He had changed his dress-coat for a silk-faced jacket, in which he was in the habit of working with Steinmetz in the quiet room after the household had gone to bed.
She looked up.

She dropped the brush, and ran toward him with a great rustle of her flowing silks.
"Oh, Paul, what is it ?" she cried.
She stopped short, not daring to touch him, before his cold, set face.
"Have you seen any one ?" she whispered.
"Only De Chauxville," he answered, "this afternoon." "Indeed, Paul," she protested hastily, "it was nothing.

A message from Catrina Lanovitch.

It was only the usual visit of an acquaintance.

It would have been very strange if he had not called.