loved me—I knew it the moment I saw you again—never by one word or look did you try to show me that you did.
"As I look back now, it seems to me that I saw almost as much of you as I did of Robert. We were always together, we three. I used to try to marry you to my friends, but although you were always charming to them, you were never more than that.
"And then, years later, Robert was made ambassador to Italy. It was a tremendous step up, and you rejoiced with us, as you always did at our good fortune. The first year we were in Rome, Robert was very ill with fever. He thought he was going to die. He was always apt to exaggerate his illnesses. He told me he had something on his mind, and he gave me your letter, and told me what he had done. I forgave him, I had to forgive him, and we never spoke of it again. But I never dared to read it, Stephen. I put it away in this box. I didn't dare to open that wound."
There was silence again. Stephen felt he could say nothing. Robert had been his closest friend—they had been like brothers—and he had done this! What was there for him to say?
"I am telling you this now," Madame Claire
