Arrived in Ned’s apartments (they were in one suite, sitting- and bed-rooms, with a folding-door between), he lit the candles, poked the logs into a blaze, and stood for orders. “The potage, monsieur?” Ned transmitted the inquiry with a look. “No, pray, monsieur--not for me,” murmured the girl. “Very well,” said Ned frigidly. “It will not be needed, my Théophile.” The landlord protested, bowed, and flirted himself from the room. The two were left alone. Ned walked to the window, lifted the blind a moment, and looked out upon the dumb white whirling of the snow. Then suddenly he spoke over his shoulder-- “Go and warm yourself at the fire.” She crept to the hearth immediately and sat herself before the glow, putting out to it her stiff frozen hands in token of obedience. He took to pacing up and down the room, not removing from his shoulders the thick redingote in which he was wrapped. Presently he came and stood near her, his elbow resting upon the mantel-shelf. “I want you to listen to me,” he said. She uttered no sound, but only looked up at him, pathetically pliant to his will. Her prince, for all her sins, had come to her with the glass slipper. Would her poor swollen foot ever go into it? Her blue eyes, like a child’s, sought his pity and forgiveness. But he was resolute to blind his heart to the appeal. “An hour ago,” he said--slowly, as if weighing his every word to himself--“I could not have done this. The interval has proved a fruitful one to us both.” She clasped her hands as she gazed at him; a film seemed to come over her eyes. She murmured in a tranced, half-fearful voice. The warmth it seemed had drugged her brain. “What happened! It was misty and shining. But, to be with you!--yes, thou art here, and the fire, and Nicette. That was always in the deep heart of my visions.” He took no notice of her half-audible wanderings. “I would not have you suppose,” he went on tonelessly, steadily, “that I shall allow any conversion by you of this accident into opportunity. I brought you to shelter for only the reason that I decline to burden myself with any shadow of compunction for what share my duty forced me to take in your punishment. For the rest, we remain, as always, wide poles apart.” In the pause he made she dropped her head--crept a little nearer to him--crouched at his feet. Not to be haunted by the wistful eyes, by the look, like a dog’s, that was so full of the silent struggle to comprehend, made his task easier. “You may stop here,” he said, “until I am able to procure you other quarters, and the means, if possible, to a living. That will not be later than to-morrow, I hope. For to-night, at least, you are to sleep in my room yonder, and I will make shift to lie out here. Do you understand?” “Yes,” she whispered.