Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/314

"But life goes on," he said. He removed his glasses in his excitement and put them right on again.

"I know life goes on," Anna replied, "and just because of that, the vacant places must be filled. My place, Pierre," she added, staring at him gravely, "is between Morris and the children."

Pierre rose, took a few steps in the confined space near the bed, and returned. He raised his head as though looking upward for encouragement. Then tenderly he took Anna's hand. "I understand, my dear," he said, "The children come hast; the children are tomorrow and I belong to yesterday, to Mary, to Morris-to the dead."

Anna fell back against the pillow. "No, no," she cried, "it's a lie, he can't be dead, he can't."

"I'm sorry, Anna," he said apologetically, his head bowed in utter dejection, "I didn't want to shock you."

A dead leaf dropped from its branch brushing the window and its flaming scarlet seemed to be caught in her throat. She felt a sudden choking sensation. She tried to speak, but failed. "Dead?" she finally managed to say. Pierre remained silent. Then she broke into hysterical weeping.

Her mind dulled by a sedative, Anna slipped into a merciful sleep. When she awoke Pierre was gone; the visiting hour was over. Through the tall windows darkness was creeping in, phantom-like, merging with the thin ghostly shadows on the walls. Nurses, like disembodied spectres, flitted about in their white uniforms. Anna tried to think, but her mind still plunging through the waves of oblivion, could not grasp at a spar of reflection. Through the tidal darkness she heard herself crying: "Gertrude, Gertrude, how lucky you are!" Then she fell back into blissful unconsciousness.