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noticed that, now and then, she would gaze furtively at
him with an inscrutable expression in her eyes, as if she
were looking through him and taking his measure, with a
calm wonder, a cool, almost contemptuous curiosity. Not
a gleam of hatred or resentment, not a shadow of grief or
reproach, not one tremulous glance of repressed sadness!
Nothing of that kind, nothing at all!
Therefore he did not venture, and nothing was said.
Once in a while, as the days went by, his thoughts would
dwell on the matter uneasily, and he would feel a feverish
desire to have it cleared up. Still it was not done, and he
could not rid himself of a sense that these unspoken
accusations lay like serpents in a dark cave, brooding over
sinister treasures, which grew as the reptiles grew, blood-red
carbuncles rising on stalks of cadmium, and pale opal in
bulb upon bulb slowly spreading, swelling, and breeding,
while the serpents lay still but ceaselessly expanding,
gliding forth in sinuous bend upon bend, lifting ring upon ring
over the rank growth of the treasure.
She must hate him, must be harboring secret thoughts of
revenge; for an insult such as he had dealt her could not be
forgotten. He connected this imagined lust for vengeance
with the strange incident when she had lifted her hand
against him and with Burrhi’s warning. So he avoided her
more than ever, and wished more and more ardently that
their ways might be parted.
But Marie was not thinking of revenge. She had
forgotten both him and Karen Fiol. In that moment of
unutterable disgust her love had been wiped out and left no
traces, as a glittering bubble bursts and is no more. The
glory of it is no more, and the iridescent colors it lent to
every tiny picture mirrored in it are no more. They are
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