the dawn was breaking when there was a sudden confusion
in the opposite room. She heard Colette's voice,
and then George's, calling Lisa.

There was no answer.

Frances stood up, to listen. "Will she not speak?" she
cried. "Make her speak!"

But in reality she said nothing. Even her breath had
stopped to listen.

There was no answer.

Frances was awake now, for the rest of her life. She
knew what she had done.

"Why, George," she said, "she cannot speak. She is dead.
I did it."

She stood in the room a minute, looking from side to
side, and then went with measured steps out of it, down
the corridor and into the street.

"I did it," she said to herself again and again, as she
walked slowly on.

The old cathedral is opposite to the inn. Her eyes, as
she passed, rested on the gargoyles, and she thought how
fine they were. One was a ridiculous head with lolling