will know.  But, remember, darling, I’m going to put it out of my mind.  I’ll ask you no questions, I’ll only—­tell you the thing itself.  As I said, I didn’t come here directly after seeing Godensky get into your carriage.  I wandered about like a madman—­and I thought of the Seine.”

“Oh—­you must indeed have been mad!”

“I was.  But that something saved me—­the something that drove me to find you.  I walked here, by roundabout ways, but always coming nearer and nearer, as if being drawn into a whirlpool.  At last, I was in this street, on the side opposite your house.  I hadn’t made up my mind yet, that I would try to see you.  I didn’t know what I would do.  I stood still, and tried to think.  It was very black, in the angle between two garden walls where the big plane tree sprouts up, you know.  Nobody who didn’t expect to find a man would have noticed me in the darkness.  I hadn’t been there for two minutes when a man turned the corner, walking very fast.  As he passed the street lamp just before reaching the garden wall, I saw him plainly—­not his face, but his figure, and he was young and well dressed, in travelling clothes.  I thought he looked like an Englishman.  He went straight to your gate and rang.  A moment later someone, I couldn’t see who, opened the gate and let him in.  Involuntarily I took a step forward, with the idea of following—­of pushing my way in to see who he was and who had opened the gate.  But I wasn’t quite mad enough to act like a cad.  The gate shut.  Oh, Maxine, there were evil and cruel thoughts in my mind, I confess it to you—­but how they made me suffer!  I stood as if I were turned to stone, and I only wished that I might be, for a stone knows no pain.  Just then a motor cab going slowly along the street stopped in front of your gate.  There were two women in it.  I could see them by the light of the street lamp, though not as plainly as I’d seen the man, and they appeared to be arguing very excitedly about something.  Whatever it was, it must have been in some way concerned with you, or your affairs, because they were tremendously interested in the house.  They both looked out, and one pointed several times.  Even if I’d intended to go in, I wouldn’t have gone while they were there.  But the very fact that they were there roused me out of the kind of lethargy of misery I’d fallen into.  I wondered who they were, and if they meant you harm or good.  When they had driven away I made up my mind that I would see you if I could.  I tried the gate, and found it unlocked.  I walked in, and—­there were lights in these windows.  I knew you couldn’t have gone to bed yet, though you’d said you were so tired.  There was death in my heart then, for you and for me, Maxine, for—­the gate hadn’t opened again, and—­”