THE LOVERS OF SILENCIEUX

Silencieux often spoke to Antony now. Sometimes a sudden, startling word
when he was writing late at night; sometimes long tender talks; once a
terrible whisper. But all this time she never opened her eyes. The
lashes still lay wet upon her cheeks, and when she spoke her lips seemed
hardly to move, only to smile with a deeper meaning, an intenser life.
Indeed, at these times, her face shone with so great a brightness that
Antony's vision was dazzled, and to his gaze she seemed almost
featureless as a star.

Once he had begged to see her eyes.

"You know not what you ask," she had answered. "When you see my eyes you
will die. Some day, Antony, you shall see my eyes. But not yet. You
have much to do for me yet. There is yet much love for you and me before
the end."

"Have all died who saw your eyes, Silencieux?"

"Yes, all died."

"You have had many lovers, Silencieux. Many lovers, and far from here,
and long ago."

"Yes, many lovers, long ago," echoed Silencieux.

"You have been very cruel, Silencieux."