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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a6556c --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62637 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62637) diff --git a/old/62637-0.txt b/old/62637-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index de741f8..0000000 --- a/old/62637-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5145 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess Sonia, by Julia Magruder - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Princess Sonia - -Author: Julia Magruder - -Illustrator: Charles Dana Gibson - -Release Date: July 13, 2020 [EBook #62637] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS SONIA *** - - - - -Produced by D A Alexander, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE PRINCESS SONIA - -[Illustration: “THE BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMAN ... HAD STEPPED BACK FROM HER - EASEL.” (SEE PAGE 3.)] - - - - - THE PRINCESS SONIA - - BY - - JULIA MAGRUDER - - [Illustration] - - WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY - CHARLES DANA GIBSON - - - [Illustration] - - - NEW YORK - THE CENTURY CO. - 1895 - - - - - Copyright, 1895, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - - THE DE VINNE PRESS. - - - - - TO GENEVIEVE - - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -“THE BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMAN ... HAD -STEPPED BACK FROM HER EASEL” _Frontispiece_ - - FACING PAGE - -“A LITTLE AMERICAN CHATTERBOX” 6 - -“A TALL OLD MAN” 16 - -“THE PRINCESS WAS VERY TALL” 20 - -“‘IT WILL BE QUITE SAFE, I SEE’” 31 - -“‘AH, I HAVE MADE A MISTAKE, I SEE’” PAGE 37 - -“‘ALICE HAS A FINE VOICE’” 39 - -“IN THE AMERICAN COLONY” 43 - -“HER HEAD IN ITS LARGE PLUMED HAT” 50 - -“‘IS IT YOU, MARTHA?’” 58 - -“‘OH, I AM SO, SO SORRY’” 60 - -“THE MAN WHO STOOD WAITING TO GIVE THE -BRIDE” 76 - -“‘I KNEW IT WAS ANGUISH TO YOU’” PAGE 92 - -“AS SHE HAD SEEN HER ONCE BEFORE” 93 - -“‘OH, SONIA, WERE YOU EVER REALLY AS HAPPY -AS THAT?’” 98 - -“‘I BEG YOUR PARDON,’ HE SAID AGAIN” 104 - -“AMONG THE FLOWER-STALLS” 106 - -“SONIA PASSED VERY NEAR HIM” 124 - -“SHE PUT ON A LONG CLOAK” 196 - - - - -THE PRINCESS SONIA - - - - -I - - -MARTHA KEENE had been at work for several months in Etienne’s atelier, -in the Latin quarter of Paris, and although her appearance would have -led one to believe her frail in health, she had never missed a -working-day, and always occupied a good position well in view of the -model, because she always came among the earliest to secure it. Her work -was far from brilliant, and Etienne had noticed her very little at -first. If he did so more of late, it was her ability to stick which had -won her this favor. So many students had come and gone, rousing his -hopes only to disappoint them, that it had got to be rather a comfort to -the little old man to be sure of one earnest worker always in her place; -and while he could not say that her work was good, it was certainly not -bad. - -Recently he had told Martha this several times. “Not bad” was about the -highest praise that most of Etienne’s pupils got from him; and when the -young American girl heard it for the first time applied to her work, she -experienced what was perhaps one of the most thrilling sensations of her -life. - -It was followed by another thrilling sensation; for, as she looked up -from the canvas which the master had thus commended, she met the -beautiful eyes of the princess, turned upon her with a congratulatory -smile. - -It was almost too much for Martha. Her heart thumped so that her -breathing became rapid and a little difficult. Instead of answering the -princess’s smile, a frown contracted her forehead; for she was afraid -that she was going to lose her self-control, and she needed a stern -effort not to do so. Martha had a heart which was made for worshiping. -Etienne and the princess were two of the people that she worshiped, and -there was a third. - -When Etienne had passed on, after smudging one part of her drawing with -his thumb until it was a dirty blur, and scratching another part with -ruthless streaks of soft charcoal, she remembered she had received his -first words of encouragement rather coldly, and had made the same sort -of return for the princess’s smile. This plunged her from a state of -delight into one of wretchedness. She looked toward the master with some -hope of making amends; but he was too absorbed in his next criticism, -and it was only too evident that her chance was gone. Then she glanced -at the princess, to receive the same impression from that quarter. The -beautiful young woman on whom her eyes rested had stepped back from her -easel, and with her head turned sidewise, and her eyelids drawn up, was -looking at her picture. She held a brush in one hand, with the fingers -delicately poised, and in the other her palette, laid with brilliant -dabs of color. Her lips were pursed critically, and her whole attitude -and expression showed such absorption in her work that Martha felt it -would be absurd to imagine that she or her behavior could have any part -in that beautiful lady’s consciousness. - -As usual, when Martha allowed herself to look at the princess, she -forgot everything else. She had long ago had to make it a rule to place -her easel so that she would be turned away from her enchantress while -she was working; otherwise she could see and think only of her. At the -present moment she was completely fascinated by the tall, strong figure, -so firmly poised, with one foot advanced, and her body thrown backward -from the slender waist, where a belt of old silver confined the folds of -her red silk shirt-waist above the sweep of her skirt of dark green -serge. This was her ordinary working-rig; and as she wore no apron, as -most of the other students did, it was more or less streaked with paint. -Martha herself wore her calico apron religiously, and was always neatly -clothed beneath it; but she would have protested utterly against seeing -her neighbor in an apron. It would have looked so unprincesslike! She -was very tall and straight, this princess, and “Serene Highness” seemed -to Martha to be written on every inch of her. - -There was not much sociability among the students in the atelier. They -came from many different countries, and spoke many different tongues; -and they were such a mixture of aristocrats and plebeians--some were so -afraid of patronizing and others of being patronized,--that the -conditions generally were such as were opposed to much mixing. Talking -was forbidden during work-hours, except the little absolutely necessary -whispering; and in the intermission at noon the princess always went -away for lunch, and sometimes did not return. Martha, too, went to her -mother’s apartment for the midday meal, though nothing ever prevented -her from returning. Some of the students had chums, with whom they -chatted glibly in the cloak-room; but as a rule, these intimacies had -been formed outside. - -Martha Keene was a girl who would never have made the first advance -toward an acquaintance with any one; for, although she had passed her -twentieth year, she was incorrigibly shy. This reserve of manner was so -evident that it discouraged advances from others. She knew this and -regretted it, but could not help it. - -It had pleased Martha very much when, on a single occasion, this wall of -isolation which she had built around herself had been broken through by -a little American chatterbox, who had rattled away to her for ten -minutes one day as she was waiting for her carriage in the cloak-room. -This had been soon after her entrance at Etienne’s, and her voluble -country-woman had vanished from the horizon the next day; but in that -one talk she had got almost all the knowledge of the atelier which she -possessed. - -Her informant had told her that the students were not supposed to -inquire about one another at all, the ideal of the atelier being a place -where high and low alike could lay aside their disabilities and get the -benefits of the common workshop. She added that there had been several -personages of importance studying there since she herself had been a -student, but that she had always heard of it from the outside, and they -had generally left before she had identified them. “I spotted the -princess, though,” she had said. “As soon as I heard that there was a -Russian princess studying here, I picked her out. Do you know which one -she is?” Martha had answered, “The lady in the red blouse”--a guess at -once confirmed. “Isn’t she stunning?” her companion had gone on; “I’m -dying to speak to her! If she were not a princess, I’d have done it long -ago. I can’t go the Russian; but no doubt she speaks every language. -Russians always do.” At this point of the conversation the lady herself -had come into the cloak-room. A neat French maid who was - -[Illustration: “A LITTLE AMERICAN CHATTERBOX.”] - -in waiting had come forward, and held out her lady’s wrap, a magnificent -sable thing, in which the beautiful creature had quickly infolded -herself, and left the room, the two girls meanwhile making a tremendous -effort to cover their breathless interest by an air of unconsciousness. - -Ever since that day--indeed, even before it--Martha had been a silent -worshiper at the shrine of the princess. She had a passionate love of -beauty, and her heart, for all her grave and shy exterior, was packed as -full of romance as it could hold. The discovery that this beautiful -being was a princess--and a Russian princess, of all others--was meet -food for this appetite for the romantic; and she dreamed by the hour -about this young woman’s life, and wondered what it had been and was to -be. She knew she could not be many years older than herself, and she -wondered, with burning interest, whether she was or was not married. -Sometimes she would hold to one opinion for days, and then something--a -mere turn of expression, perhaps--would convert her to the opposite one. -She wanted her to be unmarried, so that she might be free to construct -from her imagination a beautiful future for her; and yet she dreaded to -find out that she was married. There was certainly a look about the -princess which contradicted Martha’s ideal of her as the possessor of a -fair, unwritten life-page. Martha had watched her hands to see if she -wore a wedding-ring; but those extraordinarily beautiful hands were -either loaded down with jeweled gauds of antique workmanship or else -quite ringless. Still, many married women were careless about wearing -their wedding-rings, a thing which Martha herself could not comprehend; -but she felt that this wonderful creature was removed as far as possible -from her in both actuality and ideas. - -Martha had heard the sound of the princess’s voice only once or twice, -and on those occasions she had spoken French with what seemed to the -American girl an absolutely perfect accent. Once she had been near -enough to hear a little talk between the princess and Etienne, as he was -criticizing the former’s work with rather more humanness, Martha -thought, than he showed to the students generally; and once or twice -when the princess had been placed near the model’s little retiring-room, -Martha had had the joy of hearing her divinity give the summons, in the -usual atelier jargon, “C’est l’heure!” It seemed to the girl a most -lovable act of condescension on the part of her Serene Highness. - -One day (it was the day after Etienne had told her that her drawing was -“not bad,” and the princess had smiled at her) Martha was working away, -when she became aware that an easel was being pushed into the unoccupied -space at her right hand. She had known that some one would soon take -possession of this place, and she did not even look round to see who it -was. Her whole attention was bent on making Etienne see that his -encouragement had yielded good fruit, even though she had made no verbal -acknowledgment of it. She went on drawing, with intense concentration, -until, weary at last, she put down her charcoal, and stood resting her -arms, with her hands on her hips. As she finished her scrutiny of her -work, and looked around, she started to discover that it was the -princess who was seated at the easel next her own, and was looking full -at her. As Martha, confused and delighted, encountered that gaze, the -beautiful lady’s lips parted in a friendly smile, and she whispered -gently, - -“Bon jour.” - -Martha crimsoned with pleasure as she returned the greeting, and then -both fell to work again. The princess was painting, laying on her color -in a broad and daring style that almost frightened her neighbor. Martha -watched her furtively while she crumbled her bread, and pretended to be -erasing and touching up certain points in her picture. It was a -bewildering delight to her to stand so close to the princess and see her -at work, and she was agreeably aware that the princess was also aware of -her, and perhaps even pleased at their being together. - -When the time came for the model to rest, and the quiet of the room was -a little relieved by the whispered talk that sprang up among the -students as they waited, Martha felt that the princess had inclined -toward her a little, and was looking at her work. She put down as -childish the impulse that rushed up in her to cover the picture from -sight, or to say how bad she knew it was, and she stood very still and -very much embarrassed until the princess said again, in that exquisite -utterance of French subtleties, - -“C’est bien difficile, n’est-ce pas?” - -Martha answered her somehow--she never knew what. - -When the model came back, and they began to work again, she felt that -she had become part of a wonderful experience. She had never seen the -princess talking to any one else, and, amazing and undeserved as the -tribute was, she could not be mistaken in thinking that the lovely lady -wished to know her, and perhaps to allow her the dear privilege of such -intercourse as their atelier life permitted. She never expected it to go -beyond that; but that was far more than anything she had imagined. - -Across one corner of her canvas Martha’s name was scrawled in full, and -she knew that the princess must have seen it. She looked to see if there -was any signature upon the princess’s picture, and, as if interpreting -her thought, her neighbor, with a brilliant smile, dipped her brush in -vermilion, and wrote in a bold, strong hand the word “Sonia.” This name -(which Martha did not know to be the Russian abbreviation of Sophia) -seemed to the girl very odd and beautiful, and peculiarly appropriate to -its possessor. - - - - -II - - -Martha said nothing to her mother and sisters of her encounter with the -princess. She had a way of locking very close in her heart her most -personal and sacred feelings, and all that related to the princess was -sacred to her now. During her earlier years she had so often been -laughed at for an enthusiast that she had learned to keep back what she -felt most strongly; and for that very reason, perhaps, the intensity of -her feelings grew greater as she grew older. The enthusiasm of her life -was for her only brother, whom she worshiped with a blind idolatry of -the extent of which even he was unaware. There had been one or two other -divinities in her horizon, always second to Harold; but at this period -of her life she was suffering from a sense of disappointment in these -as, one after the other, they had come short of her ardent expectations. -She was now, therefore, in the exact state of mind to take on a new -object of worship. This the princess had become. - -It was not surprising that Martha’s ideal had been so repeatedly -unrealized, for it was a difficult one. She had suffered acutely from -her former disappointments, and had even resolved never to pin her faith -and hope on another woman. But the princess was not to be resisted. -Martha felt that even if her goddess never spoke to her again, she was -worthy of all adoration. - -As the young girl drove through the streets of Paris in the early -morning of the day following her brief interview with the princess, her -heart was very happy. - -In appearance Martha was small and rather plain; and no one would have -noticed her, perhaps, but for the concentration of expression on her -face as she looked out of the carriage window on her way to her atelier -in the Latin Quarter. The people abroad at that hour were not of a class -to pay much attention to such a look on a girl’s face. The little army -of street-cleaners, occupying their brief hour with busy industry to -produce the beautiful effect of gay cleanliness which the world enjoyed -later in the day, had no time to notice Martha, and she was as unaware -of them. Even the ice on the figures in the fountains of the Place de la -Concorde, which she generally admired in passing, she did not so much as -see to-day. The “cold sea-maidens” wore an unusually beautiful veil of -mist, made by the freezing spray, and Martha might have got an -impression for some future picture if she had studied it with the early -sunlight on it. - -But she was thinking only of the princess as she drove along and crossed -the bridge and entered old Paris. Here, too, all was familiar, for -Martha had taken this drive daily for months, and there was nothing to -disturb her preoccupation until she reached the Invalides, where her -hero-worshiping soul never failed to offer a passing tribute of awe to -the ashes of Napoleon. - -As she turned into a cross street farther on, a little funeral -procession met her. This sight, too, was familiar; but no wont and usage -could keep Martha from being deeply moved as often as she witnessed the -pitiful little ceremonial which attends the burial of the very poor in -Paris. - -It is usually in the early morning that these funerals occur, as there -seems to be a demand upon the poor to give up to the more prosperous -even the space in the streets which they, with their dead, lay claim to -for so short a time. This was a child’s funeral, or, rather, it was the -funeral of two children. There was neither hearse nor carriage. Each -little coffin was borne upon a wretched bier carried by rough and shabby -men, who appeared cross and reluctant in their miserable, faded -trappings of mourning. Looking carefully, Martha discovered that there -was a separate family of mourners to each little bier; and as the whole -procession was under the command of a tall old man, who held his -shoulders very erect, as if to atone for a limp in one leg, she -comprehended that this bedizened old undertaker, with the ragged crape -on his cocked hat and the dirty bunches of black and white ribbons on -the end of his long staff of office, had consolidated his duties, -probably at a slight and very welcome discount to his poor patrons, and -was burying the dead of two families at once. Directly after him came -the bearers of the light coffin, and just behind it were five little -children, four girls and a boy, walking abreast, and dressed in -mourning. This mourning consisted of hastily fashioned aprons made of -dull black calico, and so carelessly fitted that the many-colored -undergarments of the children showed plainly at every opening. The -children were regular little steps, the boy being the youngest; and cold -as it was, they were all bareheaded. Each carried a sprig of yellow -bloom, which resembled, if indeed it was not, the mustard-flower. This -they held very stiffly and correctly in their right hands, and they -walked with an air of the utmost decorum. Behind them came their father -and mother, the former looking more apathetic than sad, and the latter -carrying with some complacency the dignity of a dingy and draggled crape -veil, in frank contrast to a blue-and-green plaid dress. She was taller -than her husband, and leaned awkwardly upon his arm, keeping no time -whatever to his shuffling gait. Then came the other coffin and the -second group of mourners, who were evidently not so fashionable as the -first; for they made no effort at mourning, and walked after their -little dead one with nothing like a flower, and in their common -working-clothes. - -While Martha’s carriage was passing this - -[Illustration: “A TALL OLD MAN.”] - -procession, she saw on the other side of them, going in the same -direction with her, a smart turnout in which a gentleman was driving, -with a groom behind. The horses shone like satin, and their harness -jingled and glittered in the morning sunshine. The gentleman and his -servant were dressed with a brilliant effect of care and detail. The -former was smoking a cigarette, and had a scarlet flower in his coat. - -As the little funeral procession passed this carriage, the young swell -who was driving bared his head, with its smoothly parted blond hair, -remaining uncovered until the procession had passed, his servant -imitating his act. This little tribute of homage to death which the -French take the pains to perform always touched and pleased Martha. She -thought of the absurdity of this man’s uncovering his head to that -pauper baby alive; but the mystery of death imparted to it a majesty -which the equal mystery of life could not. This child was a partaker of -the knowledge of the unknown, into which Napoleon, lying near by, had -also entered, and was, with him, divided from the merely mortal. - -Martha thought of this as she watched the showy carriage, which had -relaxed its speed for a moment, whirling rapidly away toward the -outskirts of the city. She wondered where that handsome, -prosperous-looking, well-bred man was going at this early hour. Probably -to fight a duel, she thought, in her romantic way! Perhaps in a few -hours’ time he might be as dead as the poor little baby; and perhaps -there was some one who loved and adored him as she did Harold! - -These were the ideas which filled her mind as she reached the atelier, -there to learn that there was a disappointment about the model, who had -failed to come. - -She was about to take off her wraps, and go to work on some drawings -from casts, when an exquisite voice behind her said suddenly, “Pardon, -mademoiselle,” and she turned to meet the gaze of the princess fixed -upon her with a smile of lovely friendliness. - -“What are you going to do?” she said in that faultless French which -Martha had already admired. - -For a moment the girl was quite overcome at such unexpected -graciousness. Then she managed to say in her own faulty though perfectly -fluent French, that she had thought she would go on and do what she -could without a model. - -“It is so dull, after having that glorious Antonio to pose for one,” -said the princess. “I am not in the humor, and my carriage is gone. -Yours, perhaps, is gone also. Do you feel like drawing to-day? Or do -you, perhaps, feel more like calling a cab, and taking a drive with me? -I should like it. Will you go?” - -Martha crimsoned with pleasure as she accepted the invitation. There was -no mistaking her delight at the suggestion. - -“You are very good to go,” said the other, “especially as you know -nothing of me, I suppose.” - -“I know only that you are the princess--the Russian princess,” said -Martha. - -Her companion frowned slightly, and, Martha thought, looked a little -annoyed. She reflected that she ought not, perhaps, to have told her -that her secret had been discovered. - -The little frown soon passed, however, and the princess smiled genially -as she said: - -“I am living incognito in Paris to study painting, and I do not go into -the world. When I am not working I am often bored, and I frequently long -for companionship. You make me very grateful by giving me yours this -morning.” - -The princess was very tall--so tall that when Martha walked at her side -she had to turn her face upward to speak to her. They walked along in -the most natural companionship until they reached a cab-stand nearby, -and Martha thought her divinity more worshipful than ever as she stood -wrapped in her long cloak, with a large, black-plumed hat crowning her -beautiful head, and said some words of gentle pity about the poor old, -weak-kneed cab-horses drawn up in a line. - -When they had entered a cab, and were seated side by side, the princess -said abruptly: - -“If you had not heard something of me, I should have told you nothing. -Why should we ask questions about each other? We meet to-day, art -students in a Paris atelier, and we shall part to-morrow. What have we -to do with formalities? Of you I know that you are a young American -studying painting here, and I think, in a way, sympathetic to me. I am -content to know that, and no more, of you. Do you feel the same about -me?” - -Martha replied eagerly in the affirmative, and in five minutes the two -had come to a perfect understanding. The girl felt her awe at being in -“the presence” gradually fading away, - -[Illustration: “THE PRINCESS WAS VERY TALL.”] - -as this winning young woman sat and talked with her on a footing of -friendly equality. It was after a short silence between them that the -princess said: - -“There are one or two things that it will be necessary for you to -know--that is, if you like me well enough to come to see me, as I hope -you do. I am living in the Rue Presbourg, and when you come to see me, -you are to ask for the apartment of the Princess Mannernorff. You will -come, will