Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. All emotions laid hold of him, but none could he stay long enough to analyze it. She tended the twins while the Clotilde was in Sebastian’s private chambers, a place she gave a wide berth. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. The hour for which, presumably, she had been created was drawing nigh. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him.
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