After the singer had gone, Nelida remained for a time standing on the same spot where the former had taken leave of her. She murmured a few words in her mother tongue, and then said in German: "He wants to do penance, does he? He shall!--he shall!--he shall!" She stepped in front of the mirror above the fireplace, before which a lamp, nearly out, burned with a weak, red flame. The candles on the piano were burned down almost to the socket. In this dim light her cheeks looked still more wan, her eyes more sunken, and the scowl on her forehead as if it could nevermore be smoothed away. "Is it really too late for happiness?" she said aloud, in a hollow voice. She shuddered, for the night wind swept coldly through the room. Slowly she took the rose from her hair and let it fall to the ground, so that the leaves were strewed over the carpet; then she unwound the veil from her head, took out the comb and shook her hair down over her shoulders. As she did so the blood returned to her cheeks, her eyes sparkled, and she began to be pleased with herself once more. "_Il y a pourtant quelques beaux restes!_" she said to herself. Then, with sunken head, she strode across the _salon_, talking half aloud to herself, and stepped up to the open piano. She struck the keys with her open hand so that they gave forth a loud, harsh discord. She laughed scornfully at this. "He will do penance, will he? He shall!--he shall!--he shall!" and, once more folding her arms across her breast, she stepped into the cabinet and stood still before the young Greek's cartoon. She knew the picture by heart. And yet she stood before it as lost in contemplation as though she saw it for the first time. Suddenly she felt a hot breath upon her neck. She shuddered slightly and looked round. Stephanopulos stood behind her. "Are you crazy?" whispered Nelida. "What are you doing here? Leave me this moment! My maid is coming!" "She is asleep," whispered the youth. "I told her you would not need her. Do you reproach me, countess?--me, who only live in your smiles--to whom a glance of your eyes is heaven or hell!" "Hush!" she said, leaving him her hand which he had seized. "You are talking nonsense, my friend. But you have a good voice, and, besides, one cannot be angry with you. _Vous êtes un enfant!_" CHAPTER X.