you not?” - -“Oh, if you will only let me, it will be my greatest happiness!” said -Martha. “I can’t understand what has made you so good to me!” - -“Simply, I like you. It isn’t hard to understand. I’ve noticed you a -long time, and I’ve liked you more and more. I like your manner; I like -your face; I like your devotion to your work; and I like your work.” - -“My work! My scratching and smudging, you mean! Oh, how _can_ you notice -it or care for it when you look at yours? Every one must see that -Etienne knows that you are his best pupil. He does not speak to any one -as he does to you, and you must know as well as I that it is not because -you are a princess.” - -“Yes, of course; I know that perfectly well. But I fancy that Etienne, -in his little critical heart, feels that he hasn’t got out of me what he -looked for at first. At least, I have that idea; and you see I have -studied enough, compared with you, to be a great deal further ahead of -you than I am. I have digged and delved for that treasure more than you -realize. I hope to do something tolerable some day; but I’m not as -confident about it as I used to be, and I fear Etienne is not, either. -Oh, I _wish_ I could!” - -She said this with such fervor, and followed it by such a wistful sigh, -that Martha, who had not yet taken in the idea that the princess might -not be the all-fortunate creature she imagined, felt a sudden protest -against the thought of her wishing for anything vainly. - -“Surely you will!” she said. “I can’t imagine your wanting anything very -much without getting it.” - -The princess laughed, throwing up her chin, and looking at Martha with -an indulgent smile. - -“You can’t?” she exclaimed. “Well, if you take the trouble to continue -my acquaintance, you will find that I’ve missed pretty much everything -in life that I very greatly wanted. It is sad, but true.” - -Martha did not answer, but she looked as if she would like to speak out -something that was on her mind, and her companion saw this, and said: - -“What is it? Speak! I give you full permission.” - -“It was nothing,” said Martha, rather confusedly. “I was wondering about -you--as, of course, I can’t help doing. I don’t want to be told things, -however. I would far rather imagine how they are.” - -“Very, very sensible. I see that I shall like you more and more. There -are a few things, however, which it will be well for you to know. For -instance,”--she paused, with a slight look of reluctance, and then went -on rapidly,--“no doubt you wonder whether I am married.” - -Martha’s eyes confirmed her. - -A cloud seemed to have settled with surprising suddenness upon the face -of the princess. She looked fixedly at the passing prospect outside the -window as, after a moment of difficult silence, she said almost -brusquely: - -“I am a widow.” Then she turned and looked at Martha. “You will -understand, for the future,” she went on more naturally, “my wish for -silence on this subject. I am living temporarily in Paris with my aunt. -I used to know French society well, but I am out of it now, and I don’t -regret it. Painting is the only thing I really care for--that, and -music, and some books; some, but not many. Books give such false ideas -of life. I think it was what I read in books that led me to expect so -much. I was not to be convinced but that all the happiness I imagined -was quite possible; and when it would not come to me, I thought there -was a force in me which could compel it. As a rule, I’ve given that idea -up; but there are times even yet when it rises and conquers me. I know -it is very foolish, and that experience cures one of such feelings, but -I’m not altogether cured yet, in spite of hard and repeated blows.” - -Martha had listened with intense interest, and now, as her companion -paused, she felt that she ought to volunteer, on her part, some sort of -sketch of herself and her surroundings. - -“I don’t care to tell you anything about myself,” she said, “because -it’s so uninteresting. My father has been dead a great many years; mama -is delicate; and we live in Paris so that I may study painting and the -younger girls may have lessons. We go to America for the summers. My -brother is the eldest of us, and he lives there. The younger girls are -pretty, and mama wishes them to go into society and to be admired. She -used also to wish this for me, but she saw how I hated it, and how -little chance I had in it, so she lets me alone now, particularly since -I got Harold to speak to her.” - -“Are you sure that she would not disapprove of your friendship with me, -knowing of me only the little that you are able to tell her?” - -“Yes; I’m certain of it. She wouldn’t mind. She knows I never get into -mischief. I feel perfectly free to do as I choose about this, and I -don’t mean to mention you to any one--not because there would be any -objection, but because you are too sacred to me, and if you let me be -your friend, I can’t share that knowledge and possession with any one.” - -Martha was determined to say this, but she did not accomplish it without -a good deal of hesitation and embarrassment. Her companion looked at her -with a sort of wondering scrutiny. - -“Where do you get that earnest, concentrated nature, I wonder--so -different from mine!” she said. “Does it go with the American character? -Your words are very foolish, child; but it is so long since any one has -held me sacred that I am ridiculously touched by it.” - -There was something that looked like rising tears in the beautiful eyes -of the princess; but a gay little laugh soon banished the shadow from -both her face and her voice. Suddenly she sat upright and said: - -“Suppose you come home with me now! I want you to learn the ways of the -place, so that you may come and go as you please. Will you come with me -there to-day?” - -Martha agreed at once, and with evident satisfaction the princess leaned -out of the window, and gave the address to the cabman. - - - - -III - - -Martha felt herself in a dream of delight as she descended from the cab, -and, following the princess into the courtyard of a large -apartment-house in the Rue Presbourg, mounted the stairs at her side. - -Their ring was answered by a foreign-looking man-servant, to whom the -princess spoke in a tongue which Martha recognized as Russian, but of -which she understood not a word. She saw, however, that it related to -herself; for the servant, who wore a curious and elaborate livery, -looked at her and bowed. - -“I have been telling him,” explained the princess, “that whenever you -come you are to be brought at once to my private sitting-room, whether I -am at home to other people or not. If it should chance that I cannot see -you,--an unlikely thing, for I generally do what I want, and I shall -always want to see you,--my maid can bring you word there. You see, I -am not going to take any risk of having you turned away from my door.” - -The antechamber into which they had been admitted was charmingly -furnished, not at all in the French style; and there was something in -the whole environment of the princess which commended itself strongly to -Martha’s artistic taste. Everything that she saw, as she passed along, -deepened this impression. She followed her companion in excited silence -through the antechamber, and into the large and sunny salon, where two -persons were sitting. - -One was a little old lady with very white hair, elaborately arranged -under a queer-looking lace cap fastened with jeweled pins; the other was -a dark and severely dressed woman, who, Martha at once saw, was a sort -of companion or maid. As the princess approached, this woman rose and -courtesied. The old lady looked up, with some surprise in her placid -face, and immediately laid down her embroidery, and took up a silver -ear-trumpet, holding out her other hand to the princess. - -The latter bent, and kissed the proffered fingers lightly, and then, -raising her voice a little, uttered several sentences in Russian into -the trumpet, at the same time indicating Martha in a way that made her -understand that this was an introduction. The girl also bent, and kissed -the hand now extended to her, and then the princess led her away. - -“My poor aunt is so deaf,” she said, “that it is almost impossible to -talk to her, and I could not go into any long explanation about you. She -never interferes with me, however, and no questions will be asked. Come -now to my own room.” - -Martha, following her companion, found herself in a small boudoir -opening into a bedroom. The door of the latter was open, and the two -apartments gave an impression which she told herself she could best -describe by the word lovable. The musical instruments stood open. The -lounges and chairs seemed to have taken the shapes of their occupants. -Flowers that looked as if they had been willingly plucked were all about -in vases. Well-worn volumes and drawing-books were scattered about, and -some of the princess’s atelier studies were placed against the walls on -the floor. Martha, who could hardly believe in her good fortune in -having received even the smallest notice from the princess, was yet -more bewildered and delighted when the latter crossed the little -boudoir, and led her into the bedroom. - -Here the French maid whom Martha had seen at the atelier sat sewing. She -stood up, evidently surprised. As she courtesied, and came forward to -take her lady’s wraps, the latter hastily threw her cloak to her, and -then, striking her hands together with a quick little clap, said: - -“Va-t’en, Félicie!” - -The maid smiled. She and her mistress evidently understood each other -well. Deftly gathering up her work, she left the room, and Martha found -herself alone with her divinity, in the privacy of her own bedroom. She -felt quite foolishly happy. Perhaps the princess saw it, for she said, -with her bewildering smile: - -“You like it, do you not? You needn’t explain. I see you do, just as I -saw that you liked me, without your saying a word. I am so glad.” - -“_Like_ you!” said Martha, protestingly. “Oh!” - -Then the princess came and stood in front of the young girl, and put her -arms around - -[Illustration: “‘IT WILL BE QUITE SAFE, I SEE.’”] - -her neck, clasping her long hands at the back, and looking down at her. - -“It will be quite safe, I see,” she said, still smiling, “for me to make -my confession to you, and own that I was drawn to you in quite an -extraordinary way. I really did not mean to go so fast, however; and if -I had stopped to think, I should probably not have proposed to you to -take this drive with me. But for once I am glad that I did not stop to -think. My impetuosity is generally my bane in everything. This time I -feel that it has brought me a blessing. I can prove to you that it is -not my habit to go out to strangers in this way by the fact that I am so -friendless. I have no intimate friend in Paris, though I know scores of -people here. If I like you, and want to see more of you, and you have -the same feeling toward me, why should we not indulge ourselves? Very -well! So we will!” and she bent, and kissed Martha on the cheek. - -The girl’s heart quivered with joy; but she could find no words in which -to express it, so she was quite silent. She felt herself very stupid as -she let the princess take off her wraps and hat, and lead her to a -seat. - -“Now,” said the lovely lady, “as I am one of those people who must be -comfortable before they can be happy, I am going to put on a loose gown. -No excuses necessary, I know.” - -She disappeared for a moment, and came back in an exquisite garment of -pale-blue silk with borderings of dark fur. She had seemed to Martha -very splendid and beautiful before, but now she was so winning, so -sweet, so adorable, that the young girl felt her whole heart glow with -delight as, with a long-drawn sigh of ease, the princess threw herself -on the lounge at her side. - -“Now,” she said, as her hand closed on Martha’s, “talk to me.” - -Poor Martha! What could she say? Her gratefulness for this unexpected -confidence and friendliness moved her almost to tears, but she was -silent. - -“Talk to me, Martha,” said the princess, coaxingly. “I may call you -that, may I not?” - -She called it “Mart’a,” with her pretty foreign utterance; and Martha -thought her homely name had suddenly become adorable. But she could not -even tell this to the princess. How dull and stupid she was! Her -consent must have shown itself in her eyes, however, for the princess -went on: - -“I can’t call you Martha unless you call me by my name, too. Will you? I -have a fancy to hear you say it now. Will you call me by my little -Russian name--Sonia?” - -It was evident that the girl’s silence did not offend her. She must have -understood its basis, for she said, with an encouraging smile: - -“Say it. Say ‘Sonia.’” - -“Oh, you are too good to me!” exclaimed Martha. “You spoke of knowing -that I liked you. I don’t _like_ you--I _love_ you! I don’t _love_ -you--I _adore_ you! O _Sonia_!” and the girl actually slipped from the -low chair to her knees beside the lounge. - -The princess jumped to her feet, and with strong hands lifted Martha to -hers; then holding both the girl’s hands, and stretching her arms apart -to their full length, as their two faces were drawn together thus, she -kissed Martha with affectionate warmth. - -“What a dear thing you are!” she said. “How good it is to see some one -who can really feel! How tired one gets of the _fin-de-siècle_ spirit in -both women and men! Bless you, my Martha! You have come to be a great -joy in my life. I feel that we are going to be friends for always--do -you?” - -“Oh, if you will let me! If you will only not be disappointed in me! I -am afraid to speak, afraid to breathe almost, for fear that you will -find out that I am only a poor, commonplace little creature, in whom -your goodness has made you see something which does not exist. Oh, I -_pray_ I may not disappoint you! And yet how can I dare to hope?” - -“Listen, Martha,” said the princess in a matter-of-fact tone, as she -drew the other down to a seat beside her on the lounge; “let us take -each other quite simply, and not promise anything. We will just agree to -be perfectly natural with each other--just to be ourselves. If you -continue to like me, and I you, it is all right. If not, we shall have -broken no pledges and done each other no wrong. Now, with that basis to -go upon, we can both feel natural and satisfied. Only don’t cover up -your real self to me, for you may be concealing just what I love, and -pretending what I hate. It is because you are different from others that -I have been so drawn to you. Now don’t try to be like other people, and -ruin everything.” - -“Oh, I feel I can be myself with you. I feel I can tell you everything -that is in my heart, and talk of things that I have never been able to -speak of to others. How beautiful it is! How strange that such a -relationship between two women can come about here in Paris in this age -of the world!” - -“It could not if we were Parisians; but both of us being foreign to this -atmosphere, it can. I love your being an American. I felt sure you were -even before I asked Etienne.” - -“And did he tell you? I have always understood that he never answered -questions about his students.” - -“So have I; but I asked him all the same, and he told me who you were. I -had quite fancied you before, and after that I fancied you still more, -as I love the ideal of the American, a creature newer from Nature’s -hands, and nearer to her heart, than we of the Old World; and, -fortunately or otherwise, I have known too few of your people either to -confirm or contradict this idea. So now I think I shall go on liking -you. And how is it with you? Do you think you will not be disappointed -in me?” - -Her beautiful lips widened in a smile of broad amusement that made her -eyes twinkle. Martha looked at her with a speechless adoration which she -could not have been so dense as to misunderstand. - -“How delightful!” said the princess. “It has been so long since I have -permitted myself the luxury of a friend that my appetite for one is all -the keener.” - -She had thrown herself back on the lounge, and as Martha sat down by -her, the princess again took her hand, saying as she did so: - -“Now I will tell you two things about myself at the outset of our -acquaintance: one is that I love to ask questions; the other is that I -hate to be questioned. Will you remember these facts, and will you be as -frank with me if I do what you don’t like? I am very nearly certain that -we shall get on together admirably, for the reason that I know you have -no vulgar curiosity about me or my affairs. You have sense enough to be -convinced by one look at my aunt, if there were nothing else, that I am -respectable. Now I am pretty confident that you have an impulse to talk -out freely to me, and to answer any questions that I may choose to -put--all the more so because your general habit is one of strict -reserve.” - -[Illustration: “‘AH, I HAVE MADE A MISTAKE, I SEE.’”] - -The princess kept her eye on her companion’s face while she was talking, -and she could tell by its expression that she had interpreted her -correctly. She said so, with a little laugh of contentment, and then -added: - -“Tell me about yourself first of all.” - -Martha’s countenance fell. - -“Ah, I have made a mistake, I see,” said the princess. “We have not come -to that yet; but we will come to it--you and I. Some of these days you -will find yourself telling me all those close-locked secrets of your -heart; and yet even they, I fancy, will relate more to others than to -yourself. So be it! I can wait. Tell me now about your people--your -family here in Paris.” - -“Well,” began Martha, “there are mama and we four girls--Alice, Marian, -Florence, and I. Alice is very handsome, and poor mama has had to shift -over to her and to the younger girls, who also bid fair to be charming, -all the hopes which she once centered in me. I have been struggled with -for years, and finally let alone. Mama agrees to my working at my -painting because she has made up her mind that unless I amount to -something in that I shall never amount to anything at all; but I don’t -think she has much hope of me. She is not far from beautiful herself, -and is accustomed to being admired, and it took her a long time to -accept my indifference to it. However, it’s quite accepted now; and I -even think that, with three other girls to be taken into society, she -finds a certain relief in leaving - -[Illustration: “‘ALICE HAS A FINE VOICE.’”] - -me out of it. The other girls are studying music and languages. Alice -has a fine voice.” - -“And your father is dead, is he not? Did you not say you had a brother?” - -Martha’s face grew quite white with the concentration of mind which this -thought produced. - -“Yes; I have a brother,” she said. - -“Forgive me,” said the princess, with swift sympathy. “There is -evidently some reason why it pains you to speak of your brother. Forget -that I asked you.” - -The blood rushed to Martha’s face as it occurred to her that her -companion might misunderstand her reluctance to speak on this subject. - -“It’s not that I am not proud of him that it is hard for me to speak,” -she said; “it’s expressly because I am. I made up my mind long ago not -to talk about Harold. I found I must not, because I could not speak of -him with any freedom without saying things that people would think no -merely mortal man deserved. I have worshiped him all my life, and, as -I’m rather ashamed to own, I’ve had a great many other idols which -turned out to be made of clay. This one, however, has never proved for -an instant unworthy of my adoration.” - -The princess smiled. - -“One would like to get a look at him,” she said. “An absolutely -faultless being must be interesting to look at.” - -“Don’t laugh at me!” cried Martha. “If it were any one but you I could -not bear it; but I know you would say or do nothing that could hurt me -really. I don’t wish you to understand that I think Harold faultless. He -is not. But to one who understands him as I do, his very faults are part -of his greatness. They all have their seat in something noble, and to -see how he fights to conquer them is a thing that thrills me. He is now -off in America hard at work. He has done some quite extraordinary things -in electricity, and is absorbed in his career. When I am a little older, -and mama gives me up as a hopeless job for society, I am to go and live -with Harold, and keep house for him. That is my dream and his.” - -“Sooner or later, dear child, you will have to wake from that dream. I -do not find it as unlikely as you seem to that you will marry; and even -if you should not, your brother probably will.” - -The princess was smiling, but her smile faded at the look of tragic pain -in her companion’s face. She could see that the young girl had been -touched in her heart’s tenderest place. - -“No,” she said, with that frown of sadness unrelaxed, “he will never -marry.” - -“Forgive me again, dear Martha,” said the princess. “Your brother has -had some disappointment, about which your heart is as sensitive as his -own. I see that, and you need tell me no more. It is good that he has -you to comprehend and sympathize with him. It is good that you have each -other. If you gave your heart and life to a husband as wholly as you -have given them to your brother, he would probably break the heart and -wreck the life, and even the right to dream would be taken from you. -Living with this brother, whom you love and worship so, whether he -deserves it or not, you may have many a sweet and joy-giving dream which -no reality would equal. I wish I could make you see how fortunate you -are.” - -“I care very little for my own happiness,” said Martha, too absorbed to -realize that she was saying anything that called for comment. “All that -I care for is to give Harold a little comfort and calm. He can never be -happy again.” - -“He tells you so, dear child, and no doubt he believes it. _I_ tell you -it will pass. Men do not grieve perpetually for women. I know them -better than you do.” - -“You do not know this man. If you imagine that he is like any other man -in the world, you are wrong. He could not get over this sorrow and be -the man that he is. It is simply a thing impossible to him. Not that he -shows it! It has been two years since it happened, and no doubt every -one except myself thinks he has recovered. I dare say he wants to have -it so, and he’s generally cheerful and bright. Even to me he never says -a word, but I think he knows that I understand. At all events, he knows -that, though it is the desire of my life to go and live with him, I -would never do him the wrong to suppose that I could make him happy.” - -“He has, then, it would seem, the same ardent temperament as yours. Dear -me! how odd it would be to see a man like that in this - -[Illustration: IN THE AMERICAN COLONY.] - -generation! Was this woman very cruel to him that you resent it so?” - -“Resent it!” said Martha, dropping her companion’s hand, to clasp her -own hands together. “Even to you I can’t talk about that. I should -either cry like a fool or rage like a fury. I know very little about -what happened, except that she has utterly ruined Harold’s life, and cut -him off from everything that makes life sweet.” - -“You allow yourself to suffer too much for him, perhaps,” the princess -said. “I am not going to antagonize you at the outset by saying all that -I might say to you on this subject, but believe me, my little _ingénue_, -I could give you points about men. I will not do it now, however, and I -will even show my willingness to spare you by changing the subject. Tell -me about Alice. Is she really so handsome? Does she go into society? -Where could one see her?” - -“Yes; she goes out a good deal--in the American colony, principally. I -don’t think there is any doubt that she’s handsome.” - -“Then I’m all the more unfortunate in having no acquaintance in the -American colony. Does she look like you?” - -“No; the fact is--” Martha blushed, and was in evident confusion, as she -went on--“the fact is, I’m considered like Harold. Not really, you know, -because no one can deny that he’s magnificent; but there’s said to be a -sort of family likeness.” - -“Well, I can believe that, my dear, without absolute insult to your -brother. Is Alice much admired?” - -“Yes, a good deal; but she’s engaged now, and so she is not noticed as -much as she was.” - -“Oh, she’s engaged, is she? And when is she to be married?” - -“The day is not fixed, but it will be before long. The trousseau is -being bought now. Her fiancé is an Italian officer of very good family, -though not much fortune. Still, Alice is happy, and mama is satisfied, -and Harold has given his consent. He is coming over to the wedding. Oh, -if you could see him--and he could see you!” - -“His seeing me is wholly unnecessary; but the other part might be -accomplished. It would be a good idea to give me a card to the wedding -if it takes place in a church. Then I could see all your people without -their seeing me, and probably disapproving of our intimacy and breaking -it up--or else putting it on a footing that would have no comfort in -it.” - -“How _could_ they disapprove?” said Martha, deeply hurt. “How could they -be anything but honored that I should be noticed