Then he went to the other door and opened it and opened the one beyond upon the terrace, and she knew that he was looking out to see if any one were there.

But presently he came back and sat down, and she distinctly heard the rustle of the strong writing-paper as he unfolded a letter.

It was hers.

He was going to read it, as they had agreed.
So she sat down where she could look at the door, and she tried to force her eyes to see through it, to make him feel that she was watching him, that she came near him and stood beside him, and softly read the words for him, but without looking at them, because she knew them all by heart.

But it was not the same as if she had seen him, and it was very hard to be shut off from his sight by an impenetrable piece of wood, to lose all the moments that might pass before the King chose to come.
Another hour might pass.