"Oh! nothin' partickler—mere curossity," replied Terence. He had his sections of the Siegfried map folded in his pocket, and he squatted up with his legs crossed like an Indian idol while she lay prone beside him and followed every movement of his indicatory finger. "Don't scourge me," she cried, trying to hide herself in the farthest corner of the cell. She knew, or guessed his mission too, for more than once their eyes met, and she laughed mockingly at him. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. John laughed even harder, his eyes misting over. “What did you say?” “Well, I considered myself justified in denying it,” Anna answered drily. "Here," repeated her brother. And it had not shocked her! It was this appalling absence of indignation that had put terror into her heart.
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