at all by a great -princess like you?” - -“Oh, there’s no greatness about this princess, child,” said the other, -laughing. “Don’t expect to see me going around with a throne to sit on, -in either a literal or a figurative sense. To you I am only Sonia--a -fact which you seem to have forgotten, by the way! I wish you’d call me -Sonia, and stop thinking about the princess. With your American ideas -it, no doubt, seems much more important than it is. Are you going to -tell your people about me really or not?” - -“No,” said Martha; “I wouldn’t for the world. It may be selfish, but I -want you all to myself.” - -This was perfectly true; but at the same time, ignore it as she might, -there was a lurking feeling in Martha’s heart that the princess was -right in imagining that if her mother knew of the friendship that had -sprung up between the two students at Etienne’s, she might insist upon -investigating the princess--an indignity which Martha felt that she -could not endure. - -The princess herself seemed pleased at Martha’s evident wish to -monopolize her; and the two parted at last with the confidence and -affection of old friends. - - - - -IV - - -THE days at the atelier had now a new interest for both students, and -their work was manifestly the better for it. To Martha these days were -filled with a glorious delight, which seemed to give her all that her -nature craved; and if it had not been for sad thoughts of her brother -and his loneliness, she would have felt that she could ask for nothing. - -To have the princess painting near her, and to be able to look up and -see her beautiful figure, with its sinuous grace, posed before her -easel, and to receive from her now and then a brilliant smile of mutual -comprehension, was quite enough of personal bliss for Martha Keene. - -Martha had an ardent and romantic temperament, but she seemed to be -capable of satisfying its needs vicariously. There undoubtedly are such -women, though the like has possibly never existed in the other sex. For -instance, it was a continual battle with her now to put down the -temptation, which constantly assailed her, of imagining a meeting, an -attraction, and finally a union between the brother who realized her -romantic ideal of man and the friend who realized his complement in -woman’s form. She knew it was impossible. She knew that Harold would -never marry; and she even realized that if he could love again, after -the manner in which he had loved one woman, he would, by that fact, -compel her to lower her standard either of love or of him. - -And yet Martha felt that the meeting and blending of these two lives -would, if she could have seen it, have satisfied every need of her -heart. She believed that her pleasure and contentment in looking on at -such a union as this would give her the greatest joy that could be for -her--would indeed, in a way, give her the feeling of satisfied love. - -It was very hard to put down these imaginings; but she told herself that -it must be done. Harold’s life and love had been given once, and she -knew he was right in saying that they were not his to give again; and on -the princess’s part, no doubt the idea would be a wild suggestion, -indeed. Martha did not know what rigid laws of etiquette and convention -might not bind the princess; and condescending as the latter had chosen -to be with regard to herself, she felt that this beautiful lady would -never do anything unworthy of her caste. Her husband, whether she had -loved him or not, had no doubt been a great prince, whose name and title -the woman on whom he had bestowed them would never consent to debase. -The thing was hopeless and wrong, of course, and the idea must be put -away from her. But it was hard to do, with her hero constantly in her -mind, and her heroine constantly before her eyes. - -One day, after an unusually hard morning’s work, the princess invited -Martha to go home to lunch with her, and to spend the afternoon at the -Louvre, looking together at the pictures which they had so often enjoyed -apart. - -When they reached the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, the princess was -informed that her aunt had already finished her second breakfast, which -she took with the regularity of clockwork, not depending upon the -comings and goings of the rather erratic person who was the other -member of the family. This the princess explained lightly, as she led -the way to the dining-room. The servants by this time all knew Martha; -and they looked upon her, as the friend of their mistress, with the most -amiable glances. Not speaking the Russian language, Martha could show -her good will only by a pleasant smile, in return for the evident -pleasure which they showed in serving her. - -The princess threw her wrap backward over the chair, as she sat at the -head of the round table, with her slender figure against a background of -dark sable, and her head, in its large plumed hat, standing out from a -halo of many-hued old stained-glass in the window behind. Martha, -sitting opposite, fell into an unconsciously intent scrutiny of her -face. - -It was certainly safe, Martha thought, to call this face beautiful, both -for feature and character. The eyes were large, dark, brilliant, and -fervidly suggestive. One wondered what those eyes had seen, were seeing, -and were capable of discovering for others. The hair was a brilliant, -waving brown, arranged in a loose mass that was still firm and lovely in -its outline--hair, as Martha thought, that - -[Illustration: “HER HEAD, IN ITS LARGE PLUMED HAT.”] - -it must be sweet to touch with fingers and with lips. Also the girl -thought one might well long to prove by touch whether that white skin -was as smooth and fine as it looked. The firm, short nose was definitely -pointed, and tilted upward, slightly lifting with it the short upper -lip. Her chin was bewitching--at once strong and alluring. The mouth was -very individual, and, as Martha studied it, she concluded that if she -could tell why it was so charming, half the charm would be gone. For the -first time it occurred to her to wonder how old the princess was. - -“You are wondering how old I am!” said the princess, almost taking the -girl’s breath away. - -“I never knew anything so strange!” exclaimed Martha. “It was the very -thought I had in my mind.” - -“Certainly, I read it there! I can do that, sometimes, with people who -are very sympathetic to me. I fancy it would be rather dangerous for -_you_ to do any very private thinking in my presence. I sometimes read, -too, without reading aloud. I think I have read some of your thoughts -lately, without your suspecting it.” - -She looked at Martha, over her cup of bouillon, and smiled. Martha felt -herself blushing, as she wondered if that persistent and dominating -thought about her brother, which had been so often in her mind of late, -could have been perceived by this wonderful being. It frightened her so -that she quickly changed the subject, and the remainder of the meal -passed in less personal talk. - -When they were seated in the princess’s coupé, a little later, driving -past the Arc de Triomphe, Martha saw her companion turning her head to -look at it with lingering, earnest eyes. - -“I always look at the Arc whenever I can,” she said; “and it always has -something to say to me. Its expression of strong beauty and repose -always makes me feel that what is, is right. If I am happy, it makes me -feel that joy is both good and permanent; and even when in times of -unhappiness it makes me feel that sadness is permanent, it somehow seems -to tell me that that too is good. Did you ever stand quite close to it -and look up?” - -“No,” said Martha. - -“We must, some day, together. It will give you a new sensation.” - -“I always thought that it appeared better at a distance,” said Martha. - -“So it does, in a way; but the impression is different. I love it from -the Place de la Concorde, when the horse-chestnuts are in bloom. Then it -looks like a magnificent image of beneficence, stretching out two great -arms to take in all those people, in carriages and on foot, who are -thronging the Champs-Élysées, its body vague and distant in the clouds. -That’s a sufficiently fantastic thought for you, if you like; but it is -one that has comforted me. I love Paris. It is the only city that has -ever seemed to me to be lovable. Its streets are so gay and clean, and -the faces of the people one meets, along here at least, are so -good-humored and intelligent. I love this mixture of fashion and -ruralness. Look at the swells and the peasants driving side by side! -Look at those white-aproned men drawing handcarts, that mail-coach -coming alongside, those old peasants in their covered wagons, and that -superb mounted policeman with his gorgeous trappings! How friendly and -at home they all seem! Even that omnibus, with its three white -Percherons abreast, looks sociable and friendly by the side of the -_steppeurs_ of the _haute école_. Oh, it’s all very human and charming; -or is it that you humanize me, and make me feel its charm more than I -have done for many a day?” - -She was still in this delightful humor when they reached the Louvre, and -made their way at once to pay their homage to the Venus of Milo. They -did not say much as they looked at her, moving slowly from place to -place to get the different points of view. Each knew what the other -felt, and words seemed out of place. Presently the princess said: - -“I have a fancy to try an experiment. Let’s name her! What I mean is, if -that were a real woman, what would you think the name best suited to -her?” - -Martha smiled comprehendingly, and looked at the statue with a gaze of -deep concentration. This changed, after a moment, into a smile, as she -said: - -“I’ve named her. It’s so absurd, however,” she went on, “to give such a -name as I’ve chosen to that ancient Greek statue, that I’m almost -ashamed to tell it.” - -“You needn’t be,” said the princess, smiling too; “for I’ve got a name -about which I have exactly the same feeling. Come; I’ll say mine first. -It’s Gloriana.” - -“And mine is Georgiana! How odd that they should be so much alike!” - -“Isn’t it? It’s delightful, though; for it shows that there’s something -in my theory of names, and that this statue has made almost exactly the -same impression on us. I’m eager now to name the Winged Victory. Come; -let’s go and look at her.” - -They hurried away to the foot of the wide staircase, where, looking up, -they saw the magnificent creature with her great wings spread. - -After standing before her in silence a few moments, the princess -exclaimed suddenly: - -“Oh, have you named her yet? A _perfect_ name for her has come to me!” - -“And to me, too--_perfect_!” said Martha. “How many syllables has -yours?” - -“One.” - -“So has mine!” said the other, breathlessly. “Now let’s count three, and -say the name.” - -Simultaneously they said: “One, two, three--_Ruth_!” - -Then they looked at each other with an excited delight that the -passers-by must have thought rather amazing even for two artists -looking at the Victory. - -“It’s the most wonderful thing I ever heard of,” said Martha. “Don’t you -feel positively creepy?” - -“I should think I did! Little cold chills are running all over me. Oh, -how nice it is that we can think and feel together in this way!” - -Her face, as she spoke, was glowingly beautiful; and Martha returned her -gaze with a look which expressed what no words could possibly have -done. - - - - -V - - -ONE morning the princess did not come to the atelier; and Martha, after -working along without her for a while, thinking that her friend might -have been delayed and hoping that she would come later, found her mind -so preoccupied by the absence of her usual companion that her work would -not go at all, and at last she concluded to stop trying, and to go to -look the princess up. - -She called a cab, and drove to the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, where -she was now well known. Even the old concierge, with her shining white -hair, brilliant black eyes, red cheeks, and bearded upper lip, gave her -a smile of welcome as she passed through the court; and the princess’s -servant gave her another as he conducted her at once to his mistress’s -boudoir. - -Here he left her. Martha tapped on the door, and waited. Getting no -answer, she turned the knob and entered, intending to knock at the -inner door; but no sooner had she shut herself into the room than she -became aware, although it was almost wholly darkened, that it was not -unoccupied. - -A stifled sound reached her ears, and she could now make out the figure -of the princess, lying on the lounge, with her face buried in her hands. - -The girl’s heart ached with pity, and she did not know whether to yield -to her own impulse, and to go forward, or to consult the possible -preference of her friend, and go back. - -While she hesitated, the princess took her hands from her face, and saw -her. As she did so, she started up, touching her eyes with her -handkerchief, and clearing her voice to speak. - -“Is it you, Martha? Come in, child,” she said. “I have a headache -to-day, and intended to see no one. I forgot, however, that I had given -orders that you were always to be the exception. I should not have let -you see me like this if I had known beforehand; but now that you have -looked upon your poor friend in this humiliated state, sit down, and -never mind.” - -[Illustration: “‘IS IT YOU, MARTHA?’”] - -Martha had come near, and now took the seat beside the lounge, her face -tragic with sympathy. - -“I am so sorry you are ill,” was all that she could say. - -“I am not ill, really,” said the princess. She was lying back upon the -lounge, and fanning her flushed face with her little gossamer -handkerchief, which Martha could see was limp with tears. “My head does -ache now, but I brought it on by this wretched crying. It’s all my own -fault. You did not know that I was such a weakling, did you?” and she -made an effort to smile. - -“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” said Martha, helplessly. - -“You needn’t be, dear. Never be sorry for any man or woman who is equal -to his or her life--and I am equal to mine. One time out of ten it gets -the better of me, but the nine times I get the better of it. This mood -will surely pass. Indeed, it is passing now. You have helped me already. -It has been very long indeed since I have found or wanted human help, -and it takes me by surprise.” - -Martha saw that she was preparing to lead the talk away from her recent -tears and their cause, and she passionately wished that her friend -should feel that she longed to enter into her sorrow with her, if it -could be allowed her; so she said impulsively: - -“I don’t suppose you feel like telling me your trouble; but oh, I wish -you could!” - -“I do feel like it, you darling child! I could talk to you about it -better than to any one on earth; but there are some things one cannot -speak of even to one’s own heart. That is the trouble now. If I were to -let myself indulge freely in imaginings and regrets, I should satisfy -the want of the moment, but it would undo me utterly. My great -temptation is regret, and I must be strong enough not to regret.” - -“Oh, how sad life is!” cried Martha. “I have always thought that you at -least ought to be happy. I gave you the name of ‘The Happy Princess,’ -out of Tennyson. It has seemed to me from the first that you were a -creature who had it in you to command happiness.” - -“Ah, dear child, if you could only know how helpless I am there! The -best thing that is in me is the power to command courage. That I can, -and for the most part do. While that is so, I shall not complain.” - -[Illustration: “‘OH, I AM SO, SO SORRY.’”] - -“Then you are really unhappy? Oh!” said Martha, drawing herself up with -an impulsive movement. - -“I know what that fervent exclamation means as well as if you had put it -into words,” said the princess. “You are wishing that there were some -way in which, by sacrificing yourself, you could purchase happiness for -me.” - -Martha, startled at the correctness of this guess, could say nothing in -denial. - -“I knew it,” said the princess, reading her face. “I have not the -faintest doubt that you would do it; and--now I am going to knock over -some of your idealizing of me--there have been moments in my life when -my greed for happiness has consumed me so that I believe I would have -been willing to take it, and to let another pay the price. That’s a base -thing for a woman to say of herself, but so true it is that I thank God -I was never tempted when those moods were on me. Something not wholly -different from that panting after an impossible joy was upon me this -morning. Shall I never get the better of it utterly? _Can_ one overcome -it? Did _you_ never have it, Martha? To me joy is impossible, but it is -not so to you. Don’t you ever long for it? I will speak to you quite -openly, Martha, and tell you this--when I say joy, I mean love. _Is_ -there a woman’s heart that does not long for that? Be as honest with me -as I have been with you, and tell me.” - -“I will try,” said Martha. “I will do my best to be perfectly truthful. -I _do_ long for happiness; but--this may seem strange to you, and you -may even think that I am pretending to be better or more unselfish than -others--” - -“That I _never_ will! I _know_ that isn’t so. Go on.” - -“I was going to say that the craving of my heart seems somehow to be -impersonal. I want happiness intensely, but the way in which I want it -is to see the beings whom I love best have it. Now there are two -creatures in the world whom I love supremely--my brother and you. You -know that this is so. If I could see both of you happy, in the manner -and degree that I want, I believe that I could then be perfectly happy, -too. I believe all the needs of my own heart could be answered in that -way; and indeed I almost think that my greed for joy is as great as -yours at times. It has strained my heart almost to bursting, in Harold’s -case, and I feel now almost the same about you. I have never spoken of -this to any one; indeed, I was never fully aware of it, I think, until I -put it into words now. It must seem quite incredible to you.” - -“Not in the least. I believe it utterly, or rather it’s a stronger thing -than belief with me. I feel that it is true. I admire you for it, and -all the more because it is so different from me. I want happiness and -love for myself--every ounce of flesh, every drop of blood in me longs -for it as well as every aspiration of my soul. It is _self_ that I am -thinking of when I get like this--my own power to enjoy, and also--oh, -God _knows_ that this is true!--and also the power to give joy to -another. Martha, I will tell you something,” she said, with a sudden -change of tone, dropping her voice, and leaning forward to take both of -Martha’s hands in hers as she spoke, with her eyes fixed intently on the -girl’s. “I have known this joy. I have loved supremely, and been loved. -You have never tasted that cup of rapture as I have; but then you have -never known, as I have, the anguish of that renunciation. Which of us is -the fortunate one? If you knew how I suffer you would probably say that -it is you; but if, on the other hand, you knew what ecstasy I have had, -I think that you might decide differently. Oh, if God would give me one -more hour of it, I think I would be content! One more hour, to take it -to the full, knowing that I must, after that, come back to what I suffer -now! I think those sixty joy-absorbing minutes would make up to me for -everything. But to have it _never again_!” - -She broke off, and, hiding her face in her hands, turned away, and lay -for some moments quite silent and still. She was not crying--Martha -could see that; and when she presently turned, and looked at the young -girl, holding out both her hands to her, although there was no smile on -her face, it showed that she had conquered her dark mood, and was strong -again. - -It was a very gentle sort of strength, however, that was not too -self-sufficient to feel pleasure in the words and looks and touches of -quiet sympathy which Martha gave her now. They sat there, hand in hand, -for a long time; and presently the princess said, with her own -beautiful smile: - -“You have done me a world of good, Martha. My headache is gone, and also -its cause. Sometimes, do you know,--I’m going to let you see just how -weak I am,--sometimes I succumb for days to a mood like this. Nobody -knows that tears have anything to do with the headaches that I suffer -from--at least nobody but Félicie, and she gives no information. My aunt -loves me dearly, but is no more acquainted with the real _me_ than if I -were a stranger; and yet she adores me--perhaps for that reason. I tell -her nothing, because the feelings that I have are quite outside her -comprehension, while the headaches are quite within it. She recommends -various powders and pellets, and is constantly getting new prescriptions -for me. She says my headaches are of a very obstinate type, and I agree -with her. To show you how completely you’ve cured me,” she added, rising -to her feet, with an entire change of tone, “I am going to work this -afternoon. You will stay and take your lunch with me, and then we’ll be -there in time for the second model’s pose.” - -“I can’t stay,” said Martha, rising too; “but I will meet you there -promptly. I am keeping my cab below, so that I may be back at the -atelier by the time the carriage comes for me. You know how very quiet I -am keeping my little escapades with you.” - -“Oh, to be sure!” exclaimed the other, smiling. “I had forgotten the -necessity of that precaution. What _would_ ‘mama and the girls’ say? I -think I shall write them an anonymous letter, saying that if madame had -been under the impression that her eldest daughter devoted herself -wholly to the pursuit of art during the hours of her absence from home, -it might have surprised her had she seen the aforesaid young lady this -morning come out of the atelier, call a cab, give a number, go to a -distant apartment (where she was evidently well known to the concierge, -who passed her on to a servant in Russian livery, who as evidently knew -her well), enter, by a special passage, a certain room, where she -remained shut in for a long time, emerging finally in great haste to -drive rapidly in the cab, which she had kept waiting, back to the -atelier in time to meet her own carriage, and come innocently home to -join the family circle at lunch! Couldn’t I make out a case? And what -_would_ the mother and the little sisters say?” - -Martha, too, laughed at the picture; but in spite of some discomfiture -of feeling to which it gave rise, she had no idea of changing her -tactics. The very thought of her mother’s going to work to investigate -the princess, and ascertain if she were a proper friend for her -daughter, smote the girl to the heart, and she resolved to guard her -secret more carefully than ever. She determined that she would ease her -conscience for the deception by confessing everything to her brother -when he came. This would make it all right. - -As Martha drove back to the atelier, after an affectionate _au revoir_ -to the princess, she was conscious that something was rankling in her -mind. When she came to search for the ground of this feeling, she found -it to exist in the confession of love which the princess had made. This -knowledge caused Martha to realize that she had not even yet succeeded -in putting from her the imaginings by which she had connected her -brother and her friend. Before knowing the princess she had always -cherished the belief that her brother would sink below her ideal of him -if he ever loved a second time. Lately, however, she had imagined the -possibility of his telling her, after knowing the princess, that the old -love was not the perfect one he had imagined it; and she could fancy -herself forgiving him for loving a second time, with the princess as his -apology. It had even seemed to her lately so monstrously wrong and cruel -that Harold’s life should be wantonly wrecked that she was now prepared -to accept a good deal more than would once have seemed possible, in -order to see it mended. - -Martha, for all her demure appearance, had something that was more or -less savage and lawless in her nature, especially where Harold was -concerned; and the same feeling, in a lesser degree, dominated her in -regard to the princess. She had long ago admitted to herself the fact -that Harold had missed his chance of happiness in love; but it was as -painful as it was unexpected to her to find that the princess too had -loved before. She had known that she had been married, but with very -little difficulty she had constructed for herself a theory of that -marriage in which the princess had played the part of an innocent victim -to circumstance. For instance, she might have been married by her -parents in early youth to a man perhaps far older than herself, whom she -had never loved, and for whose death she could not have grieved much. - -It was a surprise to Martha now to find how entirely she had let this -utterly unfounded idea take possession of her. The words of the princess -this morning had shattered it to atoms, and in spite of herself she felt -strangely heavy-hearted. - - - - -VI - - -AFTER the morning on which Martha had been by accident a witness of the -princess’s self-betrayal, there seemed nothing lacking to the complete -understanding of the two friends, and their intimacy was now stronger -and closer than ever. It was not practicable for Martha to visit the -princess very often, as she was compelled to take the time for these -visits out of her atelier hours, and both women were too earnest in -their work not to begrudge this. Lately they had fallen into the custom -of the generality of the students, and went for their midday meal to the -_crèmerie_ in the neighborhood, after they had visited first the -butcher’s shop, and selected their own mutton-chop or bit of beefsteak; -then they had it cooked according to their directions. This, with fresh -rolls and baked apples and milk, made an excellent meal, sometimes -augmented by potato salad. Martha had been initiated into these -mysteries by an American girl whose acquaintance she had made through -the latter’s having once offered to help her on with her “josie,” a word -which had established an easy footing between them at once. - -Martha never exchanged more than a passing remark with the other -students, partly because she had, in the beginning, built a sort of -barrier around her by her shyness, and, recently, because she felt that -her intimacy with the princess, who knew none of the others, set her -more than ever apart. - -One morning Martha came to the atelier rather late, and showed, -moreover, a certain excitement in her movements and expression which she -accounted for at lunch-time by telling the princess that her sister’s -wedding had been hurried up, and was to take place almost immediately. - -There were several good reasons for this; one being that it suited much -better the plans of the bridegroom elect, and another that Mrs. Keene, -being in rather delicate health, had been urged by her physicians to -leave Paris. So, as soon as the wedding was over, she was to go south -with the younger girls and their governess; and Martha, who rebelled -against being taken from her beloved painting, had a beautiful plan of -getting her brother to stay awhile in Paris with her in their mother’s -apartment. This she confided to the princess with breathless delight, -saying that she had written to Harold about it, and told him to cable -her if he were willing. Her friend could see that, with her usual -license of imagination, Martha had been making all sorts of plans in -connection with this scheme, and she more than suspected that some of -these concerned herself. - -“My dear Martha,” she said, with a penetrating look into her friend’s -eager eyes, “give it up at once, on the spot, if you have been making -any plans to introduce your brother to me!” - -“Oh, _why_?” said Martha, in tones of the keenest regret. - -“Because, my dear, it is out of the question. If you knew how sick to -death I am of men, you would not ask it. Please, if you love me, don’t -speak of it again.” - -This, of course, was final, and Martha was compelled to bear her -disappointment with what patience she could summon. She got a promise -from the princess, however, that she would come to the wedding, which -was to take place in the American church. At least this would give her -the satisfaction of feeling in the future that her friend had seen her -brother, and she hoped she might contrive in some way that the latter -should see the princess, since it was now decreed that the intercourse -could go no further. - -Great as Martha’s disappointment was, she forced herself to recognize -the fact that, as things were, it might be all for the best that these -two should not meet. She could imagine but one result of that meeting, -and that, under existing circumstances, might be disastrous to both. -Neither of them had fully confided in her, but both of them had told her -plainly that a second love was the thing which they most strongly -repudiated. In Harold’s case, she knew that this feeling was one that -his conscience, no less than his heart, ordained; and in the case of the -princess, she somehow felt that it was the same. - -The princess, for some reason, did not tell Martha what a notable -exception to her rule she made in going to this wedding. The fact was, -she had never been to any wedding since her own; and it may have been -that fact which accounted for the state of intense excitement which she -was in as she drove alone in her carriage through the streets of Paris -to the church in the Avenue de l’Alma. - -As she got out, and instructed her coachman where to wait, this inward -excitement showed in every rapid movement and word. Afterward, when she -entered the church, and walked, with a definiteness of manner which -would seem to have indicated a prearranged plan, straight down the -left-hand aisle to the choir-stalls, her face was flushed and her eyes -were brilliant. It was early, and few people had come as yet. - -The princess wore a long, dark cloak, which concealed her figure, and on -her large hat, which hid the outline of her head, a rather thick Russian -veil was fastened, so that her features were scarcely distinguishable. - -There was a shaded corner near the organ, behind the chorister-stalls, -that was quite screened from the congregation, and so situated as to be -almost out of view from the chancel also, if one chose to protect one’s -self behind the great pillar that stood there. The day was dark and -cloudy, but the chancel was brilliant with lighted candles. The -princess with firm confidence walked to this place, and took her seat. -She did not seem to care whether the church was filling up or not. She -scarcely noticed when some people came and took the seats near her. In -these moments she was so lost in thoughts and reminiscences that the -furious beating of her heart almost suffocated her. - -When, from just behind her, a great organ-note swelled forth, and filled -the church with tremulous vibrations, the princess gave a little -fluttered start. No one was near enough to observe this, however, or to -see the crouching back into her seat which followed it. The music seemed -to heighten her emotion, and she trembled visibly. She quite lost count -of time, and did not know how long it was before she saw a clergyman -enter the chancel and stand there, waiting. Then, as two officers in -rich uniforms came and took their places in front of him, the sonorous -chords of the old familiar Mendelssohn march swelled from the organ, and -the heart within her seemed to stop and sink. It was the sound and -influence to which, in perfect joy, she had walked to her own wedding. - -She knew that the bridal procession was coming up the aisle, but she did -not turn her head to get a view into the church. She felt the people -about her rise to their feet, but she sat still. Her trembling limbs -would not have held her up; but she did not even know that she was -trembling. She knew only that she was waiting--that all her heart and -all her soul were wrapped in a bewildering suspense until the coming of -what was very near her now. They passed close to her, the girls in their -white dresses, and the officers in their glittering uniforms, and stood -in divided ranks, leaving the space between them clear. - -Into this space, directly in front of the clergyman, there now advanced -a woman covered with a cloud of gauzy tulle. She leaned upon the arm of -the only man in the party who was not in uniform. - -It was on this figure that the princess fastened her eyes, never once -removing them until the short ceremony had come to an end. The bride was -a shapeless blur. The bridesmaids were a billowy cloud. The officers -were mere dazzles of color and gold lace. One object there was that cut -its way into her consciousness with acute distinctness--the dark-clad, - -[Illustration: “THE MAN WHO STOOD WAITING TO GIVE THE BRIDE.”] - -clearly outlined figure and pale profile of the man who stood waiting to -give the bride. - -When the music ceased, and the minister told the congregation that they -were assembled to join together this man and this woman in holy -matrimony, it was another man and woman that she thought of; and so -through all the solemn charge and searching questioning that followed. - -When the minister asked, “Who giveth this woman to be married?” and the -man that she had been watching gave up his companion with a slight -inclination of the head, and moved aside, the gaze of the princess still -followed and rested on him. When, a moment later, a strange foreign -voice said painstakingly, “I, Victor, take thee, Alice, to my wedded -wife,” what she heard, in natural and familiar English utterance was -this: “I, Harold, take thee, Sophia, to my wedded wife, to have and to -hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for -poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us -do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my -troth.” And it was her own voice which made answer: “I, Sophia, take -thee, Harold.” - -A hard clutch was on her heart. He was there--the Harold who had made -that vow to her; and she, Sophia, was here, in life, not death! “Till -death us do part,” they had both of them sworn, and they had let life -part them! The terrible wrong of it all rushed over her. The reasons -which had made that parting seem to her right before now vanished into -air. She felt that crime alone could ever link one of them to another. -She felt that this separation between them was in itself a crime, and -she who had done it the chief of criminals. - -All this she felt with terrifying force, but a feeling stronger than -even any of these had taken possession of her--a want and longing had -awakened in her heart which strained it almost intolerably. She looked -at the bride’s brother, standing there intensely still, in an attitude -of complete repose, and a feeling that he was hers, and hers alone took -possession of her. She grew reckless of appearances, and stood up in her -place, with her face turned full toward him. She heard the clergyman’s -stern behest that man put not asunder those whom God hath joined, and -she heard him pronounce that they were man and wife, in the name of the -Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Her heart said a solemn -amen. - -Imagination lingered on these thrilling thoughts while the blessing was -pronounced and the service ended; and then the little procession, the -bride and bridegroom at its head, and the figure that she watched at his -mother’s side behind them, passed her and went down the aisle, while the -familiar music was playing, to which she had walked from the altar a -blissfully happy wife--and she was left alone! - -The organist quickly closed the organ, and hurried away. The people near -her moved off too; and still she sat there motionless, feeling herself -deserted and most miserable. A boy, putting out the candles, roused her -to consciousness, and somehow she got out of the place. - - - - -VII - - -MRS. KEENE’S apartment on the Place de la Madeleine was a scene of -joyful commotion and confusion. The small breakfast which followed the -wedding was an informal affair; and though it was supposed that only the -nearest personal friends were present, the rooms were cheerfully -crowded, and the uniforms made a show and glitter. The charming girls -who were permitted to be their sister’s bridesmaids were the object of -much notice and attention; and when the company had risen from the -table, the eldest sister, who was so much the least pretty and -vivacious, was scarcely missed from the room. A few people inquired for -the bride’s brother, who had also disappeared; but as he was a stranger -to every one, the fact of his absence was little noticed. - -Martha, when she went to look for Harold, found him in his own room, -smoking. - -“I knew it was you,” he said, as she came in, closing the door behind -her. “I thought you would come to look me up; but why did you? I’m poor -company for anybody to-day. Well,” he added, with a short, deep breath, -“thank the Lord, that’s over! When you get married, Martha, I want you -to elope. I’ve no business at a wedding. I feel that I have cast an evil -eye on Alice and Victor.” - -“Oh, Harold, I was thinking of you more than of them all the time,” said -Martha, earnestly. “It did seem absolute cruelty to have required it of -you. How _could_ mama!” - -Concentrated as her tone and manner were, she was doubtful whether they -even penetrated the consciousness of her companion, who, with his chair -tipped backward, his frock-coat thrown open, with a ruthless disregard -of the smart gardenia which ornamented its lapel, and his hands thrust -deep into his trousers pockets, was smoking vigorously, and looking away -from her out of the window. - -Martha had come here in the ardent hope of giving comfort, and she felt -a little hurt. She smothered the feeling back into her heart, however, -as she said: - -“I knew it was anguish to you, standing there and going through that -ceremony.” - -He turned, and looked at her. - -“Well, rather!” he said, with a short laugh, still keeping the cigar in -his mouth, and talking with his teeth clenched upon it. Then he turned -his face toward the window again; but his glance was so vague that -Martha felt that he saw some picture in his mind, rather than the scene -below. “The service was the same,” he said, clasping his hands behind -his head, and narrowing his eyes as if to get the perspective. “The -music was the same--and those roses! And that was not all. Vivid as she -always is to me in every other respect, I have not always been able to -hold on to her voice; but to-day I heard it perfectly, saying, ‘I, -Sophia, take thee, Harold,’ and all the rest.” - -He got up suddenly, threw his cigar into the grate, and walked across -the room. - -“Oh, poor Harold!” Martha said, her voice thick with tears. - -The effect of her words was instantaneous. He turned suddenly, and -showed in both face and figure a swiftly summoned and effectual calm. - -“My dear girl,” he said quickly, “you don’t suppose I’m posing for an -injured husband, I hope? I have suffered, of course; but with a man -certain kinds of suffering get to be a business. To speak of it seems -like talking shop. It’s detestable to be talking it to you now; but the -truth is, this wedding affair has nearly knocked me out. I could have -gone on keeping up the bluff, of course, and talked the usual bosh with -the wedding-guests in yonder; but I found I had a contract with myself -that had to be seen to. It has cost me something to smooth out and -harden down my thoughts and feelings about my own life; but I had got -the thing done. This wedding business, however, upheaved it all. When I -found that I was actually sinking into the mushy swamp of self-pity, I -thought it was about time to come away, and steady up my nerve a bit. -I’m all right now, however, and I see clear again. The thing’s over, and -no harm is done.” - -Martha’s eyes followed him wistfully as he turned to the dressing-table, -picked up a brush, and smoothed the swart surface of his thick, dark -hair, brushed some specks of dust from his coat, and carefully -straightened the injured flower. - -“Shall we go back?” he said. “We may be missed.” - -“Don’t go quite yet. No one will think about us,” she said; and then she -added doubtfully: “May I talk to you a little, Harold?” - -“Certainly, my dear. Talk all you want,” he answered, sitting down; -“only there’s nothing to say.” - -“Where is she? I’ve so often longed to know.” - -“I haven’t the least idea. She asked me not to follow her movements, and -I never have.” - -“Then you do not even know whether she is living or dead?” - -“Yes; I know that much. She is not dead. I feel her in the world. If she -went out of it, I believe I should know it. Besides, I would have been -informed of that. She spoke of it, and said so.” - -There was a moment’s pause, which Martha broke. - -“Will you tell me this,” she said, “whether you are as hopeless about it -all as you were when I last spoke to you of it?” - -“Exactly as hopeless. When a thing is absolute, my dear, it doesn’t -have degrees. I have never been anything else than hopeless since the -hour of my last interview with her. She told me then,” he said, with a -sort of cold conciseness, “that her first wish was to set me absolutely -free. She said she wanted me to marry again. She said that just as soon -as we had lived apart the time required by law for a divorce, she wanted -me to get it. She said she was sorry there was no way to get it sooner. -She said, also, that she would take back her maiden name.” - -He got up, thrust his hands into his pockets, and, walking over to the -window, stood there for a moment. Then he turned suddenly, and came and -stood in front of Martha, looking her directly in the eyes. She saw by -that look that he was calm and steady, and so she ventured to question -him a little further. - -“Do you know whom she lives with?” she asked. - -“With an aunt, whose life, as she told me, is utterly out of the world -that we knew together. She said that, on this account, there was good -reason to hope that we would never meet again.” - -Martha, who felt that this subject might not be spoken of between them -again, continued to question him as he stood and looked down at her with -a perfect consciousness of self-possession. - -“Was she so beautiful?” she asked. - -“Yes,” he said. - -“And are you still unchanged in giving her the supreme place that you -did give her from the moment you first saw her?” - -“Yes,” he said again. - -“Oh, Harold,” exclaimed the girl, “I sometimes think it might have -turned out differently if the marriage had not been so rash and sudden.” - -He took a seat near her, and continued to look at her as he said: - -“It could have made no difference to me. You don’t fully understand it, -Martha. It is impossible that you should. I knew, the day I met her, -that I had been set apart and saved for her. I know it now. It was the -kind of gravitation that comes once in a life.” - -“Then you do not regret it?” - -“For myself, not in the least. She was my wife for a month. What I have -gone through since is a small price to pay for that. But when I think -of what it has cost her--that most delicate of women--to face the odium -of it--that superb woman’s life shadowed by the vulgarity of a suddenly -ruptured marriage; and--deeper than that!--to have her best life maimed -forever--God! I curse the day that I was born!” - -“And what has she brought on you, I’d like to know?” cried Martha. “It -was she who cast you off--not you her. Ah, Harold, if she had been the -woman she should have been, she never could have done it!” - -He looked at her with some impatience in his glance. - -“Whether she was the woman she should have been or not is a thing that -neither concerns nor interests me. She was the woman I loved. The whole -thing is in that.” - -“And the woman you still love? Is that true, Harold?” - -“True as death,” he said; “but what does it all matter? Your -relentlessness is the friend’s natural feeling. It shows how bootless it -is to give account. I care more for your opinion than any other, but -even your scorn does not signify to me here. It misses the point. The -only pride that is involved is pride in my own immutability. Love ought -always to be a regeneration,” he went on, as if putting into shape the -thoughts that were rising out of the recent chaos in his mind. “It’s -easy enough to keep true when the love, the joy, the equal give and -take, go on unbroken. It’s when a man actually turns and walks out of -heaven, and the gates shut behind him forever, that he finds out the -stuff that’s in him. Sometimes, when I think about it, I try to fancy -what would be my humiliation if I found I had grown to love her less.” - -Martha was silent a moment. Then she said, as if urged by the necessity -of speaking out, for this once, all that she had so long kept back: - -“Suppose, after you get the divorce, you should hear that she was -married?” - -“I’m braced to bear that, if it comes,” he said. “I know it is possible, -but I don’t fear it. I may, of course, be wrong; but I don’t believe, -with what has been between us, that she could ever be the wife of -another man while I lived. She might think so. She might even try--go -part of the way; but I never felt more secure of anything than that she -would find herself unable to do it.” - -“Then do you think that she possibly still cares for you?” - -“No; I’m not a fool. She made that point sufficiently plain. Didn’t she -tell me, in the downright, simple words, that she did not love me--had -never loved me--had found out it was all a mistake? I believe she meant -it absolutely. I believe it was true. You don’t suppose, if I doubted -it, I’d have given her up as I have done?” - -“Oh, Harold, what was it all about, that quarrel that you had? Could you -bear to tell me?” - -“There’s nothing to tell. We thought we were perfectly suited, perfectly -sympathetic. Our feelings had stood every test but marriage. When it -came to that, they failed. It was a case of non-adjustment of -feelings--different points of view--different natures, perhaps. I saw -facing me the demand that I should change myself, root and branch, and -become a different creature from what God had made me. This I could not -do. I might have pretended and acted, but she was not the woman to -tolerate the wretched puppet of a man which that would have made of me. -_Her_ changing was a thing I never thought of. I was never mean enough -to think that a woman was bound to sacrifice her individuality in -marriage. Why should a wife surrender that sacred citadel any more than -a husband? How odious should I feel myself, if I had ever taken that -position in the slightest degree! And shams were out of the question -with us. Neither of us could have tolerated anything uncandid--anything -that smacked of a tacit convention.” - -There was a moment’s pause, and then Martha broke out impulsively: - -“I can’t help thinking that it might have been prevented. It may be that -you were too proud. Have you ever thought that?” - -“No,” he said, with a certain grimness. “I have never taken that view of -the case. She made it so entirely plain that she wanted to be rid of me -at once and forever--that there was no room for reflection on that -point. If there is a man alive who could have held her bound after her -words to me, I hope I may never make his acquaintance.” - -The appearance of agitation which had marked the beginning of the -interview was now utterly gone from Harold. He spoke deliberately, and -as if with a certain satisfaction in the sense of getting his thoughts -into form. - -Again there was a pause. Then Martha said, speaking very low: - -“But, Harold, you are doing without love.” - -“I have had it,” he answered, “and what has been is mine, to keep -forever. I have lost my wife, but the greatness, the exaltation, of my -love increases. I have learned that love is subjective and independent. -A renunciation is only an episode in it. I deserve no pity. No, Martha; -never fall into the mistake of pitying me. I should pity you from my -heart if I thought you would miss what I have had; and the gods may be -lenient to as sweet a soul as yours. You may have the joy, some day, -without the renunciation.” - -“I don’t want it! I wouldn’t have it!” cried the girl, vehemently. “No -one will ever love me, and I wouldn’t have them to. It would break my -heart. It makes me seem ridiculous even to speak of it. I want _you_ to -have love and joy. That is all I ask.” - -“Well, I’ve had it. Be satisfied. Of the two of us,--except that you -have hope, which I have not,--you are the one to be pitied.” - -“Oh, Harold, _don’t_! Unless you want to break my heart outright, don’t -talk to me about being happy. I want happiness for _you: I’ve_ got no -use for it.” - -She got up as she spoke, and moved toward him. Harold stood up, too, and -bent to kiss her. Demonstrations between them were unusual, and it was a -very Martha-like instinct that made her now so incline her head as to -receive his caress upon her hair. - -“We will go back to the others now,” said Harold. “Thank you, Martha.” - -So together they went back to the wedding-party. - -[Illustration: “‘I KNEW IT WAS ANGUISH TO YOU.’”] - -[Illustration: “AS SHE HAD SEEN HER ONCE BEFORE.”] - - - - -VIII - - -THE day after the wedding, when the bridal pair had left Paris by one -train and the bride’s mother and younger sisters by another, when Harold -had gone off to attend to some business which formed one part of the -reason of his coming to Paris, Martha, having now full use of the -carriage, ordered it to wait outside the atelier while she went in to -see if the princess was there. It confirmed a suspicion which had -somehow got into her head when she found that her friend was absent. -With scarcely a glance at the model and the busy students, she withdrew, -and, reëntering her carriage, ordered her coachman to drive her to the -Rue Presbourg. - -Upon going at once to her friend’s private rooms, she found her lying on -the lounge in semi-darkness, as she had seen her once before; but now -there were no tears, nor any trace of them. - -“I have a real headache this time,” she said, as she stretched out her -hand, with a smile. “It’s better than it was, though, and I am glad to -see you.” - -“Were you at the