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216
A Thread Breaks
had a temperament which seemed to scent instinctively every change of feeling—and she threw her arms above her head with that gesture of weariness which I had seen before.
“Adié, chè,” she said abruptly.
“Good-night, Cecily,” I answered, rising, smiling in spite of myself at my curt dismissal, at her change of tone.
“Bon-Dié ké beni ou!”
“And you, Cecily.”
As I turned to the door, I heard the rustle of her gown as she arose from the couch. My hand on the knob, I glanced around, expecting to find her at my elbow. Instead, she was kneeling, with bowed head, before her Virgin.
