Steadily he kept his eyes on the curtained window.
What was happening there now?
To what was Josephine listening in these tense minutes of waiting?
Even as he stared through the darkness to that one lighter spot in the gloom he knew that the world was changing for the woman he loved.

He believed Jean, and he knew Jean was now telling her the story of that day and the preceding night--the story which he had said would destroy the hopes she had built up, throw their plans into ruin, perhaps even disclose to him the secret which they had been fighting to hide.

What could that story be?
And what effect was it having on Josephine?
The minutes passed slowly--with an oppressive slowness.

Three times he lighted matches to look at his watch.

Five minutes passed--ten, fifteen.