THE LOVERS OF SILENCIEUX Silencieux often spoke to Antony now.

Sometimes a sudden, startling word when he was writing late at night; sometimes long tender talks; once a terrible whisper.

But all this time she never opened her eyes.

The lashes still lay wet upon her cheeks, and when she spoke her lips seemed hardly to move, only to smile with a deeper meaning, an intenser life.
Indeed, at these times, her face shone with so great a brightness that Antony's vision was dazzled, and to his gaze she seemed almost featureless as a star.
Once he had begged to see her eyes.
"You know not what you ask," she had answered.

"When you see my eyes you will die.