"Call me George."

She laid her head on his bosom. All her heart went out to him at last.
"George!" she whispered.

"Say you love me!"

Her arms twined themselves gently round his neck. Her lips, timidly
touching his cheek, murmured the delicious words--"I love you!"

In the moment of silence that followed, the sound of the opening and
closing of the house-door came clear to them through the wintry stillness
of the street.

Marguerite started to her feet.

"Let me go!" she said. "He has come back!"

She hurried from the room, and touched Madame Dor's shoulder in passing.
Madame Dor woke up with a loud snort, looked first over one shoulder and
then over the other, peered down into her lap, and discovered neither
stockings, worsted, nor darning-needle in it. At the same moment,
footsteps became audible ascending the stairs. "Mon Dieu!" said Madame
Dor, addressing herself to the stove, and trembling violently. Vendale
picked up the stockings and the ball, and huddled them all back in a heap
over her shoulder. "Mon Dieu!" said Madame Dor, for the second time, as
the avalanche of worsted poured into her capacious lap.

The door opened, and Obenreizer came in. His first glance round the room