He chatted with the utmost nonchalance, telling his wife about the insignificant happenings of the day, the prospects of the crops, what such and such a one had said to him, and what he had told the other in return.

It was innocent gossip, intimate chat, such as a contented husband may tell a wife in whom he places entire confidence.
How happy she felt at the harmless chatter, and yet how intensely miserable.

His inquiry, "Are you ill ?" rang in her ears with a sickening clang, like some overwhelming reproach.

Why, oh why, had she not spoken to him in time?
He was so good to her.

Now it was too late; and beside, why anticipate the fatal hour when he must know all?
Why not improve the few moments of respite granted ere death came?
Say Koitza suffered him to continue, and listened with increasing interest to the talk of her husband.