"
Oh, how tender sometimes was Silencieux!
Several nights they had the whim that Silencieux should masquerade in
the wardrobe of her past.
"To-night, you shall go clothed as when you loved that woman in
Mitylene," Antony would say.
Or: "To-night you shall be a little shepherd-boy, with a leopard-skin
across your shoulder and mountain berries in your hair."
Or again: "To-night you shall be Pierrot--mourning for his Columbine."
Ah! how divine was Silencieux in all her disguises!--a divine child. Oh,
how tender those nights was Silencieux!
Antony sat and watched her face in awe and wonder. Surely it was the
noblest face that had ever been seen in the world.
"Is it true that that noble face is mine?" he would ask; "I cannot
believe it."
"Kiss it," said Silencieux gaily, "and see."
* * * * *
Then on a sudden, what was this change in Silencieux! So cold, so
silent, so cruel, had she grown.
"Silencieux," Antony called to her. "Silencieux," he pleaded.
But she never spoke.
"O Silencieux, speak! I cannot bear it."
Then her lips moved.
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