his shower of tiny glances.

"Finished, mademoiselle!" and he held the drawing towards her as he
leant back with a sigh. He had made too many drawings that evening, and
any talent he had hung in his mind as wearily as a flag in an airless
room. With an effort she broke her position and moved towards him,
taking up the drawing in her hand with a forced interest. "Yes, thank
you, thank you," she said, and he took it back and laid it with the pile
he had made. "You don't like it? But I'm so tired. Look at these others
I did earlier in the evening...."

But while she bent over them the door burst open and Dormans came in,
followed by Duval and Dennis. "Is it finished? Let me look! Yes, yes,
very good! Quite good!" They were pleased enough, and drew the artist
away with them to the buffet.

Suddenly Julien was with her and had closed the door. He was hurried,
excited, and it seemed as though he said what he could no longer
contain, as though the thought biggest in his mind broke in a bound from
him. He was white and he exclaimed: "It's terrible how _much_ you could
hurt me if you would!"

He seemed to close his eyes a little then and lean his head towards her.
She looked at the drooping, half-lit head, and she knew that she had him
without fear of escape. Knew too, that the moment was brief. Their recent,
undeclared silence brooded as though still with them, half regretful and
departing angel. "You will have other beauties," she said to her heart,
"but none like this silence."

They were breathless. The ice had gone from the lake and the ship had