By and by he ventured to peer into this window. Answering him was agonizing. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. I freely forgive you. They did not care— servant or master, it meant nothing. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things.
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