She was in a room warmed by a
great white stove and dimly lighted by candles. Some one was
pulling off her gloves and feeling her hands to make sure that they
were not frost-bitten. She looked sleepily at a white coffee-pot
standing on the table near the candles; then her eyes, still
uncomprehending, rested on the face of the man who was loosening her
hood, which was hard with rime and ice. He had his back to the
candles, and was half-hidden by the collar of his fur coat, which
met the cap pressed down over his ears.
He turned towards the table to lay aside her gloves, and the light
fell on his face. Desiree was wideawake in an instant, and Louis
d'Arragon, hearing her move, turned anxiously to look at her again.
Neither spoke for a minute. Barlasch was holding his numbed hand
against the stove, and was grinding his teeth and muttering at the
pain of the restored circulation.
Desiree shook the icicles from her hood, and they rattled like hail
on the bare floor. Her hair, all tumbled round her face, caught the
light of the candles. Her eyes were bright and the colour was in
her cheeks. D'Arragon glanced at her with a sudden look of relief,
and then turned to Barlasch. He took the numbed hand and felt it;
then he held a candle close to it. Two of the fingers were quite
white, and Barlasch made a grimace when he saw them. D'Arragon
began rubbing at once, taking no notice of his companion's moans and
complaints.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214