The moon was seven days old--and his lady had said, "While
she waxes our love will wax." Thus, even by that calculation, there was
still time to live a little longer.
Paul's will was strong. He sternly banished all speculations as to the
future. He remembered her counsel of the riddle which lay hidden in the
eyes of the Sphinx--to live in the present and quaff life in its full.
He was in a mood of such worship that he could have kissed the grey rock
because she had leant against it. And to himself he made vows that, come
what might, he would ever try to be worthy of her great spirit and
teaching. Dmitry's pistol still lay in his pocket; he took it out and
examined it--all six chambers were loaded. A deadly small thing, with a
finely engraved stock made in Paris. There was a date scratched. It was
about a year old.
What danger could they possibly have dreaded for him?--he almost laughed.
He stayed up on the highest point until after the sun had set; somehow he
dreaded going back to the rooms where they had been so happy--going back
alone! But this was weakness, and he must get over the feeling. After
dinner he would spend the evening writing his letters home. But when this
solitary meal was over, the moon tempted him out on to the terrace, and
there he stayed obsessed with passionate thoughts until he crept in to his
lonely couch.
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