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They both looked.

"Well?" Marie inquired.

"If you still don't understand, you have not used your eyes."

"Mais enfin, qu'est-ce-qu'il y a?"

But Marie had seen in the mirror exactly what her mistress saw there—a gray pinched face with strange deep lines plowed in it, and eyes that stared wearily, rimmed with the black shadows of intense fatigue.

Therefore Marie said, after another pause, in tones of extreme and forced cheerfulness:

"But Madame looks exceedingly well! Is that the only trouble?"

"No," said Lina, very dryly, to this.

"Then what?"

She answered painfully, flushing with the effort of an agonizing confession: "Nothing new, perhaps. Only that I am an old woman. No doubt I should have seen it before."

"But what nonsense! And there's rouge, and powder. and the new lipsalve from Paris!"

"Indeed?"

Marie repeated, vaguely, aware of a sudden darkness that stirred, menacing in the air:

"Madame must really hurry!"

"No, I teil you!" And then in a tone of infïnite despair. "You must go down and send him away. I can't see him. How could I see him? I must have been mad to forget what I have become."

"Madame, you can't be serious?"

"Will you please go at once and give that message? It's only unkind to keep him waiting like this, all for nothing."

"But he will be demented! Monsieur Guy will be demented!"

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