Page:The Bet and Other Stories.djvu/115

Rh "I don't know."

Katy gets up and gives me her hand with a cold smile, looking away from me.

I would like to ask her: "That means you won't be at my funeral?" But she does not look at me; her hand is cold and like a stranger's. I escort her to the door in silence. . . . She goes out of my room and walks down the long passage, without looking back. She knows that my eyes are following her, and probably on the landing she will look back.

No, she did not look back. The black dress showed for the last time, her steps were stilled. . . . Goodbye, my treasure!