After all, it is a matter of life and death."
"Not even for two minutes, dear; neither life nor death is worth it."
He had taken hold of both her hands and was stroking them with the tips of his fingers.
"Don't look so grave, Minerva!
You'll make me cry in a minute, and then you'll be sorry.
I do wish you'd smile again; you have such a d-delightfully unexpected smile. There now, don't scold me, dear!
Let us eat our biscuits together, like two good children, without quarrelling over them --for to-morrow we die."
He took a sweet biscuit from the plate and carefully halved it, breaking the sugar ornament down the middle with scrupulous exactness.
"This is a kind of sacrament, like what the goody-goody people have in church.
'Take, eat; this is my body.'
And we must d-drink the wine out of the s-s-same glass, you know--yes, that is right.
'Do this in remembrance----'"
She put down the glass.
"Don't!" she said, with almost a sob.
He looked up, and took her hands again.
"Hush, then!
Let us be quiet for a little bit.
When one of us dies, the other will remember this.
We will forget this loud, insistent world that howls about our ears; we will go away together, hand in hand; we will go away into the secret halls of death, and lie among the poppy-flowers.
Hush!
We will be quite still."
He laid his head down against her knee and covered his face.
In the silence she bent over him, her hand on the black head.
So the time slipped on and on; and they neither moved nor spoke.
"Dear, it is almost twelve," she said at last.
He raised his head.
"We have only a few minutes more; Martini will be back presently.
Perhaps we shall never see each other again.
Have you nothing to say to me?"
He slowly rose and walked away to the other side of the room.
There was a moment's silence.
"I have one thing to say," he began in a hardly audible voice; "one thing--to tell you----"
He stopped and sat down by the window, hiding his face in both hands.
"You have been a long time deciding to be merciful," she said softly.
"I have not seen much mercy in my life; and I thought--at first--you wouldn't care----"
"You don't think that now."
She waited a moment for him to speak and then crossed the room and stood beside him.
"Tell me the truth at last," she whispered. "Think, if you are killed and I not--I should have to go through all my life and never know--never be quite sure----"
He took her hands and clasped them tightly.
"If I am killed---- You see, when I went to South America---- Ah, Martini!"
He broke away with a violent start and threw open the door of the room.
Martini was rubbing his boots on the mat.
"Punctual to the m-m-minute, as usual!
You're an an-n-nimated chronometer, Martini.
Is that the r-r-riding-cloak?"
"Yes; and two or three other things.
I have kept them as dry as I could, but it's pouring with rain.
You will have a most uncomfortable ride, I'm afraid."
"Oh, that's no matter.
Is the street clear?"