customed to get up, and then went downstairs. His heart beat so violently as he touched her door that he paused for breath. His hand as it lay on the lock was limp and tremulous, almost incapable of the slight effort of turning the handle to open it. He knocked. His mother's voice inquired:
"Who is there?"
"I—Pierre."
"What do you want?"
"Only to say good-morning, because I am going to spend the day at Trouville with some friends."
"But I am still in bed."
"Very well, do not disturb yourself. I shall see you this evening, when I come in."
He hoped to get off without seeing her, without pressing on her cheek the false kiss which it made his heart sick to think of. But she replied:
"No. Wait a moment. I will let you in. Wait till I get into bed again."
He heard her bare feet on the floor and the sound of the bolt drawn back. Then she called out:
"Come in."
He went in. She was sitting up in bed, while, by her side, Roland, with a silk handkerchief by way of night-cap and his face to the wall, still lay
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