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that reminded her of congealed blood； bodies that swayed and writhed
as if stricken with convulsions or rent by seven devils。 She
remembered how strange had seemed to her the vast calm； the vast
silence； that encompassed this noisy outburst of humanity； how
inflexible had looked the enormous moon； how unsympathetic the
brightly shining stars； how feverish and irritable the flickering
illumination of the flames that spurted up and fainted away like
things still living but in the agonies of death。
Then had followed her silent ride back to Beni…Mora with Androvsky
along the straight road which had always fascinated her spirit of
adventure。 They had ridden slowly； without looking at each other；
without exchanging a word。 She had felt dry and weary； like an old
woman who had passed through a long life of suffering and emerged into
a region where any acute feeling is unable to exist； as at a certain
altitude from the earth human life can no longer exist。 The beat of
the horses' hoofs upon the road had sounded hard； as her heart felt；
cold as the temperature of her mind。 Her body； which usually swayed to
her horse's slightest movement； was rigid in the saddle。 She
recollected that once； when her horse stumbled； she had thrilled with
an abrupt anger that was almost ferocious； and had lifted her whip to
lash it。 But the hand had slipped down nervelessly； and she had fallen
again into her frigid reverie。
When they reached the hotel she had dropped to the ground； heavily；
and heavily had ascended the steps of the verandah； followed by
Androvsky。 Without turning to him or bidding him good…night she had
gone to her room。 She had not acted with intentional rudeness or
indifferenceindeed； she had felt incapable of an intention。 Simply；
she had forgotten； for the first time perhaps in her life； an ordinary
act of courtesy； as an old person sometimes forgets you are there and
withdraws into himself。 Androvsky had said nothing； had not tried to
attract her attention to himself。 She had heard his steps die away on
the verandah。 Then； mechanically； she had undressed and got into bed；
where she was now mechanically counting the passing moments。
Presently she became aware of her own stillness and connected it with
the stillness of the dead woman； by the tent。 She lay； as it were；
watching her own corpse as a Catholic keeps vigil beside a body that
has not yet been put into the grave。 But in this chamber of death
there were no flowers； no lighted candles； no lips that moved in
prayer。 She had gone to bed without praying。 She remembered that now；
but with indifference。 Dead people do not pray。 The living pray for
them。 But even the watcher could not pray。 Another hour struck in the
belfry of the church。 She listened to the chime and left off counting
the moments； and this act of cessation made more perfect the peace of
the dead woman。
When the sun rose her sensation of death passed away； leaving behind
it； however； a lethargy of mind and body such as she had never known
before the previous night。 Suzanne； coming in to call her； exclaimed：
〃Mam'selle is ill？〃
〃No。 Why should I be ill？〃
〃Mam'selle looks so strange；〃 the maid said； regarding her with round
and curious eyes。 〃As if〃
She hesitated。
〃Give me my tea；〃 Domini said。
When she was drinking it she asked：
〃Do you know at what time the train leaves Beni…Morathe passenger
train？〃
〃Yes； Mam'selle。 There is only one in the day。 It goes soon after
twelve。 Monsieur Helmuth told me。〃
〃Oh！〃
〃What gown will？〃
〃Any gownthe white linen one I had on yesterday。〃
〃Yes； Mam'selle。〃
〃No； not that。 Any other gown。 Is it to be hot？〃
〃Very hot； Mam'selle。 There is not a cloud in the sky。〃
〃How strange！〃 Domini said； in a low voice that Suzanne did not hear。
When she was up and dressed she said：
〃I am going out to Count Anteoni's garden。 I think I'llyes； I'll
take a book with me。〃
She went into her little salon and looked at the volumes scattered
about there； some books of devotion； travel； books on sport；
Rossetti's and Newman's poems； some French novels； and the novels of
Jane Austen； of which； oddly； considering her nature； she was very
fond。 For the first time in her life they struck her as shrivelled；
petty chronicles of shrivelled； bloodless； artificial lives。 She
turned back into her bedroom； took up the little white volume of the
/Imitation/； which lay always near her bed； and went out into the
verandah。 She looked neither to right nor left； but at once descended
the staircase and took her way along the arcade。
When she reached the gate of the garden she hesitated before knocking
upon it。 The sight of the villa； the arches； the white walls and
clustering trees she knew so well hurt her so frightfully； so
unexpectedly； that she felt frightened and sick； and as if she must go
away quickly to some place which she had never seen； and which could
call up no reminiscences in her mind。
Perhaps she would have gone into the oasis； or along the path that
skirted the river bed； had not Smain softly opened the gate and come
out to meet her； holding a great velvety rose in his slim hand。
He gave it to her without a word； smiling languidly with eyes in which
the sun seemed caught and turned to glittering darkness； and as she
took it and moved it in her fingers； looking at the wine…coloured
petals on which lay tiny drops of water gleaming with thin and silvery
lights； she remembered her first visit to the garden； and the
mysterious enchantment that had floated out to her through the gate
from the golden vistas and the dusky shadows of the trees； the feeling
of romantic expectation that had stirred within her as she stepped on
to the sand and saw before her the winding ways disappearing into
dimness between the rills edged by the pink geraniums。
How long ago that seemed； like a remembrance of early childhood in the
heart of one who is old。
Now that the gate was open she resolved to go into the garden。 She
might as well be there as elsewhere。 She stepped in； holding the rose
in her hand。 One of the drops of water slipped from an outer petal and
fell upon the sand。 She thought of it as a tear。 The rose was weeping；
but her eyes were dry。 She touched the rose with her lips。
To…day the garden was like a stranger to her； but a stranger with whom
she had oncelong； long agobeen intimate； whom she had trusted； and
by whom she had been betrayed。 She looked at it and knew that she had
thought it beautiful and loved it。 From its recesses had come to her
troops of dreams。 The leaves of its trees had touched her as with
tender hands。 The waters of its rills had whispered to her of the
hidden things that lie in the breast of joy。 The golden rays that
played through its scented alleys had played； too； through the shadows
of her heart； making a warmth and light there that seemed to come from
heaven。 She knew this as one knows of the apparent humanity that
greeted one's own humanity in the friend who is a friend no longer；
and she sickened at it as at the thought of remembered intimacy with
one proved treacherous。 There seemed to her nothing ridiculous in this
personification