The commissionaire stood there, tall and imperturbable. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. And, mind! no prevaricating—nothing but the truth will satisfy me. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. The perception of him flooded her being. Nevertheless, one day Sebastian looked at her and said, “Your smile today is delightful, my Lucia. “If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. There are some papers I have to look through to-night—important papers. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. The stranger looked at him as if strongly disposed to chastise his impertinence. I am a murderer.
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