“Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. ! He’ll come a cropper one of these days, if you ask me. She raised this with the air of a conspirator unmasking, and displayed a tear-flushed face. She could smell his cologne underneath his collar, or perhaps his aftershave. Idiote. Romance! The romance of passing faces, of wires that carried voices and words to the far ends of the world, of tremendous mechanisms that propelled ships and trains! And, oh the beautiful books! She swiftly knelt upon the floor and once more gathered the books to her heart. The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. " "What? Good Lord, he's alive with fleas! They'll be all over the place.
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