wedding?” was Martha’s first eager question, when she -had kissed her friend and taken the seat beside her. - -“Yes, I was there,” said the other promptly. “How charming you looked in -your bridesmaid’s dress, and how handsome your Alice really is!” - -She wondered what Martha would think if she knew the truth--that she had -seen Alice and herself scarcely more than if they had not been present! - -“And you saw Harold?” was the next question. - -“Yes; I saw your paragon of paragons,” was the answer, spoken in light -and well-guarded tones. - -Martha’s face fell. Still, she was too earnest to be lightly rebuffed, -so she went on: - -“And what did you think of him? Now, Sonia, don’t tease me! You know how -important it is to me--what you think of Harold. Do tell me, dear, and -don’t laugh.” - -In response to this earnest appeal the princess’s face grew grave. She -did not look at Martha, however, but occupied herself with twisting up -her loosened hair as she answered: - -“I thought him handsome, dear. I thought his face both strong and -clever. I could understand you loving him so much. I could see nothing -in his face, or figure, or expression, that looked in the least degree -unworthy of the great ideal that you have of him. There! Does that -satisfy you?” - -She caught Martha’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and for a -second she met her gaze full. Then she got up hastily, and walked across -the room. - -When she presently came back, she had the air of a person thoroughly on -guard, and conscious of her ability to cope with circumstances. She did -not return to the lounge, but sat upright on a stiff sofa which admitted -of no lounging. Martha, glowing with pleasure at her heroine’s praise of -her hero, was determined to follow up her advantage. - -“Oh, you will take back what you said, and let me bring him to see -you--won’t you, Sonia?” she said ardently. “We are going to have the -apartment to ourselves for weeks, Harold and I; and we three could have -such ideal times--such little dinners and jaunts to the play! As things -are with you both, I think there is all the more reason for you to know -each other. You could be such friends! I should think a real man friend -would be such a comfort to you. You seem made for that sort of -_camaraderie_, as well as for love. And what a comfort the friendship of -such a woman as you would be to Harold! I feel myself at times so -inadequate to him, and I have the very same feeling, sometimes, with -you. I will confess to you, Sonia, that I did have a hope once, even -though you are a princess and he just a simple American gentleman, that -you and Harold might some time, after years, come to be something to -each other; but I have given that up. I see that it is impossible to -either of you. I had a talk with Harold yesterday, and he is as much -protected by his past as you are by yours. So there could be no danger -to either in such an intercourse. Oh, Sonia, _won’t_ you consent to it?” - -There was great gravity and deliberation in the tones of the princess as -she answered impressively: - -“Now, Martha, listen to me. I want you to put that idea out of your head -at once and forever. You will do this, I am sure, when I tell you how -it distresses me and embarrasses our whole intercourse. You are quite -mistaken in supposing that I have either a need or a desire for the -friendship of any man alive. You really must believe me when I tell you -that I am sick of men. One reason that I have so entirely given up -society is that they fret me so with their offers of what you and they -call friendship. I did have men friends once, and I know what they -amount to. While I was married, my--I mean the man I married--was my -friend. Since I lost him I have never had another.” - -As she ended, she rose and walked across the room. Her tone was so -decided that Martha felt that she could say nothing more, and so, with a -sigh, she gave up this dream too. - -In a moment the princess returned, bringing two photographs, which she -had taken from a drawer. - -“I have been looking at some old pictures this morning,” she said. “This -one was taken when, as a girl, I was presented at the English court.” - -She was silent while Martha was uttering her glowing words of praise, -as she looked at the photograph of the beautiful young girl in her white -court-dress with plumes and veil; and then she put the other into her -hand, saying quietly: - -“This was taken in my wedding-dress, a few days after my marriage.” - -Her manner indicated a controlled excitement, but she was quite -unprepared for the effect that this photograph had upon Martha. The girl -fixed her eyes upon it with a sort of greedy delight, and while she drew -in her breath with thick, short respirations, the hand that held the -picture trembled. - -“I can see it all!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Sonia, were you ever really as -happy as that? What were you looking at, with your head turned in that -eager way?” - -“Yes, I was a Happy Princess once, my dear. But you are a wonderful -creature, Martha! No one but you ever thought to ask that question, so I -have been saved the embarrassment of explaining. Since you have asked -me, I will tell you that I was looking at my husband. While the -photographer was posing me in various ways, my husband was waiting for -me. He was supposed to be out - -[Illustration: “‘OH, SONIA, WERE YOU EVER REALLY AS HAPPY AS THAT?’”] - -of sight, but I heard a newspaper rustle, and looked quickly around, and -caught a glimpse of him, between two screens, seated quietly and -unconsciously reading the paper. One of those great rushes of passionate -tenderness which the sight of the man she loves can sometimes bring to a -woman’s heart came over me. At that moment the photographer got the -instantaneous impression. I don’t know why I should tell you all this, -except that you saw it all there. To other people there never seemed any -special significance in the picture.” - -She reached out her hand to take back the photographs, but Martha handed -her only the first. - -“Oh, Sonia, _let_ me keep this!” she begged. “It is such delight to me -to look at it!” - -“No, dear; I couldn’t. No one but myself should ever see that picture. I -ought not perhaps to have shown it to you. It was just an impulse. -Promise never to speak of either of these pictures--not even to me. You -never will?” - -“Never,” said Martha, sadly, as she gave the picture up. Her friend took -it, and, without glancing at it, locked it away in a drawer. - -When she came back her whole manner had changed. She began at once to -talk about her work at the atelier, and told Martha that Étienne wished -her to enter a picture for the Salon. The wedding preparations had kept -Martha at home a good deal lately, and the princess had some interesting -bits of news to give her. She was very graphic in her account of some of -Étienne’s last criticisms, and got into high spirits, in which Martha, -somehow, could not entirely take part. - -The girl went away at last rather heavy-hearted. This conversation had -deprived her of her last hope of bringing the princess and her brother -together. She had an engagement with Harold for the afternoon, so she -could not go to the atelier; but she promised to meet the princess there -in good time next morning. - -That afternoon she indulged herself in giving her brother a brief -account of her romantic friendship. She did not, however, mention the -name by which the princess was known to her, or any but the external -facts in the case. - -As she had foreseen, her brother made no objection to the intercourse, -and told her she had been very wise to keep the whole thing to herself. -He did not seem in the least surprised that the princess refused to make -his acquaintance, and explained it to Martha by saying that she was -probably an independent and self-willed young woman, who was disposed to -suit only herself in the matter of friends; but that this was not -inconsistent with a certain regard for conventionalities, and it was -probable that she did not care to bother with her family, or even to -take the trouble to find out anything about them. Martha felt that her -brother was moderately interested in the matter because of its relation -to herself; but in spite of all her enthusiasm she could not feel that -she had inspired him with any special interest in the princess, or any -appreciably greater desire to make her acquaintance than she had shown -to make his. - - - - -IX - - -A FEW days later Martha came to the atelier in a state of only -half-concealed excitement. She had a plan which she broached to the -princess with some timidity. She began by saying that her brother was -compelled to be absent from Paris during the whole of the next day, and -that, as it was Sunday, and there would be no work at the atelier, she -would have the whole day on her hands. - -“Come and spend it with me,” said the princess. - -“Oh, if you would only come and spend it with _me_!” said Martha, so -wistfully that her friend laughed gaily, and said: - -“Why not?” - -“Harold takes an early train, and will not be back until night,” said -Martha; “and it would be such joy to have you in my own room, sitting in -my own chair, lying on my own bed, standing on my own rugs, and giving -me sweet associations with these things forever.” - -“Of course I’ll come--with pleasure,” said Sonia, pausing in her work to -answer Martha’s whispered words. - -So, in this dream, at least, Martha was not to be disappointed; and she -parted from her friend with the delightful expectation that she was to -see her next as her guest. - -The young girl waked early next morning, and had her first breakfast -with her brother; and after he had gone she found the time long while -she waited for her visitor. No definite hour had been agreed upon, and -she was afraid that the princess would come far too late to suit her -eager longing. Still she had not liked to urge too much upon her. - -Martha had ordered heaps of flowers to make her room and the little -boudoir which adjoined it look attractive; and she took Harold in to -inspect them before he went away. He rushed through hurriedly, said -everything was charming, gave her a hasty kiss, and was gone. - -She stood at the window, which looked upon the Place de la Madeleine, -and waited a long time, thinking deeply. The flower-market below was -unusually rich, as the day was warm and springlike; and it presently -occurred to her that among the glowing masses of bloom exposed to view -there were some varieties of flowers which she did not have. She -therefore determined to fill up a part of the time of waiting by going -down to get some of these. Hastily putting on her hat, she ran down the -winding stairway, crossed the open space, and was soon threading her way -among the flower-stalls under the shadow of the beautiful great church. -She kept her eye on the entrance to her apartment-house, however; and as -she knew the princess’s carriage and livery, she felt that there was no -danger of failing to see her friend, should she happen to arrive during -her brief absence. - -The princess, however, did not come in her carriage, or, rather, she -sent it away after having crossed the thronged streets of the Place de -la Concorde, and, wrapped in her dark cloak, she walked quickly along -with the foot-passengers until she reached the house of which she was in -search. Then she slipped quietly in, and mounted the steps to the third -story. - -Her ring was answered by a man-servant, - -[Illustration: “‘I BEG YOUR PARDON,’ HE SAID AGAIN.”] - -who explained that his young mistress had just gone down to the -flower-market for a moment, and who ushered her into the large salon to -wait. - -Scarcely was she seated there when the bell rang again, and the servant -opened the door to admit Harold. He had forgotten an important paper, -and had come back for it in great haste. He knew that it was his part to -avoid the princess in case she should have arrived; but concluding that -she would, of course, be with Martha in her own rooms, he came directly -into the salon, which was the nearest way of reaching his own apartment. - -When he had entered, and the door was closed behind him, he took two or -three steps forward, and then stopped as if petrified in his place. - -The princess had risen to her feet, and stood confronting him, her face -as pale and agitated as his own. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, taking off his hat mechanically; “did you, -perhaps, wish to see me?” - -“No,” she answered; “I wished to see your sister. She has gone across to -the flower-market.” - -Her eyes had fallen under his, and she felt that she was trembling as -she stood in front of him and answered his questions as mechanically as -a stupid child. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said again; and he seemed to grow paler still as -he stood there irresolute. - -“Do you wish to see my sister alone?” he then said. “I don’t understand. -Do you wish me to stay or to go?” - -“I wish you to go,” she said, rallying a little as the thought occurred -to her that Martha might return. “Your sister is expecting me. I came -with the understanding that you were to be away.” - -A light broke over him, but it cast a sudden shadow on his face. - -“You are, then, the princess of whom she has spoken to me,” he said. “I -beg your pardon.” - -“I am Sophia Rutledge,” she said. “Martha believes me to be a princess, -and I let her think it. Some one in the atelier told her so. What will -you tell her now?” - -“Exactly what you wish.” - -“Say nothing. Let her keep her delusion. Her friendship is dear to me; I -do not wish it turned to hate.” - -[Illustration: “AMONG THE FLOWER STALLS.”] - -“I shall say nothing,” he said. - -They both stood silent there a moment, looking away from each other. -Then the woman, feeling her knees grow weak and trembling under her, -sank back into her seat; and the man, urged by some impulse of -self-protection which demanded that he should fly, had bowed and left -the room before she had quite recovered from the momentary dizziness -which had possessed her as she fell into her chair. She heard the front -door close behind him presently, and knew that he was gone. Then she -felt that she must brace herself to meet Martha calmly. - -When the young girl, a few moments later, came in with her load of -flowers, and smilingly uttered her apologies and surprise at having -missed her, her friend’s senses seemed somehow to return, and she was -able to answer calmly. - -It seemed to Martha that the beautiful princess looked ill, and she was -tenderly anxious about her; but she little suspected that during those -few moments of her absence Sonia and her old love had been face to face, -or, more marvelous still, that Harold had seen again the woman who had -been his wife. - - - - -X - - -THE impression left upon the mind of Sonia by that meeting with Harold -was an intensely disturbing one. Even the stirrings of old feeling, and -the memories of past pleasures and pains, which the sight of him had -recalled, were less strong in her than a certain feeling of humiliation. -She felt that she had been overcome by so great a weakness that she must -have made a self-betrayal of which it nearly maddened her to think. -Knowing how completely she had been thrown off her guard by this totally -unexpected meeting, she felt that every emotion of her heart, which she -herself was so conscious of, had been laid bare to him, and she could -not rest for the torment of that thought. Her hours with Martha were -therefore disturbed and unsatisfactory to them both; and when, soon -after the mid-day meal, Martha asked her if she would like to drive, she -accepted the relief of that idea with alacrity, only stipulating that -they should not go to the crowded Bois. - -Martha ordered the carriage, and they drove about for an hour or two, -stopping several times to go in and look at churches which they had -often seen, but never entered. In some of these vespers were in -progress, and they paid their sous for seats near the door, and sat down -for a few moments; but the music played too dangerously upon Sonia’s -overwrought feelings, and she hurried her friend away. - -In one or two of the smaller churches there were only silent kneeling -figures here and there, and the two women walked about, looking at the -mixture of dignified antiquity and tawdry decoration on every side, and -reading the tablets all about the approach to the chancel, erected as -thank-offerings to Mary and Joseph for favors granted. In spite of her -inward perturbation, Sonia could not help smiling at the economy of -words on some of these. One or two had merely, “Merci, Joseph,” or -“Merci, Marie et Joseph,” while the more elaborate ones recorded the -thanks of the giver of the tablet for a favor received--the restoration -of a beloved child from illness, the conversion of an erring son, the -rescue of a husband from shipwreck, and even the miraculous -intervention of Mary and Joseph to restore to health a little boy who -had been gored by a bull. The very ignorance of it was touching to the -two women, and the conviction that it was in each of these poor hearts a -reaching upward kept them from feeling any scorn. - -As they returned to their carriage, Martha, who during the recent scene -had been furtively watching her friend’s face, now saw upon it an -expression which she was at a loss to account for. Was it, she wondered, -religious devotion, stirred by the associations of the church, which -made the lovely face beside her look so passionately tense with feeling? -For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what her friend’s -religion was. - -“Are you a Catholic, Sonia?” she said. - -The answer came impulsively: - -“No, I am not a Catholic. It is easier to say what I am not than what I -am--except that, before and beyond all, I am a miserable woman.” - -As these words escaped her the lack of self-control of which they gave -proof was so alarming to her that she begged her friend to take her home -at once, saying that she was really not well, and must be alone to -rest. Martha felt chilled and hurt. It was all so disappointing, and she -seemed so completely put at a distance. The day which she had looked -forward to with such eager joy had turned out dreary and sad. There was -nothing to do, however, but to drive her friend back to her apartment. - -When they got there, Sonia turned and kissed her warmly, but said -nothing; and Martha drove home, feeling lonely and perplexed. - -She did not expect to see the princess at the atelier next morning; but -to her amazement, when she got there quite early herself, the beautiful, -lithe figure was already before the easel, hard at work. There was, -moreover, an air of strength and self-reliance about her which offered -the greatest contrast to her manner of the day before. - -As Martha came into the room, Sonia, who was one of the quiet group -around the model--a thin child who twitched and wriggled and could not -keep still for two consecutive minutes--waved her a welcome with a -little flourish of her brush, and gave her a bright, decided nod. It was -too late for Martha to get a position near her, so talk was impossible -until the midday recess; but that gesture, glance, and bow of the head -were enough of themselves to put new spirit into the girl, and she found -her place, and fell to work, going ahead with more vim than she had been -able to command for a long time. - -When rest-time came the two friends showed their canvases to each other, -and both of them could see the improvement in their work. Feeling much -encouraged, they went off to the butcher’s shop, selected their chops, -and while waiting for them to be cooked, sat at their little table in -the _crémerie_, and talked. - -At first they spoke only of their atelier work and Etienne’s criticisms -and suggestions; but when that was pretty much talked out for the -moment, Sonia, with a sudden change of manner, said abruptly: - -“I want to atone to you for the gruesome mood that I was in when I went -to see you yesterday. If you’ll invite me again, I will be -different--and, oh, by the way, I’ve got over that foolish idea that I -had about not meeting your brother. If it would give you any pleasure, I -don’t in the least object. It would certainly be very silly to let him -spoil this beautiful chance of our being together, as it would if I -refused to meet him.” - -Martha looked at her in surprise. She had so entirely made up her mind -that the powers had decreed that these two beings should not meet that -Sonia’s words rather disconcerted her. - -“Oh, are you not pleased?” said the latter, disappointedly. “I thought -it would delight you.” - -“So it does,” said Martha, quickly; “but, to be perfectly frank, I had -so entirely accepted the idea that there might be some unknown danger in -a meeting between you two that I had given it up; and now that the -likelihood of it comes again, some sense of danger comes with it. You -both seem such tremendous forces--in my eyes, at least,--that it is not -like any ordinary acquaintanceship. It is very foolish, though; for even -two locomotives may rush toward each other without danger, if each is -solid on its own track, leading to its different destination. And surely -no harm is done when they come very close, and exchange signals of -friendliness, and then part, and go their opposite ways.” - -“Perfectly sage and true! Most wisely spoken!” said Sonia. “So you are -reconciled now, are you? What weathercocks we women are! I am sure I may -say it of you as well as of myself, contrasting your former eagerness -with your present reluctance for this meeting. Well, I suppose it’s a -part of our nature, and I don’t know that men are so very different.” - -“Harold is different,” said Martha. - -“Oh, no doubt _he_ is quite, quite the immaculate,” said her friend, -lightly; and then, with a sudden change, she added in tones of extreme -earnestness: - -“Martha, you have never told him one word about me--have you? Nothing, I -mean, of what I have told you or let you see concerning myself. All that -was and must remain sacred between you and me.” - -“Not a word, not a syllable!” cried Martha. “How could you even ask? He -knows of you only as my atelier friend, and that you are a Russian -princess, and he knows of my visits to you, and my love and admiration -for you; but not one word of what your confidence has taken me into -about yourself personally. I told him how little I knew or cared to know -about you--that you were a young and beautiful widow, whose past -history was wholly unknown to me. What you have let me see of the -writing which that history has made upon your heart was a sacred -confidence which no power could ever draw out of me.” - -“I knew it, dear. I never doubted it. Don’t defend yourself, as if I had -distrusted you. It is because I do trust you that I consent to meet your -brother. I would certainly not willingly make the acquaintance of any -man who could possibly be supposed to know as much of my heart and its -weaknesses as I have revealed to you.” - -“And when will you come to me again?” said Martha, allowing herself to -feel unchecked the joy which the prospect before her stirred within her -heart. - -“I will dine with you to-morrow, if you like,” said Sonia, with an air -of decision. - -It was an intense surprise to Harold when Martha told him that the -princess was to dine with her next evening. He at once proposed to go -out and leave them _tête-à-tête_, but his wonder increased when he was -told that the princess had avowed her willingness to meet him. After -hearing that, there was but one thing for him to do. This he saw -plainly; but at the same time he realized that a more difficult ordeal -could not possibly be put before him. What could be her object in a -course so extraordinary, and what could be the feeling in her heart to -make such a course possible? - -He had believed her to be deeply moved, as no sensitive woman could fail -to be, by their unexpected meeting of the day before; but that she -should deliberately wish to repeat the meeting looked like the most -heartless caprice. She had always been capricious, daring, and -impetuous, and had loved to do unusual and exciting things; but that he -could excuse as a part of her character and individuality. Heartless he -had never had occasion to think her. Even her sudden recoil from him and -repudiation of their marriage he believed to be the result of some -commanding quality of her fine nature, which he could not help -reverencing, even though he did not comprehend it. - -The courtship of Harold Keene and Sophia Rutledge had been very short, -and their wedding sudden. He had met the young English girl in London -near the close of the season; had seen her first in her court-dress, at -her presentation; and had afterward spent ten days with her at a country -house. Their mutual attraction had been a current which had swept -everything before it; and when it had to be decided whether or not she -should go on a voyage to Japan with her aunt, as had been planned,--a -prospect which would separate them for months to come,--they took things -into their own hands, and were married at short notice. The parents of -Miss Rutledge were both dead. Her father, an Englishman, had married a -Russian; and it was her mother’s sister with whom she was supposed to -live, though she had spent most of her grownup years, and all of her -childhood, in England. Her aunt was now a widow and a feverishly -enthusiastic traveler, and the girl had looked forward with some -pleasure to the long travels ahead of them. Her sudden marriage to the -young American, introduced to her by some common friends, changed her -life absolutely; but Harold was determined that she should realize at -least one of her ardent dreams of travel, and take a journey up the -Nile. Soon after their marriage they had set out on this journey, and -the history of its rapturous beginning and miserable ending was known -only to themselves. - -In this way it had happened that Harold’s wife had never been seen by -his family, and he had even declined to send them a photograph of her. -He said he disliked photographs, and none could ever give a fair -representation of his beautiful wife. He wrote Martha that she must do -her best to restrain her impatience, as they were to come at once to -America at the end of their honeymoon on the Nile, and to make their -home there, while he settled down to work. - -Instead of this, however, came the brief announcement of their -separation, which almost broke Martha’s heart. She had put aside any -natural feeling of deprivation and pain, to throw herself, heart and -soul, into the delight of Harold’s romantic marriage, and as the young -couple dreamed their way up the old Nile, she dreamed it with them. It -is probable that few people in the world get the intense joy out of -their personal experiences of love that this ardent and impassioned girl -derived from the mere imagination of her brother’s happiness. The blow -that followed it was therefore very keen and deep. The courage and -complete reserve which her brother had shown in the matter had given her -strength to bear it; but, in spite of that, a permanent shadow had been -cast upon her life. - - - - -XI - - -AS SONIA got out of her carriage before the house in the Place de la -Madeleine, and mounted the steps with her maid, her heart was beating -violently, but she had never been stronger in the sense of complete -self-possession. She knew that a difficult ordeal was before her, but -she had no fear that her spirit would falter. It was only necessary for -her to remember her former weakness, and how she had paled and cowered -before Harold, to make her securer in her defiant resolution with every -pulse-beat. - -At the door of the apartment she dismissed her maid, and, dropping the -train of her heavy dress, swept into the little ante-chamber, regally -tall and self-collected, to the admiration of the servants, who thought -her every inch a princess. - -A door opposite opened, and Martha appeared in a pretty evening gown and -led her friend into the salon. - -Near the table, holding the “Figaro” in his hands, and bending his eyes -upon its columns, sat Harold. His severe evening dress, his grave, dark -face, with its close-trimmed, pointed beard, and his straight, smooth -hair, with its definite part, all spoke of composure, deliberation, and -repose. - -He rose to his feet, laid down the paper, and stood in his place, -waiting. His sister’s guest had taken off her lace hood and thrown open -her cloak, between the parted folds of which appeared a rich evening -dress. She came forward, moving lightly in her heavy garments, and when -Martha, with a fluttering heart, which made her manner somewhat excited -and confused, said, looking from one to the other, “My brother, Mr. -Keene--the Princess Mannernorff,” she looked him full in the face with -what Martha thought a rather haughty look, and gave him a somewhat -ceremonious bow. - -Harold met her gaze with unflinching eyes, and bowed in his turn with an -air which Martha thought unnecessarily formal and distant. After all she -had said to each about the other, it disappointed her that their meeting -should be so absolutely without cordiality. She asked her friend if she -would come into her room to lay aside her wraps; but the latter -declined, and threw her cloak and hood upon a chair before Harold had -time to offer his assistance. - -She was dressed in a plain gown of thick yellow satin, with trimmings of -brown fur and creamy lace. A diamond arrow pierced the mass of her rich -brown hair, and a great clasp of many-colored jewels in an antique -setting held the folds of her gown at the waist. She wore no other -ornaments, and her beautiful arms and hands were without bracelets or -rings. She did not seat herself, but opened a fan, and stood waving it -softly as she looked down at Martha from her greater height. The -introduction had, of course, been in French, and the conversation -continued in that language. - -In strong contrast to her glowing brilliancy of color Harold was very -pale as he stood with his shoulders braced against the mantel, and -talked to her. He was, however, quite as collected as she. - -Presently she began to wonder dimly if he were not more so; for -underneath her assured calm of manner there was a wild excitement of -which she was intensely aware, and all the force of her will was set -upon the effort of concealing it from her companions. - -She did not wish Martha to know that she was excited; and to have this -quiet man in front of her get even a suspicion that she was not fully as -composed as he appeared to be, was a thought that she could not endure. - -She began to talk about the atelier where she and Martha had met and -made friends, and she gave an amusing description of her first encounter -with Etienne when she had gone there to enter her name as a pupil. - -“It was my first venture into the Bohemia of the Latin Quarter,” she -said; “and I felt brave, but self-protective, when I reached the place -and went in, with my maid, to investigate. The cloak-room was empty, and -when I got to the atelier, and walked around the great piece of -sail-cloth which turned its dirty and undecorated side toward me, I saw -a fat little old man, in carpet slippers, and a dirty, besmeared linen -blouse, and black skull-cap, washing brushes in some soft soap contained -in an old lobster-can. ‘I wish to see M. Etienne,’ I said rather -haughtily; and to my great indignation he answered, still dabbing and -flattening out his brushes in their lather of soap, ‘What do you want -with him?’ My maid quite jumped with fright, and I, wishing to show my -courage, said severely, ‘That is what does not concern you.’ Instead of -showing the self-abasement which I thought my rebuke merited, he said -amiably, still rubbing his brushes round and round: ‘But yes, it does; -for I’m the man you are looking for. What will you have?’ I was so -honestly discomfited that he kindly came to the rescue, and, overlooking -my blunder, began to talk business. I have heard since that the mistake -which I made had been so frequently made before that I suppose he -scarcely noticed it.” - -As she ceased speaking, the readiness with which Martha took advantage -of the pause to move toward the dining-room suddenly made her aware that -dinner must have been announced,--how long ago she could not tell,--and -that her garrulous speech and gesticulation had prevented her from -hearing it. Her back was toward the door; but how excited she must have -been, and appeared, not to have been aware of the announcement! Her face -flushed, and she bit her lip with vexation. - -Martha looked at her brother, supposing that he would offer his arm to -their guest. Instead of doing so, however, he merely stood aside and -waited for the two ladies to go into the dining-room before him. In -doing this, Sonia passed very near him; and with a feeling of defiance -in her breast she looked straight at him. - -He did not meet her gaze, however; for his own eyes were gravely lowered -and hid behind a pair of heavy lids, the curves and lashes of which were -startlingly familiar to her. - -In the lull which the formalities of the moment occasioned, it was -painfully borne in on Sonia that she had been too talkative. Her recent -rapid speech smote annoyingly on her ears; and when she recalled the -fact that she had done all the talking, and must have made an appearance -of almost vulgar chattiness, she felt humiliated and indignant. Was she -exposing her inward excitement to this quiet man, who was now giving -some low-toned instructions to the butler with a self-possession which -she suddenly envied? Feeling hurt and angry, she fell into utter -silence. - -A constraint had fallen upon the party which was even more marked than -that which - -[Illustration: “SONIA PASSED VERY NEAR HIM.”] - -usually characterizes the first moments at a formal table. Sonia felt -that she would bite her tongue in two before she would speak again, and -Martha had a helpless sense that things were somehow going wrong. It was -Harold who broke the silence. - -“Martha,” he said, “the princess will say, perhaps, what wine she -prefers.” - -Sonia felt as if she hated him. He knew all her little aversions and -preferences as well as she knew them herself, and had ordered her -dinners and wines times out of number. How could he pretend that he had -never seen her before, with so much success as almost to impose upon -herself? Was it really a dream? Which was the dream, the past or the -present? How could he seem to be so indifferent, unless he really felt -so? Perhaps he was. That might be the simple explanation of what seemed -mysterious. - -As these thoughts hurried through her mind while she made a pretense of -eating her soup, it suddenly occurred to her that her present complete -silence might look as odd as her former garrulousness. Harold, while -eating his dinner with apparent relish, was doing all the talking now, -but with how different a manner from hers! How quiet he was, and what -well-bred pauses interspersed his talk, and how agreeably he deferred to -Martha and herself, and brought them into it! She had come to this -dinner with the proudest confidence of being able to conform the -conditions about her absolutely to her will, and yet, in spite of -herself, she seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper every moment into -the slough of regret and self-reproach which she had come here to get -out of. - -As the meal proceeded, her self-dissatisfaction increased, and -presently, with a feeling almost of panic, she realized that her conduct -must be so peculiar as to cause surprise to Martha, if not to her -brother. What interpretation would be put upon the sudden dumbness that -possessed her? A very obvious one occurred to her, which it filled her -with anger to think of, and she felt she must talk, must recover -herself, must do away with the impression of her present stupidity. - -Martha, groping about for an agreeable topic, had mentioned the young -bridal couple, and a telegram which she had just received from them, and -that led her to some remarks about the wedding. - -“Oh, it was a beautiful wedding--I was there!” said Sonia, in a -breathless endeavor to come naturally into the talk. - -As she spoke she met Harold’s eyes, and thought that she discovered just -a shade of surprise in them. He only bowed, however, in assent to her -rather demonstrative expression of praise. Sonia felt at once that her -attendance at any wedding, particularly that one, was a thing that -grated on him. His presence there was, of course, a necessity; but the -odious taste of her going, out of pure curiosity, as it would appear to -him, to see this marriage, must add one more item to the evidence which -was rolling up against her. She was experiencing what was new to her--a -sensation of total inadequacy to the social demands of her surroundings. - -“Harold, do you think you can possibly stay for the opening of the -Salon?” said Martha, presently, in another effort to make the -conversation go. This was a topic which she thought Sonia should be -interested in. Apparently she was right. - -“I’m going to exhibit a picture,” said Sonia, quickly. - -Sonia had thought only of recovering herself by talking naturally, and -this speech, as well as the last one, she regretted bitterly the moment -she had uttered it. Not only did it seem in bad taste to speak of her -exhibiting, when Martha was so far removed from such an honor, but it -might also make the impression that she thought that the fact might be -an inducement for him to stay for the Salon. It was maddening to have -him look at her again with polite interest, and express his -congratulations upon a fact of which she now felt heartily ashamed. How -he must despise her! What should she do? - -“I wonder,” said Martha, at this point, in her clear, low voice, “if -Harold has ever seen that striking picture that hangs in your room, -Sonia. It is Watts’s ‘Hope,’ Harold. Do you know it?” - -Harold answered that he did not, and Sonia’s sense of helpless misery -increased as she perceived that Martha was going to describe it. She bit -her tongue to keep from crying out as Martha proceeded to give the -following description: - -“It is a woman’s figure lying on the globe in an attitude of fatigue and -dejection. The scantily draped form is beautiful, but not -youthful-looking, and the face, partly concealed by a bandage over the -eyes, is also beautiful, but lined with care and sorrow. In her hands -she holds an old lyre with every string broken except one. This one -string, frayed and worn and lax, she is striking with her thin, weak -fingers, and she is bending her dulled ears to try to catch the note. -When Sonia first showed it to me, and said that it was one of her -favorite pictures, I did not understand it. We have all been taught at -Etienne’s such a fine contempt for English art that I was disposed to -treat it lightly. I soon saw, however, the wonderful, tragic meaning in -the picture, and I quite long to see the original.” - -This was too much. Sonia felt that if anything else occurred to hold her -up to contempt in this man’s eyes, she should give up, and burst into -tears. Her courage was fast oozing to the last ebb; and with a feeling -of actual desperation she looked involuntarily into the face of her -opposite neighbor, and met his eyes fixed on her with a strong gaze that -in an instant supported and calmed her. She did not quite read its -meaning, but she felt that there was kindness for her in it, and that -there was no contempt. A look from him had given her courage many a -time in the past, and it was availing now. She felt suddenly -self-possessed and strong; but the remainder of the meal was a confused -blur in her memory, and she was devoutly thankful when her maid came to -fetch her home. - -Martha thought it a little strange that her brother did not go down to -put their guest into her carriage; but she reflected that he was far -more familiar with the rules of foreign society than she was, and she -concluded that he must be acting in accordance with them. - - - - -XII - - -MARTHA felt herself genuinely surprised, puzzled, and disappointed at -the result of the meeting which she had worked so hard to bring about. -Nothing could be more incontestably evident than that her brother and -her friend had not proved sympathetic--did not “hit it off.” What was -the reason? How could both of them be so perfectly congenial to her and -still uncongenial to each other? It was a painful mystery, to which she -tried in vain to find the key. - -Next morning Sonia did not come to the atelier at her usual time, and -Martha painted on without her in pronounced despondency of spirit. When -she had quite given the princess up, she looked around, and, to her -delight, saw Sonia placing her easel, and preparing to go to work, a -short distance off. She thought her friend looked a little pale and ill; -but when she managed presently to catch her eye, she received an -affectionate smile from her, which gave her a certain amount of -reassurance. - -When the interval for lunch came, and they went off together to the -_crémerie_, Martha waited for her friend to introduce the subject so -near to her heart, and was surprised when she led the talk in an -entirely different direction. - -It had been much the same with Harold after their guest had left the -evening before. Beyond a rather preoccupied and spiritless assent to all -she had to say about the beauty of the princess, he had seemed more or -less indifferent on the subject, and had plunged with zest into the -discussion of other things. Martha could not altogether wonder at this, -for she had never seen her adored friend appear to so little advantage. -Her brother, however, had seemed to her charming, though not, of course, -at his very best, and she expected that Sonia would at least say that he -was handsome and agreeable. When it appeared that she was going to say -nothing at all, Martha boldly took the initiative, and asked: - -“What do you think of Harold?” - -“Think of him? Oh, I think he’s very good-looking, though less like his -sister than I could wish.” - -“Oh, Sonia, don’t tease me! If I thought you meant that, I should give -you up, both as an artist and a friend. But, really, did you like him or -not?” - -“I could hardly say ‘not’ to that heartfelt appeal,” said Sonia, -smiling; “and, indeed, I don’t feel inclined to. I liked him, of course. -But, my dear, I told you only the truth when I said I was sick to death -of men. Etienne is the solitary exception. I like him for the reason -that he did say a decent word to me this morning, and I really believe -he thinks I am beginning to daub with promise.” - -Martha saw that there was no hope, so with profound disappointment she -gave up, and said no more. - -As for Sonia herself, never had she been in a state of such abject -self-abasement. She had donned her gorgeous raiment and gone off to that -dinner in exultant self-confidence, and had never doubted her ability to -conform circumstances to her will, and to make exactly the impression -upon Harold which she desired him to have. What, then, was the secret of -her complete and humiliating failure? She asked herself this question, -and immediately tried to shut fast her ears to the answer which her -heart gave. She had confidently believed, up to this hour of her life, -that her woman’s pride was strong enough for any demands which she could -possibly make upon it; but it had failed her. She had passed a sleepless -night after that dinner, and it took tremendous effort to go to her work -next morning. She did it only because she knew that if she did not the -news of her absence would reach Harold, and she could not endure the -thought of the motive to which he might attribute it. Perhaps the most -poignant recollection which rankled in Sonia’s mind was the thought -that, in her helplessness, she had made an appeal to him by that look -which he had answered with such strength-giving kindness. It had enabled -her to get through with the remaining time; but now, as she thought of -it, she felt that he had taken it as an appeal of weakness which he had -been strong and merciful enough to respond to. - -This thought, whenever it recurred, made her cheeks tingle. - -And what could she do to right herself? She dared not make any more -self-confident plans, only to have them end in fresh humiliation. She -now felt afraid of seeing Harold, and it seemed to her that the utmost -that was in her power was to be regular and faithful to her work, in the -hope that the report of such a sensible course would reach his ears. - -Martha made a weak little effort to get her friend to come to her again, -but to this she received such a faint response that she let the subject -drop. All sorts of conjectures were busy in her mind to account for the -present phenomena. She even wondered if she and her brother, with their -American education and ideas, could have done anything which offered an -affront to the state and dignity of their princess-guest. But this could -hardly be. Sonia was as friendly and affectionate as ever, though she -now seemed to wish to confine their intercourse to the limits of the -atelier, and did not even ask her to come to her own apartments. So -Martha was free to give up all her spare time to her brother, and they -had numerous trips to the theater and opera; but somehow the _solitude à -deux_ with her beloved Harold had not the zest in it which she had -counted on beforehand. He was certainly changed, this brother of hers. -He had grown more serious, and was given to long silences. She even -thought that it was an effort to him to be so much in her society, and -that he would perhaps prefer to be alone. This was a hard blow to -Martha, but she bore it without making a sign, and was glad of the -excuse which her work gave her to be much away from him. He also had -important business in Paris, and often worked for many hours at a time, -which, as Martha told herself, accounted for his rather careworn -expression. She even thought he was getting thin, and begged him not to -stay on because of her, as she would far rather give up her lessons and -join her mother than be a trouble and injury to him. This, however, he -would not listen to, and he even declared it his intention to stay in -Paris until after the opening of the Salon, now only a week or so off. - -Day after day went by, and although Sonia and Martha were together at -least one half of their conscious time, they seemed to have in some way -gone backward instead of forward in their intimacy. They still lunched -together daily, and had ample opportunity for talk; but there seemed now -a dearth of topics such as they had never been aware of before, and a -sense of distance had arisen which made it hard for Martha to realize -the familiarity and nearness which had marked their former intercourse. - -One afternoon, when the work had been going more than usually well, and -the model had been more than usually interesting, Sonia and Martha, -their easels side by side, had lingered in the atelier after every one -else had gone. It was very agreeable to be able to paint and talk -together, and the princess, whose carriage had been announced some time -before, gladly agreed to wait with Martha until hers should arrive. - -While they were talking, a knock was heard at the door, and as all rules -were relaxed at this hour, both women called out, “_Entrez!