"Twelve o'clock! Oh, go away--quick--and send the chambermaid to me. I will do my best to be ready soon. Wait for me in the salon. You can read the papers or write letters. But whatever you do, you must not leave the hotel--do you hear?" An hour later she appeared in the salon to fetch him to lunch, which was served in their room. Pilar was nervous and put out. The chambermaid's assistance had not been all that she could have wished. The slow waiting at lunch vexed her. Whatever trifle she might require she was obliged to go into the untidy bedroom herself and search in her boxes. Her head was full of schemes and plans, to none of which, however, she gave expression. Never had she had such an uncomfortable meal with Wilhelm. "What are you going to do now?" asked Wilhelm, when the waiter had cleared the table. "I think we had better go and have a look at our house," answered Pilar, trying hard to assume a perfectly unconcerned tone. "Of course," said Wilhelm; "and while you go home, I will take a look at the streets of Paris." "What--you are not coming with me?" "I think it better you should go by yourself the first time. You have no doubt got a good deal to set in order, and I should only be in the way." "Wilhelm," she said very gravely, "you are determined to hurt me. Have I deserved that of you?" "But, dearest Pilar--" "I want proofs that I am your dearest Pilar. I have given myself to you--body, soul and spirit. If you want my life as well, then say so. I should be overjoyed to give it you. And you? Since yesterday your every word and look tells me plainly that you regard me as a stranger, and want to have nothing more to do with me. Oh, yes, you do it all in a very delicate and considerate manner, that is your way, but there is no need to speak more plainly to me." "Do not excite yourself Pilar, I assure you that you are entirely wrong." She shook her head. "I am not a child. Let us talk it over seriously. I told you yesterday I would not let you go. Of course you understand what I mean by that. I will not keep you if you want to be free. But then be honest, and tell me frankly that you are tired of me, and want to be rid of me. I shall at least know what I have to do. Do not be afraid, I shall not make a scene, I shall not cause you any annoyance, not even reproach you. I shall receive my sentence of death in silence, and kiss the hand that inflicts it on me." She buried her face in her hands, and tears trickled down between her fingers. "And all this," said Wilhelm, "because I thought it better not to accompany you to-day. The whole affair is not worth one of your tears." "Then you will come with me?" she cried excitedly, lifting her face to his. "I suppose I shall have to, since you talk about death sentences and terrible things of the kind."