There was a chair by the table from which he had evidently just risen.

He turned to it and sat down, watching her under his hand.
"What is your decision ?" he asked again.
She shook her head.

Her agony of fear was passing, but still she could not tell him yet.
He waited silently, his face so shaded by his hand that she could not read its expression.
"Why don't you answer me ?" he said at last.
"I--can't!" she said, with a sob.
"You leave the decision to me ?" he questioned.
She did not answer.
He straightened himself slowly, without rising.
"My decision is made," he said.

"Give me your hand; not that one--the left." She obeyed him trembling.

He had taken something from his pocket.