The rain had ceased, and the clouds were trooping off like some herd of monsters hurrying in disorderly array into the gloom of the horizon.  A blue gap, that grew larger by degrees, had opened up above the city.  But Helene, her elbows trembling on the window-rail, still breathless from her hasty ascent, saw nothing, and merely heard her heart beating against her swelling breast.  She drew a long breath, but it seemed to her that the spreading valley with its river, its two millions of people, its immense city, its distant hills, could not hold air enough to enable her to breathe peacefully and regularly again.

For some minutes she remained there distracted by the fever of passion which possessed her.  It seemed as though a torrent of sensations and confused ideas were pouring down on her, their roar preventing her from hearing her own voice or understanding aught.  There was a buzzing in her ears, and large spots of light swam slowly before her eyes.  Then she suddenly found herself examining her gloved hands, and remembering that she had omitted to sew on a button that had come off the left-hand glove.  And afterwards she spoke aloud, repeating several times, in tones that grew fainter and fainter:  “I love you!  I love you! oh, how I love you!”

Instinctively she buried her face in her hands, and pressed her fingers to her eyelids as though to intensify the darkness in which she sought to plunge.  It was a wish to annihilate herself, to see no more, to be utterly alone, girt in by the gloom of night.  Her breathing grew calmer.  Paris blew its mighty breath upon her face; she knew it lay before her, and though she had no wish to look on it, she felt full of terror at the thought of leaving the window, and of no longer having beneath her that city whose vastness lulled her to rest.

Ere long she grew unmindful of all around her.  The love-scene and confession, despite her efforts, again woke to life in her mind.  In the inky darkness Henri appeared to her, every feature so distinct and vivid that she could perceive the nervous twitching of his lips.  He came nearer and hung over her.  And then she wildly darted back.  But, nevertheless, she felt a burning breath on her shoulders and a voice exclaimed:  “I love you!  I love you!” With a mighty effort she put the phantom to flight, but it again took shape in the distance, and slowly swelled to its whilom proportions; it was Henri once more following her into the dining-room, and still murmuring:  “I love you!  I love you!” These words rang within her breast with the sonorous clang of a bell; she no longer heard anything but them, pealing their loudest throughout her frame.  Nevertheless, she desired to reflect, and again strove to escape from the apparition.  He had spoken; never would she dare to look on his face again.  The brutal passion of the man had tainted the tenderness of their love.  She conjured up past hours, in which he had loved her without being so cruel as to