_” - -The door was opened, and around the corner of the old sail-cloth screen -the tall figure of Harold appeared. The day was raw and chilly, and he -wore a fur-lined coat with its large fur collar drawn close around his -throat, and carried his high hat and his stick in his hand. - -At sight of him Martha uttered a little exclamation of pleasure, and -gaily called to him to come on. Sonia, in spite of the jerk at her -heart-strings and the rush of blood through all her veins, felt, taken -unprepared as she was, a sudden sense of strength and self-possession. -Her color deepened, and by a swift motion she drew herself erect; and as -she stood there in her old green skirt and red silk blouse, she looked -so workman-like and charming that, as Martha drew her brother forward -toward their easels, her heart quite glowed with pride in both her dear -companions. She always adored Harold in that coat, and Sonia in that -dress, and her sensitive organism seemed to be receiving impressions of -pleasure from the minds of each. Harold stood still, a little distance -off, and bowed, with a look that expressed some hesitation or -uncertainty. Looking past his sister and at her friend, he said: - -“Do you permit me to look at your work?” - -“Oh, if you care to,” said Sonia in a light and natural tone. “It’s a -mere daub of a study. One goes through a great deal of discouragement in -a place like this, and a great deal of one’s time is spent in acquiring -a knowledge of one’s ignorance. After that is quite mastered, things get -easier. I think I may say that I have graduated in that branch of -study, and am now ready to go on to the more advanced ones.” - -Harold stood still, and looked at her picture. She was thinking how -natural it would be to ask him if he thought she had improved. He was -thinking how natural it would be to tell her that she had. Martha was -thinking how beautiful and full of charm they both were, and almost -wishing that the atelier could be filled with students to look at such -models. - -It occurred to her now that Harold remained silent unnecessarily long, -and she was afraid that he did not appreciate her friend’s work; so she -herself began to speak in voluble praise of it. - -Sonia felt a strong impulse to check her, and to explain to her that he -was always silent when he really liked a thing exceedingly, and that she -therefore felt delighted that he said nothing. - -Harold, however, forced himself to utter a few words of praise that -sounded very stiff and conventional, and a sort of bewildered look, -which Martha could not understand, came into his eyes. Sonia understood -it by its reflection in her own heart. She felt as if she were in some -strange, confusing dream, where the conditions around her were sad and -constrained, and yet which she felt she must hold on to and keep -conscious of, lest they should vanish and leave her utterly -empty-hearted, estranged, and desolate. While Martha exhibited her own -work, and proceeded to pick it to pieces in imitation of what Etienne -would say to-morrow, the man and woman standing behind her, so near that -they almost touched, were feeling, from this proximity, a force that -went to the very deeps of both their natures. Hardness, resentment, -wounded pride, regret--all these were parts of this force in each; but -there was in it, too, something stronger than any of them, something -that warned Sonia that she had better not trust herself, at the same -moment that Harold turned abruptly away, and said that he had an -engagement, and could not wait longer. He explained in a hurried, -confused speech, out of which it was hard to get any intelligent -meaning, that he had forgotten Martha’s need of the carriage, and had -kept it waiting somewhere for him, which was his excuse for coming to -the atelier to see if she had waited or was gone. - -Martha saw by his manner that something was wrong, and made haste to put -up her brushes, and follow him into the cloak-room, insisting that Sonia -should come also, as she objected to leaving her there alone. - -Sonia obediently did as she was told, but she felt as if she were -stumbling along half blindly, and had not the will-power to object or -protest. - -She put on her hat, and was reaching for her heavy cloak, when a strong, -brown hand, specked with two small dark moles just below the thumb, took -it down from the peg, and folded it around her. - -As she reached to draw to the collar, her hand touched his. If the sight -of that hand had been familiar to her, what was its touch? She felt -herself trembling, and her quick breaths almost suffocated her. She had -just power to control herself until she was in her carriage, and alone. -Then, falling back upon the cushions, her eyes closed, and she passed -into a state of semi-consciousness. - -She did not really faint, for she was all the time aware that the -necessity for self-control was for the moment gone, and that she could -rest, and cease to fight. - -Long before the carriage stopped at her own door she had recovered, and -realized it all. She knew that, miserable as the last two years had -been, she had gradually been gaining strength, and recovering her power -for the struggle of life. She might have gone on, and met the future -bravely, if she had never seen this man again. Not now, however--not -after she had heard his voice, and met his eyes, and touched his hand. -This encounter had deprived her of her strength so absolutely that she -longed only for the safety to be found in flight. - -But how would that sudden flight appear to him? That was the question. - - - - -XIII - - -SONIA found herself, after that meeting, in a state of helpless -irresolution. She could take no action. She could not even make plans. -She could only drift. There was only one solace--work; and she was now -generally the last person at the atelier, staying there until the light -failed. She had got over all her timidity about being there after the -others. The old concierge was apt to put her head in now and then, to -nod to her, and give her a sense of protection; and sometimes she would -come in and chat with her, while she was doing such sketchy sort of -tidying up as an atelier admits of. - -A few days had gone by without her having seen or heard of Harold. -Martha seemed to divine that the princess wanted to talk only of her -work and her atelier interests, and had tacitly adapted herself to her -friend. They often worked together now, after regular hours, but Martha -generally found it necessary to go before her friend was ready. - -One afternoon Martha had left rather earlier than usual, in order to -keep an appointment with her brother, and Sonia was at work all alone, -save for the companionship of her little terrier Inkling--a tiny, -jet-black creature that wore a collar of little silver bells, which, -Sonia had amused Martha by saying, had caused some one to give him the -name of “Tinkling Inkling.” She did not often bring her pet to the -atelier, for fear he might be troublesome. This afternoon, however, she -knew that Etienne would not be there; and when the little fellow, -palpitating with eagerness, had looked at her beseechingly from the seat -of the carriage where she had just shut him in, she had suddenly snapped -her fingers and twisted her lips into a sound of encouragement, and he -had leaped out of the carriage window, and followed her with an air of -perfect understanding that this unusual privilege made a demand on him -to be on his best behavior. - -He had been propriety itself all the afternoon, and Sonia had seen and -appreciated his heroic self-control in not barking at the model, whom he -had looked at with inveterate disapproval, only expressed by one little -whispered growl. The class of society to which the model belonged were -Inkling’s natural enemies; and whether, in spite of nudeness, he -recognized this man as a member of that class, or whether the nudeness -itself outraged his sense of propriety, certain it was that, during all -the hours in which his mistress was painting, Inkling lay at her feet, -with his eyes fixed unwinkingly upon his enemy, ready to take advantage -of the first excuse to fly at him. - -No such occasion had arisen, however; and now the model was gone, and -Inkling, off duty at last, was enjoying the reaction of a sound nap at -his mistress’s feet. - -The room was so profoundly still that Sonia was startled by a rap at the -door, gently though it was given. Even Inkling did not wake at it. She -looked up from her easel, expecting to see her footman come to announce -the carriage, or some workman delivering supplies for the atelier, and -saw, instead, Harold Keene standing only a few feet from her. She knew -that the swing-door had closed behind him, and that they were alone -together. Her heart shook, and for a moment she could not speak. He came -forward a little, and said in French: - -“I beg your pardon, princess. I came for my sister to fill an -engagement. Is she not here?” - -“She has just gone,” answered Sonia, also in French. “She expected to -meet you at the apartment.” - -“I have just been there. Not finding her, I came on here. I suppose I -passed her on the way.” - -Inkling had opened his eyes at the sound of voices, but, seeing that the -model-throne was empty and his enemy gone, he had not troubled himself -further. As Harold ceased speaking, a look of sudden interest came over -the dog, and he got up, his little bells a-tinkle, and trotted across to -where Harold stood. - -No sooner had he looked at him than he uttered a gruff bark of surprise, -and no sooner had he snuffed once at the legs of his trousers than he -grew frantic with excitement. He barked and yelped, and jumped up on him -with such evidences of wild delight that no man with a kind heart in his -bosom could have refused some recognition of such a welcome. - -Harold stooped and patted him, speaking to him in English. - -Somehow, to have him treat a dog like that, and to address her in cold -formality, in a foreign language, by a pompous title which did not -belong to her, seemed to Sonia wilfully cruel. - -Inkling, still frantic with delight, left Harold, and rushed over to -her, yelping and barking, and shaking his tail violently, looking up in -her face with eloquent insistency. Then he ran back to Harold, and again -back to her, with fluttering agitation. - -Sonia’s spirit did not falter, however, and her voice was firm and -steady as she said in English: - -“Why do you speak to Inkling in English, and to me in French?” - -“Because Inkling and I are old friends, who have a common language, -while the Princess Mannernorff is a stranger and a foreigner.” - -“It seems very childish to keep up that farce.” - -“I thought it was your wish.” - -“And you despise me, probably, for the deception I have practised in -passing myself off for the Princess Mannernorff! I did not do it -deliberately,” she said, with an almost childlike air of contrition and -confession. “It has hurt me all along to be deceiving Martha; but some -one told her I was a Russian princess, and as my mother had been one -before her marriage, and my aunt, with whom I live, is the Princess -Mannernorff, I let the false impression remain, and even took advantage -of it. It was wrong, I know; but I did want to hold on to Martha’s -friendship a little longer. However,” she said, her face and voice -hardening, “it is simply a question of time; and a few weeks sooner or -later, what does it matter?” - -“Why is it a question of time?” said Harold. “Why should you not keep -that friendship always, if you care for it? Martha shall know nothing -from me.” - -There was a moment’s silence. Then Sonia said: - -“I thought it possible that you might disapprove of our friendship.” - -“Why should I? It is a thing absolutely between Martha and yourself.” - -“She would cast me off immediately if she knew the truth, and any moment -an accident may reveal it to her.” - -“Such an accident is most unlikely. It could, as things are now, come -about only through me, and I shall be on my guard.” - -How confident and strong he was! It roused all the pride in her. The -sense of weakness which had overcome her at their last meeting, and -which for a moment had threatened her in this one, was utterly gone. - -“Besides,” went on Harold, quickly, “I believe you are wholly wrong in -thinking that she would give you up if, by chance, she should discover -what you have so carefully guarded from her. I see no reason why she -should.” - -He had spoken in English, since she had criticized his using French, and -Inkling seemed at least partly satisfied, as he stood midway between the -two, with his front legs wide apart, as if to keep his body firm, while -his tail wriggled wildly, and his head turned from one to the other with -a quickness which was enough to make him dizzy. He was alertly aware of -them, but they had both forgotten him, in the keen absorption in each -other which underlay their outward composure. - -“Have you, then, told her nothing?” said Sonia, in answer to his last -words. - -“Only the simple fact.” - -“What fact?” she said, looking him in the face with a certain hardness -and defiance. - -“That the woman whom I had loved no longer loved me; that she had -repudiated my name and every connection with me, and had asked for a -divorce, which I was taking all possible steps to give her as soon as it -could be done.” - -“And do you think that Martha, feeling as she does, would continue the -acquaintance of a woman who had cast off her brother with no stronger -reason than that?” - -“It was sufficient for me. There could not be a stronger reason for -divorce than absence of love on either side.” - -“The world does not agree with you,” she said. - -“Yet I fancy Martha would. If it came to remarriage on either side, her -verdict would perhaps be condemnation; but I think she would consider -separation a higher thing than a loveless marriage.” - -Somehow, there was a spirit in these words that touched her heart. Her -voice, for the first time, was a little unsteady as she said: - -“You do believe that, at least! You do feel that I could never think of -another marriage!” - -“I have always felt it. Indeed, I may say I have known it. I know that -you see the inevitableness of all this as clearly as I do. I have often -wished, for your sake, that I had never seen you, to put this blight -upon your life.” - -“And have not I also blighted yours? Do you suppose that I never think -of that?” - -“It need not trouble you, if you do. In my case there was a -compensation, and a sufficient one. In your case there is none.” - -She knew what he meant; that his love for her, and that happy month of -marriage, had been enough to pay him for having afterward lost her; and -she knew that he held the fact that she had never really loved him to -have barred her from any compensation at all. Why did she so resent his -assuming this? Had she not told him, in language of such emphatic -decision that it rang even now in her ears, that she had found out that -she had made a great mistake, and that she had never loved him? He had -simply taken her at her word. - -She wilfully ignored the true meaning of his last words, as she went on: - -“It is a mistake to think that my life has no compensations. My work, -whether it ever amounts to anything or not, is a great compensation. -The friendship of Martha is another. You are very good to wish not to -take that from me; but the present sham conditions cannot be kept up -after we separate. Fortune has favored us almost miraculously as it is. -She heard that there was a Russian princess studying here, and some one -mistakenly pointed me out for her. I had already seen her name on her -canvases, and knowing that your mother and sisters were in Paris, of -course I knew exactly who she was. Independent of this, her face and -manner had strongly attracted me, so I saw no reason why we might not be -friends, provided I could keep from her who I was. As soon as I saw that -she believed me to be the princess, the fact that my aunt was a Russian -and had Russian servants opened the way to my carrying on the idea; and -so far there has been no trouble. My little Russian name for Sophia -helped me, too. If she had known me as Sophia or Sophie, she would -probably have recoiled from me, even if she had had no suspicion as to -my identity.” - -“I beg you not to have that thought,” said Harold. “If the time ever -comes when the truth must be declared to Martha, let me be the one to -tell her; and I promise you there shall be no recoil--no lessening of -her friendship for you.” - -“Thank you,” said Sonia, coldly. “You were always a generous man.” - -Her tone smote discordantly upon Harold. It seemed a sort of compulsory -tribute to him, which he had no fancy for from her. - -“I am thinking of Martha, too,” he said. “She is very lonely in her -life, and rarely goes out to any one, in spite of her ardent nature. -This friendship with you is very valuable to her, and I am anxious that -nothing shall disturb it.” - -“Thank you for correcting me,” returned the other, quickly; “though I -did not really suppose that it was for my sake that you were willing to -take so much trouble.” - -She knew that this speech was silly, petulant, and unworthy of her, but -she wished him to understand that she asked and expected nothing of him. -He could not be so cool and steady during this interview unless he had -ceased to care for her. She quite realized that he had, and she wished -him to know that she accepted it as a matter of course. - -Inkling, meantime, had grown very uneasy. He felt that things were not -going well, and he now began to show symptoms of distress, instead of -the wild delight of the moment before. He ran whimpering from one to the -other; and when they took no notice of him, he sprang upon the lap of -his mistress, and, uttering the most expressive plaints and beseechings, -tried to lick her face. Sonia, in a fit of irritation very -characteristic of her, gave him a hard little slap, which sent him out -of her lap, whining, and running to Harold for pity. He was not really -hurt; and she felt cross with the clever little brute for posing as a -victim so successfully. - -“Don’t touch him!” she cried imperatively to Harold. “He’s only -pretending to get your pity. You sha’n’t pat him or speak to him. If you -do, I’ll be very angry.” - -The effect which these words had upon Harold would have surprised her, -could she have known it. They were so like her, so absolutely herself, -that they brought back the past with a rush; and it seemed such a hollow -pretense to suppose that they were separated, and compelled to be as -strangers to each other, that he came nearer to losing his head than he -had done yet. - -Ignoring Inkling’s fawnings and plaints, he said suddenly: - -“I am forgetting that Martha is waiting for me”; and then, changing his -tone, and speaking in French, he added: - -“May I take you to your carriage, princess?” - -She answered him in French, as prompt and easy as himself. She thanked -him for his offer, but declined it, saying that her servant would let -her know when her carriage arrived. She added that she was not ready to -leave the atelier yet, as she had lost time, which she must now make up. - -He bowed in silence, turned, and walked away. Inkling made a weak effort -to follow him, but was scared into a sudden and humiliated return by the -imperious command of his mistress. The little creature looked so -ridiculously distressed, as he sat on his haunches near her, with his -ears dropped and his tail nerveless and still beneath him, that Sonia’s -irritation deepened as she put up her brushes and paints; and when she -had washed her hands and was emptying the basin, she yielded to a sudden -impulse and dashed half the meager supply of water over him. - -“There, you little idiot!” she said crossly. “That’s for your ridiculous -nonsense in trying to make out that I care one pin for him, or anything -about him. I’ll very soon convince _him_ that I don’t; and if ever _you_ -dare to act in such a way again, I’ll sell you to the concierge on the -spot!” - -Inkling gave every indication of a complete understanding of this -threat, which had the effect of bringing him at once to a state of cowed -dejection. - - - - -XIV - - -SONIA said nothing to Martha of that meeting and conversation at the -atelier; and as Martha made no reference to it, she understood that -Harold also had been silent on the subject. - -A few days went by, which were fraught with agitation to the pupils at -Etienne’s, as they were the last days of April, and two or three of the -atelier students were to exhibit in the Salon. Sonia’s picture had been -entered under a fictitious name, rather against her master’s wishes; but -he had found it impossible to move her on this point. She had made both -Etienne and Martha promise her most solemnly to tell no one which was -her picture; and so she looked forward to the great exhibition with a -pleasure which had no disturbing element in it. - -This pleasure had, however, grown paler recently, as her hold on all -outward things, slight as she had thought it before, had grown weaker. -She had felt a real emotion when told that her picture had been admitted -by the jury, and an intense anxiety as to how it would be hung. In -contrast to this was the languid interest which she experienced when she -found that it was on the line. - -Martha and she had gone to the _Vernissage_ on the thirtieth of April, -and had stood before the picture together; but it was Martha who had -flushed and fluttered with delight at the remarks upon it which they had -overheard. Sonia herself seemed to have lost interest in it. - -On the morning of the _Vernissage_ Harold had gone to London, to be -absent until the next day, when he was to take Martha to the formal -opening of the Salon. - -There was, therefore, no reason why Sonia should not accept her friend’s -invitation to dine and spend the evening. When she saw what pleasure her -acceptance gave the girl, her heart suddenly smote her with the -reflection that she did very little to reward such ardent love, and she -impetuously offered to spend the night also, saying that she had not -done such a thing since her school-days. - -Martha was overjoyed; and when Sonia duly arrived, prepared to spend the -night, the two women made a great effort to get the amount of enjoyment -which they felt ought to be for each in their _tête-à-tête_ dinner and -evening together. Their talk, however, seemed rather desultory and -unproductive, and both of them felt that their endeavors to return to -their former attitude of free and natural mutual confidence were -strangely unavailing. - -After a rather dull discussion of Paris apartment-houses, and their -advantages and disadvantages, Martha proposed to show her guest over -this one; and Sonia went with her into all the rooms, with a civil -effort to seem interested, until she came to one on the threshold of -which Martha said: - -“This is the girls’ room, which Harold has now. It is just next to -mama’s, which is the one you have. The governess has a room on the other -side of the salon, in order to protect me. They tell such frightful -stories about the crimes and murders in these Paris apartments that I -used to be quite timid, though I’ve got over it now.” - -Sonia, while she appeared to be listening to her companion, was in -reality so inwardly shaken by certain influences received in this room -that she felt as if her mind were staggering. On the dressing-table just -in front of her were several toilet articles in old German silver which -it seemed to her that she had seen and touched but yesterday. A -clothes-brush with fantastic decorations of women’s figures, entwined -with fish and garlands of roses, had a large dent in it, of which she -knew the whole history. She could even have told why one of the three -bottles in the leather-case was without a stopper, and what had become -of the smallest pair of scissors, the place of which in the -dressing-case was empty. On a table near by was a leather portfolio with -the letters “H. R. K.” on one corner in a silver monogram. - -While Martha moved about the room and talked, Sonia’s eyes searched -eagerly among the familiar objects for certain others which she would -have given the world to see. Her search was in vain, however. There was -not one thing of his own in sight which had not been a possession of his -bachelor days. This was quite evident, and of course was entirely as it -should be. - -When they returned to the salon, Martha, observing that her friend -looked tired, proposed that they should go to bed early--an idea -received with evident favor. They were quite safe in the protection of -the man-servant, who had been brought with the family from America. -Harold had given him orders to sleep for the night in the antechamber, -and Martha had one of the maids in the room back of hers. When she asked -her guest if she felt at all timid, and saw the smile of amused denial -that answered her, she went with her to her room, lingered a few moments -to see that all was comfortable about her, then kissed and embraced her -friend, and said good night. - -Left alone, Sonia stood an instant silent in her place; then, with -movements of swift decision, she locked the door by which Martha had -gone out, and, crossing the room to another door, softly turned the -handle. She had her bedroom candle in her hand, and as the door yielded -and opened, she passed into the room beyond it, and stood still once -more, as if possessed by that presence from out the past. - -The lights in this room had been put out, and all the doors and windows -closed. She knew that she was safe in her solitude, and need no longer -struggle with the feelings which crowded her heart. - -She went to the dressing-table, and took up the old clothes-brush, and -put her lips to the dent which she herself had made there once, by using -the brush as a hammer. Then silently dashing away the heavy tears that -rolled from her eyes, she looked closely at the grotesque figures of -women and fish, and recalled such amusing things which had been said -about them that she began to laugh, even while more tears were -gathering, and straining her throat with pain. The nervous little laugh -died away as she pressed the brush again to her lips. Then she lifted, -one by one, all the familiar objects that lay before her, and looked at -them, while her tears fell like rain. - -Presently she took up the portfolio from the table near by, and turned -over the thick sheets of blotting-paper within. She could see plainly -the inverted and almost illegible, but characteristic, impression of a -woman’s writing. In some places this was lost in very different -characters, but in others it was distinctly recognizable. She walked to -the dressing-table with it, and held it before the mirror, and read -distinctly in one place the words, “Yours always, Sophie,” and in -another, “Yours faithfully, Sophia Keene.” Her heart trembled. She had -no idea to whom she had so signed herself, but she wondered passionately -if Harold had ever tried this experiment, and seen those signatures from -the faithless woman who had been his wife. - -Suddenly she put the book back on the table, and fell on her knees -before it, laying her face upon its pages, and sobbing upon them until -they were saturated with her tears; for, underneath her own handwriting, -she had seen, reflected in the glass, writing which seemed almost as -familiar, in which she had deciphered the words, “Your loving husband.” - -She had destroyed every word of that handwriting which she had ever -possessed, and thousands of times her heart had hungered to see it in -these very words. It was upon this spot that her lips were laid now, -while they whispered out, in inarticulate sobs and gasps, words of -heartbroken pain. - -She had told him that she did not love him, and had demanded a divorce -from him. She must never contradict those words, or try to undo that -act. She knew that she was weak, but she knew that she had courage -enough to stand to this resolution. He should never know how, slowly at -first, and afterward with increasing force and swiftness, the knowledge -of her mistake had come to her. For a while she had fought it off with -furious denial. She had argued and talked with herself, and recalled -past feelings of resentment, anger, and desperate antagonism, to prove -to herself that