Here, at Labuwangi, she dared not do what she did in Batavia; and here, at Labuwangi, people hardly believed what people in Batavia said. Nevertheless, Mrs. van Does averred that this resident and that inspector--the one travelling for his pleasure, the other on an official circuit--staying for a few days at the residency, had found their way in the afternoon, during the siesta, to Léonie's bedroom. But all the same at Labuwangi any such actual occurrences were the rarest of interludes between Mrs. van Oudijck's rosy afternoon visions. Still, this afternoon it seemed as though, after dozing a little while and after all the dullness caused by the journey and the heat had cleared away from her milk-white complexion--it seemed, now that she was looking at the romping angels of the scent-advertisement, that her thoughts were no longer dwelling on those rosy, tender, doll-like forms, but as though she were listening to the sounds outside.... She was wearing nothing but a sarong, which she had pulled up under her arms and hitched in a twist across her breast. Her beautiful fair hair hung loose. Her pretty little white feet were bare: she had not even put on her slippers. And she looked through the slats of the shutters. Between the flower-pots, which, standing on the side steps of the house, masked her windows with great masses of foliage, she could see an annexe consisting of four rooms, the spare-rooms, one of which was Theo's. She stood peering for a moment and then set the shutter ajar. And she saw that the shutter of Theo's room also opened a little way.... Then she smiled; she knotted her sarong more closely and lay down upon the bed again. She listened. In a moment she heard the gravel grating slightly under the pressure of a slipper. Her shutters, without being closed, were drawn to. A hand now opened them cautiously.... She looked round smiling: "What is it, Theo?" she asked. He came nearer. He was dressed in pyjamas and he sat on the edge of the bed and played with her soft white hands and suddenly he kissed her fiercely. At that instant a stone whizzed through the bedroom. They both started, looked up, and in a moment were both standing in the middle of the room. "Who threw that?" she asked. "One of the boys, perhaps," he said: "René or Ricus, playing about outside." "They aren't up yet." "Or something may have fallen from above...." "But it was thrown...." "A stone so often gets loose...." "But this is gravel." She picked up the little stone. He looked outside cautiously: "It's nothing, Léonie. It must really have fallen out of the gutter ... and then bounced up again. It's nothing." "I'm frightened," she murmured. He laughed almost aloud and asked: "But why?"