CHAPTER XV.
They met daily at the theatre, and they went for walks together.
Nanteuil was playing almost every night, and was eagerly working at her part of Cecile.

She was gradually recovering her peace of mind; her nights were less disturbed; she no longer made her mother hold her hand while she fell asleep and no longer found herself suffocating in nightmares.

A fortnight went by in this fashion.

Then, one morning, while sitting at her dressing-table, combing her hairs she bent her head toward the glass, as the weather was overcast, and she saw in it, not her own face, but the face of the dead man.

A thread of blood was trickling from one corner of his mouth; he was smiling and gazing at her.
Thereupon she decided to do what she thought would be the proper and efficacious thing.