And again her heart leapt in her breast
with that throb of fear. She turned where she stood, and looked at
the door as if she expected to see Charles come in at it, laughing
and gay, explaining (he was so good at explaining) his encounter in
the street, and stepping aside to allow Louis to come forward.
Louis, who looked at no one but her, and came into the room and into
her life.
She had been afraid of him. She was afraid of him still. And her
heart had leapt at the thought that he had been restlessly,
sleeplessly thinking of her, working for her--had been to Vilna and
back for her, and was now waiting for her beyond the barrier of
Russian camp-fires. The dangers which made Barlasch laugh--and she
knew they were real enough, for it was only a real danger that
stirred something in the old soldier's blood to make him gay--these
dangers were of no account. She knew, she had known instantly and
for all time when she looked down into the Frauengasse and saw
Louis, that nothing in heaven or earth could keep them apart.
She stood now, looking at the empty doorway. What was the rest of
her life to be?
Barlasch returned in the afternoon. He was leisurely and inclined
to contemplativeness. It would seem that his preparations having
all been completed, he was left with nothing to do. War is a
purifier; it clears the social atmosphere and puts womanly men and
manly women into their right places. It is also a simplifier; it
teaches us to know how little we really require in daily life, and
how many of the environments with which men and women hamper
themselves are superfluous and the fruit of idleness.
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