He jumped up, put on his dressing-gown and went into the drawing-room.
With trembling knees he listened outside Helena's door.

Not a sound. He took heart of grace, and approached a step or two.
Blue flashes of lightning darted before his eyes as he knocked.

No answer. He trembled violently and beads of perspiration stood on
his forehead.

He knocked again. And in a falsetto voice, proceeding from a parched
throat, he said:

"It's only I."

No answer. Overwhelmed with shame, he returned to his room, puzzled
and chilled.

She was in earnest, then.

He crept between the sheets and again took up the paper.

He hadn't been reading long when he heard footsteps in the street which
gradually approached and then stopped. Soft music fell on his ear, deep,
strong voices set in:

"Integer vitae sclerisque purus...."

He was touched. How beautiful it was!

Purus! He felt lifted above matter. It was in accordance with the spirit