“I don’t condemn you.” She was dizzy with struggling impulses. She longed to cry out: “I DO understand! I’ve understood ever since you’ve been here!” For she was aware, in her own bosom, of sensations so separate from her romantic thoughts of him that she saw her body and soul divided against themselves. She recalled having read somewhere that in ancient Rome the slaves were not allowed to wear a distinctive dress lest they should recognize each other and learn their numbers and their power. So, in herself, she discerned for the first time instincts and desires, which, mute and unmarked, had gone to and fro in the dim passages of her mind, and now hailed each other with a cry of mutiny. “Oh, I don’t know what to think!” she broke out. “You say you didn’t know she loved you. But you know it now. Doesn’t that show you how you can put the broken bits together?” “Can you seriously think it would be doing so to marry one woman while I care for another?” “Oh, I don’t know...I don’t know...” The sense of her weakness made her try to harden herself against his arguments. “You do know! We’ve often talked of such things: of the monstrousness of useless sacrifices. If I’m to expiate, it’s not in that way.” He added abruptly: “It’s in having to say this to you now...” She found no answer. Through the silent apartment they heard the sudden peal of the door-bell, and she rose to her feet. “Owen!” she instantly exclaimed. “Is Owen in Paris?” She explained in a rapid undertone what she had learned from Sophy Viner. “Shall I leave you?” Darrow asked. “Yes ... no...” She moved to the dining-room door, with the half-formed purpose of making him pass out, and then turned back. “It may be Adelaide.” They heard the outer door open, and a moment later Owen walked into the room. He was pale, with excited eyes: as they fell on Darrow, Anna saw his start of wonder. He made a slight sign of recognition, and then went up to his step-mother with an air of exaggerated gaiety. “You furtive person! I ran across the omniscient Adelaide and heard from her that you’d rushed up suddenly and secretly.” He stood between Anna and Darrow, strained, questioning, dangerously on edge. “I came up to meet Mr. Darrow,” Anna answered. “His leave’s been prolonged--he’s going back with me.” The words seemed to have uttered themselves without her will, yet she felt a great sense of freedom as she spoke them. The hard tension of Owen’s face changed to incredulous surprise. He looked at Darrow. “The merest luck ... a colleague whose wife was ill...I came straight back,” she heard the latter tranquilly explaining. His self-command helped to steady her, and she smiled at Owen. “We’ll all go back together tomorrow morning,” she said as she slipped her arm through his. XXXIII Owen Leath did not go back with his step-mother to Givre. In reply to her suggestion he announced his intention of staying on a day or two longer in Paris.