“I wonder,” said Ann Veronica at last, “if I am beautiful? I wonder if I shall ever shine like a light, like a translucent goddess?— “I wonder— “I suppose girls and women have prayed for this, have come to this—In Babylon, in Nineveh. What right had she to call herself “Alcide”? It was abominable, an imposture. She saw his lips yell, “Stop. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless. Her mouth dry, she made her feet walk on, not daring to utter a word. I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. “You too sing?” he asked. After all, that was life. . Can I give him any message for you?” “Thank you,” Anna answered.
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