As he did so a shower of rose-leaves fell upon him from the vines enveloping the balcony.
He shuddered slightly and passed down the hall.

Everything was very still.
She was asleep.

Lying on a couch in utter weariness or pain, she had drifted off into the land of dreams, and he felt that he had a moment of respite.

He could look and weigh the question: Love or a quick success?
A weakling's paradise or the goal of the strong man?
Meanwhile, she was not as beautiful as he thought.

But she was more touching--less robust, less bounteous of aspect, more child-like, more appealing,--a woman who, if he were no more of a man than he appeared to be in this hurly-burly of pleasure and fashion, might in time do him credit and hold him back from follies.
But he was not just the man these casual friends and admirers considered him.