Tom came back home before dinner. He was worried for Marie but her mother told him that it was nothing. Tom kissed Marie goodbye at her bed. At least her color came back, he noticed.

He couldn't sleep that night. Instead of idly wrestling with his pillows, he stood and smoked endlessly, and roamed aimlessly around his room. His thoughts were of her. That face. Nver without a smile. Her eyes. Occasionally with tears. She is an enigma.

He glanced at the canvas and grapsed his easel and brushes and paints. He painted till the roosters chuckled. It was finished before dawn. Soon, mother will be awake. I must go to bed now, he thought.

He slept like a child, out of mere exhaustion. But his dreams were still of Marie.

* * *