shoulders and lighted a cigarette. But his long Mongolian eyes never ceased their exploration of her face.
"Voyons, Carlotta, du courage!"
"I am unhappy!"
"I want to be back in Milan! I want my country, my comrades—everything! This terrible sun burns into my whole body. I can't dance, I can't eat, I can t sleep! "You have ambition!"
"Oh, yes! But this—this is more than I can stand. And Varsovina hates me. Yes, really she hates me! She is glad, when she sees me so weak and stupid. She s jealous. She would like to leave me behind in a hospital.
"Carlotta, listen to me!"
He threw away his cigarette.
"What is it?"
He touched her cheek gently, turning her face toward his own.
"Carlotta, you are unhappy because you are lonely. Isn't that so? Well, you shall be lonely no longer." "No?"
She was doubtful; she looked at him helplessly, with tears still glistening upon her eyelashes.
"No," said Borek fïrmly. He laughed.
"Carlotta, my little Carlotta, I love you very much, and I desire you with all my heart! You are so beautiful. You are a child. I love you. There! What do you say to that?"
And he smiled again, looking down at her with the vivid slanting eyes that made him so much resemble a
"What do you say to that?" he repeated, putting his
arm about her waist.