"What's this? Do you know each other? It isn't possible! Pierre, are
you playing a game with me?"
But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for
the gun which was not there. They were alone once more.
"Mary--Mary Brown!"
"Pierre!"
"But you are dead!"
"No, no! But you--Pierre, where can we go?"
"Outside."
"Let us go quickly!"
"Do you need a wrap?"
"No."
"But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare."
"Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed."
He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut;
they were alone with the sweet, frosty air before them. She tore
away the mask.
"And yours, Pierre?"
"Not here."
"Why?"
"Because there are people. Hurry. Now here, with just the trees around
us--"
And he tore off his mask.
The white, cold moon shone over them, slipping down between the dark
tops of the trees, and the wind stirred slowly through the branches
with a faint, hushing sound, as if once more a warning were coming to
Pierre this night.
Pages:
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185