It must have been that she grew very sleepy--probably the heat weighed her eyelids down--certainly she found it impossible to keep her eyes open, and Maurice apparently thought that she felt faint. Always in the same vague way she heard him making suggestions for her comfort: "Could he get her some wine?" or "Should he try and find Madame la Duchesse?" Then she realised how she longed for a little rest, for perfect solitude, for perfect freedom to give herself over to the sweet torpor which paralysed her brain and limbs--tired, sleepy, or under the subtle influence of some mysterious agency--she did not know which she was; but she did know that she would have given everything she could at this moment for a few minutes' complete solitude. So she contrived to smile and to look up almost gaily into Maurice's anxious face: "I think really, Maurice," she said, "I am just a little bit sleepy. If I could remain alone for five minutes, I would go honestly to sleep and not be ashamed of myself. Could you . . . could you just leave me for five or ten minutes? . . . and . . . and, Maurice, will you draw that screen a little nearer? . . ." she added, affecting a little yawn; "nobody can see me then . . . and really, really I shall be all right . . . if I could have a few minutes' quiet sleep." "You shall, Crystal, of course you shall," said Maurice, eager and anxious to do all that she wanted. He arranged a cushion behind her head, put a footstool to her feet and pulled the screen forward so that now--where she sat--no one could see her from the ballroom, and as in response to repeated encores from the dancers, the orchestra had embarked upon a new waltz, she was not likely to be disturbed. "I'll try and find Mme. la Duchesse," he said after he had assured himself that she was quite comfortable, "and tell her that you are quite well, but must not be disturbed." She caught his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "You are kind, Maurice," she murmured. She felt exactly like a tired child, now that she had been made so comfortable, and she liked Maurice so much, oh! so much! no brother could have been dearer. "You won't go way without waking me, Maurice," she said as he bent down to kiss her. "No, no, of course not," he replied; "it still wants a quarter before ten." The screen shut off all the glare from the candles. The sense of isolation was complete and delicious: the roses smelt very sweet, the soft strains of the waltz sounded like elfin music. V Like elfin music--tender, fitful, dreamy!--an exquisite languor stole into Crystal's limbs. She was not asleep, yet she was in dreamland--all alone in semi-darkness, that was restful and soothing, and with the fragrance of crimson roses in her nostrils and their velvety petals brushing against her cheek. Like elfin music!--sweet strains of infinite sadness--the tune of the Infinite mingling with the semblance of reality!