She sits there like a shadow, an apparition, and the fog floats over her
red hair like smoke over a fire.

I know nothing whatever about her. She is as reserved about her own
concerns as I am about mine. Yet I feel as though during this hour of
intense fear and agitation I had seen into the depths of her soul. I
understand her, because we are both women. She suffers from the eternal
unrest of the blood.

She has had a shock to her inmost feelings. At some time or other she
has been so deeply wounded that she cannot live again in peace.

She and I have so much in common that we might be blood-relations. But
we ought not to live under the same roof as mistress and servant.

* * * * *

Gradually the fog is dispersing, and the lights burn brighter. I seem to
follow Jeanne's dreams as they pass beneath her brow. Her mouth has
fallen a little open, as if she were dead. Every moment she starts up;
but when she sees me she smiles and drops off again. Good heavens, how
utterly exhausted she seems after these hours of fear!

But somebody _is_ there! Yes ... outside ... there between the trees ...
I see somebody coming....

It is only Torp, with her lantern, and the dressmaker from the
neighbouring village. The moment she opened the basement door and I
heard her voice I felt quite myself again.