towards the door, and then turned and said:

"I thank you--I shall be grateful to you. Whatever may occur, please
believe that nothing that may look as if it was my wish to throw us
together, as though we were really husband and wife, will be my fault;
and you can count upon my making the thing as easy for you as I can--and
when the mockery of the rejoicings are over--then we can discuss our
future plans."

And though Zara was longing to cry aloud in passionate pain, "I love
you! I love you! Come back and beat me, if you will, only do not go
coldly like that!" she spoke never a word. The strange iron habit of her
life held her, and he went sadly from the room.

And when he had gone, she could control herself no longer and, forgetful
of coming maid and approaching dinner, she groveled on the white
bearskin rug before the fire, and gave way to passionate tears--only to
recollect in a moment the position of things. Then she got up and shook
with passion against fate, and civilization, and custom--against the
whole of life. She could not even cry in peace. No! She must play the
game! So her eyes had to be bathed, the window opened, and the icy air
breathed in, and at last she had quieted herself down to the look of a
person with a headache, when the dressing-gong sounded, and her maid
came into the room.



CHAPTER XXXII