she had been right in vowing that she did not love him; -but in the end nothing had availed. Long before their paths had met -again she had known that she was wrong; that she had made a hideous -mistake of her life; and that, with all the force, fire, energy, and -passion of her heart, she loved the man whom she had repudiated. But, -even with this knowledge, she might have borne it, she might have lived -and died without making a sign, if only she had not seen him again! - -Now, however, that she had seen him, heard him, felt the atmosphere of -his presence about her, felt his thoughts of her surrounding her, and -felt through all her pulses his touch upon her hand, what was she to do? -How was she to stumble on, and pretend to fight, when a mere look from -his eyes made her sword-arm nerveless? - -Oh, she _must_ give way this once, she felt, and shed a few of those -millions of pent-up tears! Now that she was here in the very room that -he had slept in yesterday, and would come back to to-morrow, she must -let the spirit of love and grief within her have its way. Perhaps some -remnant of it might linger after she was gone, and speak to his heart -from hers. - -As her mind formed this idea, she sprang to her feet. Was she losing -control of herself? Was her mind weakening or deserting her? How had she -so forgotten herself as to have this thought, which was in its nature a -wish? She knew that in her proper senses she would choose to die a death -of torture rather than that he should have one suspicion of her feeling -for him. No, no! She passionately recanted that moment’s impulsive wish -as she took her candle, and, more tranquil now, went over and stood by -his bed. - -It was not swathed in a great cretonne cover, as French beds are apt to -be, but was made in the American fashion, with smooth white coverlet and -fair linen sheets. Still holding the candle in her hand, she sank on her -knees beside this bed, and closed her eyes, and moved her lips in -prayer. Her long hair was hanging in a thick mass down her back. The -white gown that she wore was almost as plain as a religious habit, and -she looked, with her taper burning in front of her, like a nun before a -shrine. - -She felt a certain power of renunciation come into her, and a strength -to do what right and duty demanded. She rose from her knees, and bent -over the bed, and for a moment laid her cheek against the cool white -pillow. Oh, might God be very good to him, she prayed! Might He make up -to him for all the pain and grief and woe that she had caused him; and -some time in heaven might he come to know how wholly and completely she -had loved him! - -She felt a sense of inward calm and strength as she turned from the bed, -crossed the room, and entered her own apartment, closing and locking the -door behind her. - -This peace was on her still as she presently went to bed, and fell -almost immediately into a dreamless sleep. - - - - -XV - - -SONIA was awakened early by sounds in the room next her own, and as she -opened her eyes with perfect recollection of all that had passed the -night before, she wondered if it could possibly be that Harold had -returned. It might be only the maid opening and airing the room; but -whatever it was, she could not sleep again, and she began to devise a -plan for getting away early, so that she might avoid the possibility of -meeting Harold. She got out of bed, parted the curtains, and opened the -casement of the low French window. The early sunshine had washed -everything with its faint golden glow, and the little new-born leaves -that covered the trees in the _place_ with a foliage of feathery green, -paler than ever in its transparence against the sun, made a delicate -filmy screen, through which she looked down on an exquisite moving -picture. - -The doors of the beautiful, great Madeleine were open wide, and through -them was pouring a long white rivulet that seemed to have its source in -the little covered doorway in the side of the basement of the great -building, and flowed thence in an even stream around the corner, and up -the great steps of the building, passing between its central pillars, -and so into the interior of the church. This stream was composed of what -seemed an unending number of little girls dressed for their first -communion. They were all in spotless white, with thin, transparent veils -reaching to the hems of their gowns, white wreaths upon their heads, -white stockings, shoes, and gloves, and each of them carried a tall -white taper, to be presently lighted in the church. Stationed like -sentinels along the line were gray-clad, white-bonneted sisters of -charity, who directed the children’s movements as they walked with an -awed stateliness out of the little door, up to the corner and around it, -and then through the gate and up the steps, and were lost to sight -beyond the wide church-door. - -Sonia could see the very expressions of their faces as they would look -up for direction to the sisters as they passed, lifting their meek and -timid glances with an air of solemnity which in some instances -struggled with a sense of pride in their unwonted paraphernalia. -Somehow, the sight of so much ignorance, trust, and innocence, and the -thought that each one of them possessed a woman’s heart, with all its -capacity for suffering, for hoping, for loving, for regretting, -absolutely overcame her. How ignorant they were of what lay before them! -How fearlessly their little feet were entering upon the long journey of -life, so blind to the pains and bitterness of its way! It seemed -heartrendingly cruel to her, to think how they must suffer from the mere -fact that each one of them was a woman-child. O God, that women had to -suffer so!--that even love, the one delight, should bring in its wake -such pain! She could see none of the joy ahead of these sweet children; -she thought only of what her own heart suffered now--the regret, the -longing, the unfathomable sadness, the blight, the disappointment, the -despair! The passionate pain of her heart broke forth in violent sobbing -as she stood between the parted curtains, fascinated by the lovely -sight, but scarcely able to see it for her tears. - -“O God, have pity on them--have pity on them!” she sobbed aloud; and -then, while her whole frame shook with her violent weeping, she -suddenly became aware of the stealing on of a new influence. What was -it? Nothing so definite as sight or sound, but something subtly powerful -in its significance to her. It was the pungent odor of a certain kind of -cigar which had once made part of the familiar atmosphere of her life. -It dominated her now, as if by a spell. She was instantly calmed, and, -as if by magic, swept back into the thrilling past. Then, suddenly, -penetrating this familiar atmosphere, there came a familiar sound--no -articulate utterance, but just a sound in the throat, which seemed -somehow meant to challenge attention. She would have known that voice in -the most distant and unlikely spot of earth; and now it became quite -plain to her that Harold had returned, and was watching the scene -opposite from his open window, scarcely a yard away. - -He must have heard her words and sobs! He must have understood them, he -was so well practised in reading her heart. It had been an open book to -him once, though now it must be forever locked and sealed. - -Her hands had fallen from the curtains, and she had moved backward. -There had seemed to come into her strength and support from the mere -sound of that voice. There was nothing new in this. Often, often had she -felt it before. And once it had been in her power to summon this support -at will, in any hour of grief or trial. That power was gone now, never -to come again; but for this once this supreme and availing help had been -afforded her. She felt within her the power to be strong, to collect -herself, and to form and execute plans of getting away from this place -of temptation and danger. - -She fell on her knees. Her soul uttered a prayer of mingled thanksgiving -and entreaty. As she raised her eyes she could see through the slightly -parted folds of the curtains the pointed arch that topped the Madeleine. -Carved in enduring stone, that generations to come might see and gather -comfort from it, was the gracious figure of Jesus, spreading out his -arms of welcome to the poor Magdalen, who knelt in supplication at his -feet. At his side was a glorious, great angel, who, with drawn sword, -stood over the woman, and thrust back with his other hand the evil -creatures who in vain besieged her. On the right hand of Christ another -angel, with wings at rest, held a great horn of triumph, and behind him -were women crowned and garlanded, with little children clinging to them. -Farther still was a woman on a bed of illness, over whom another angel -of mercy had spread its wings as she came to Christ to have her body -healed. - -The center of it all was the beneficent figure of the human Saviour; and -Sonia, looking down from this immutable image carved in stone to the -flowing, changing, passing stream of young human creatures beneath, felt -calmed and comforted. So they could keep their childish faith, there was -a refuge for them, and she saw them now without any prompting to tears. - -She got up from her knees, bathed her face, smoothed her hair before the -mirror, and then, after darkening the room a little, rang for the maid, -and asked for her coffee. - -By the time it came she was almost dressed, and she instructed the -servants very carefully not to disturb her young mistress, but to call a -cab for her at once,--as she found it necessary to go home early,--and -to tell Martha, when the latter awoke, that she was very well, but was -obliged to be at home at a certain hour. - -Her plan worked perfectly, and on her way to the cab she saw no one -except the American maid, who went down with her. In passing through the -antechamber she noticed a man’s covert-coat, stick, and hat, together -with some crushed newspapers, thrown on a sofa. But she had not needed -this to convince her of the fact that Harold had returned, and had been -in his room, watching, as she had watched, the stream of little girls -beginning their celebration of the month of Mary by taking their first -communion. - -The first of May being also what is known as “Labor Day,” it was a -strange contrast to the unworldliness and other-worldliness of these -little _religieuses_ to see the alert military forces now beginning to -fill the streets, in anticipation of possible insurrection and danger, -of which there was strong menace that year. - -Gendarmes in groups of six and eight, and sometimes even more, dotted -the streets in all directions, and the mounted guard was out in full -force. Sonia, looking from her cab window, heard repeated orders given -to small groups of citizens to disperse. Even two men were not -permitted to stand and talk together, and she was conscious of a certain -amusement at seeing two groups of gendarmes combine forces to separate -these little knots of two and three. Occasionally there was some -resistance, and she saw several arrests made, which frightened her. She -felt lonely and unprotected, driving through the streets of Paris with -an unknown cabman at that early hour, when there was even a possibility -of such a horror as an insurrection of the French lower orders. - -It came over her with piercing power how Harold would once have felt -about her being in such a position, and how strange, how inexplicable, -how unnatural, it was that it could be nothing to him now--that, even if -he knew it, he would feel bound to accept it passively; for nothing, she -was certain, could induce him to exercise the semblance of a right over -her. - -She got out of the cab at her own door, safe in body, but more excited -and confused in mind than she had ever been in her life--and perhaps, in -this moment, more wretched also. - - - - -XVI - - -HAROLD’S condition of mind and feeling on that morning of the first of -May was so complicated and perplexed that he felt for the first time in -his life utterly unable to see his way. He was accustomed to having -things, no matter how difficult, look definite to him. He had not -hesitated in deciding on his sudden marriage with Sophia Rutledge, nor -had he felt the least hesitation as to his course a month later, when -she demanded a divorce from him. His path had been clear and open before -him, and he had taken it unflinchingly. He felt the same ability to do, -and the same courage to endure, now, if he could only see his way. He -knew himself too well to suppose that, after having been married to this -woman, he could ever love another, and he had quite decided to accept -his life and to put the thought of happiness out of it. In making this -decision he had had the strongest possible conviction of the truth of -his wife’s declaration that she did not love him, and it was this which -had made submission to her decision the only possible course for him. -She was such a strong and resolute woman that he had imagined her, after -the stern ordeal of the first few months of separation, going resolutely -on, with her life adjusted to its new conditions; and although he was -certain that her marriage, separation, and the coming divorce would make -too deep marks in her womanly consciousness for her ever to think of -marrying again, he quite believed that she was the calm and self-poised -woman for which he knew nature had intended her. - -It was therefore a great surprise to him, on meeting her again, to see -such marked indications of indecision, nervousness, and lack of control. -He felt that she often said and did what she had meant not to say and -do, and he was aware that she was a prey to variableness, fluctuation, -and caprice. What did it mean? This was the question which he set -himself to consider with all the concentration of his mind. He did not -know--what was the truth--that these new qualities in her existed only -with regard to himself, and that to her aunt, her acquaintances, her -servants, and all who came in contact with her, she was more than ever -decided, self-collected, and even self-willed. If he could have known -that, it would have let in light upon a subject and situation which -seemed to him impenetrably dark. Every time that he had seen her she had -left upon his mind a different impression. Sometimes he wondered if she -could be ill, to account for such a change; and sometimes he told -himself that it was an unpardonable demand upon her nervous endurance -for him to come into her presence. Still, when he reflected, he had -never thrust himself upon her, and on the only occasion when their -meeting had not been accidental, it had been her deliberate doing. What -must he conclude from this? - -It would be conceit only which could make him think, after that, that -she either feared or disliked to meet him. He certainly had no right to -suppose that she sought or wished it. He must, therefore, conclude that -she was quite indifferent to him, and wished him to accept that view of -the case. - -He tried hard to do this, but there was something in her manner and in -his own consciousness which positively prevented his holding to this -idea. It was not that she appeared to him to be unhappy, but she did -seem disturbed, restless and fitful. After his interview with her in the -atelier, he felt that she had so definitely conveyed to him her wishes -in the case that now he had only to follow them and to keep out of her -way, so far as it rested with him to do so. - -On this course he fully resolved; but her beauty, her voice, her -movements, haunted him by day and night. He knew that he was as -absolutely under her spell as he had ever been. He knew that a point -might come when his self-control would be powerfully threatened, and -then there would be nothing for it but to flee. He was not afraid of the -consequences to himself which might lie in this betrayal of his past. He -was thinking of her, and of the increased trouble which it would bring -into her life if she should come to realize how he still loved her. This -was a quite unnecessary trial for her, and one which he was resolved she -should not have. - -He had not known of any plan of Martha’s for having her friend spend the -night of his absence with her, so it took him completely by surprise -when he returned at an earlier hour than he had expected, and, inquiring -of the man servant if all was well, was told that the Princess -Mannernorff had dined and spent the night with his sister. He -ascertained what room she was occupying, and when the servant, who -carried his bag, went into his own room ahead of him, he reproved the -man rather severely for opening the window with such a noise. Then -immediately he sent the servant away. - -He had seen, from below, the beginning of the little procession going -into the Madeleine; and as he stood half unconsciously watching it, -possessed by the thought that the woman who had once been his adored and -adoring wife was asleep in the next room to him, he heard the window of -that room open, and he knew that she was awake, and standing very near. -He heard her draw the curtains back by the cords and rings above. He -even heard the little effort in her breathing caused by the strong pull. -Each of them, he knew, was looking at the same sight--the beautiful, -moving panorama, seen through the flecks of sun-washed, young green -leaves; but while she was thinking of those trustful and unconscious -children, his thoughts were wholly of her. His heart was filled with -longings so intense and masterful as to crowd out everything else. Then, -in a flash, his humor changed; for there came to him her stifled sobs, -and her calls on God to pity them--those sweet, unknowing little ones, -born to be suffering women. With his old swift comprehension of her, he -knew why this sight had touched her so, and he realized what he had only -dimly felt before, that she was a miserable woman, wearily walking a -_via dolorosa_. - -He did not ask to know what it might be. He longed only to help and -comfort her. He could not speak, but at least he could let her know that -he was near; and then it was that he had made the sound which Sonia had -heard. - -That sound was followed by silence. Was she perhaps indignant, he asked -himself, that he should dare to make this demand upon her attention? She -would have a right to be; for he could make no pretense that he had not -deliberately intended to do this. Yet she was alone there, sad and -troubled, and he was close at hand, with a heart that ached to comfort -her. He could not have rested, feeling that she was unaware of his -knowledge of her presence, and no matter what consequences to himself -the act might carry, he deliberately said to her in that sound: “I am -here, and I know that you are there.” - -If she had made a sign in answer, he would have thanked God on his -knees; but she had withdrawn from the window in silence, and he had felt -only that she was gone. - -An hour later, when the servant brought his coffee and the morning -papers, he brought also the information that the princess had gone off -alone some time before in a cab. - -Harold felt, at hearing this, a perfect fury of anger and indignation. -With the possibility of a riot in view, and the knowledge that ladies -had been warned not to venture unprotected on the streets, it made his -blood boil to think she--the delicate woman-spirit and woman-body that -he knew so well--should have gone forth alone from under the very roof -with him; and that even if he had known of it, he would have had no -right to interfere. The legal right, of course, he had; but that fact -only made it the more impossible for him to assert upon her any claim. -Not all the laws that were ever made could have bound or loosed him so -indomitably as did her wish and will. The fact that it was still within -his power to assert a legal claim upon her constituted in itself the -strongest possible demand upon a man of his nature to leave her as free -as air from any bondage or emancipation which could exist by any right -but that of love. If she had loved him, he would have asserted his power -and right to control and influence her. As she did not love him, there -was no creature living who was so free from him as she--this woman whom -once he had held in as binding fetters as ever love had forged. - - - - -XVII - - -ON reaching home, Sonia went immediately to her room, and sent word to -her aunt that she was feeling ill, and desired not to be disturbed. Her -maid brought her a message of condolence in reply, and she knew that she -was now safe in her solitude for the remainder of the day. - -She undressed quickly, threw on a loose dressing-gown, unfastened the -thick coil of her hair, and then, telling her maid not to come to the -room until she should ring, she threw herself at full length on the -lounge, and lay there with her eyes closed, profoundly still. She had -caused the blinds to be shut and the curtains drawn. The beautiful -spring sunshine flooded everything without, but about her all was gloom -and darkness. She could hear the whir of innumerable wheels and the -click of horses’ feet on the smooth pavement outside, and she knew that -the streets were alive and abloom with smartly dressed men and women in -open carriages, driving between the long lines of flowering -horse-chestnuts down the beautiful Champs Elysées to the Palais de -l’Industrie. - -Long ago she had ordered a charming costume for this occasion, selected -with much care and thought; and it had come home more than a realization -of her expectations. She had fancied that she would have pleasure in -joining a party of friends, and perhaps lingering about the neighborhood -of her own picture to hear any comments that might be made upon it. She -had not allowed herself to hope that it would be on the line; but there -it was this moment, as she knew; and the pretty gown and bonnet and -parasol, all so painstakingly selected, were neatly put away, and she -was lying nerveless in this lonely room. - -She lay on her back, with her arms, from which the sleeves fell, thrown -over her head, and her face turned to one side, so that her cheek rested -against the smooth flesh of one inner arm. The folds of her scant gown -lay thin and pliant over her long, slim figure, and the pointed toes of -her little gray _mules_ showed at the end of the lounge where her feet -were crossed one over the other. To-day she had given up the long, long -struggle for self-control and strength. She abandoned herself absolutely -to the dark, unbroken grief which she felt to be her only natural and -honest life. She did not even long for happiness to-day: she longed only -for the peace of death--the nothingness of the grave. Oh, to be taken -so, without the need to stir or move, and lowered into a cool, deep, -still grave,--breath, consciousness, hope, regret, memory, -individuality, all, all gone,--and earth and grass and flowers over her! -That instinct of weak self-pity, to which the strongest of us yield now -and then, overcame the lethargy of her mood, and the springs of tears -were touched. Two large drops rose and forced their way between her -close-shut lids. - -“O, what have I done, what have I done, to have to suffer so?” she -whispered--“to have to give up all, all joy, and take only pain and -misery and regret for all my life! It was only a mistake. It was no sin -or crime that I committed when I sent him away, and said that I did not -love him. It was only an awful, fatal, terrible mistake. I have feared -so for a long, long time; but, oh! I know it now! I want him back--I -want him back! I want his love, and his patience, and his care. I want -him for my friend, and my protector, and my husband. And though I want -him so, I am farther away from him than if I had never seen him. When -this hideous divorce is got, and our beautiful marriage has been undone, -any other woman in the world might hope to win his love. I shall be the -one free woman on earth to whom that hope would be shame and outrage and -humiliation. O my God, help me, help me! Show me what to do. Give me -back at least my pride, that I may not have to suffer his contempt. O -God Almighty, if his love for me is quite, quite dead, in mercy let my -love for him die too! Oh, no--no--no! My God, I take it back! I do not -ask it. I do not want to stop this agony of pain that comes from loving -him. O God of pity and compassion, give me now a little help, and show -me what to do. Kill me now--strike me dead, O God--rather than let me do -anything to cause him to despise me!” - -She buried her face in her hands, and went on, speaking between her -fingers in thick, sobbing whispers. - -“God did not hold me back before from cutting my own throat,” she said; -“and yet I prayed to him with all my soul, as I am praying now! Perhaps -I was too self-willed, and wanted my own way too much, and so he would -not hear me. Oh, I _want_ to do his will--I want to let him choose for -me; but, oh, far more than that I want my love, my darling, my husband! -We have been joined together by God, and he has not put us asunder, nor -has man put us asunder. Neither did he do it! It was I,--I myself,--out -of my weak selfishness and self-will, because I wanted to make -everything conform to me--because I wished him to love me by a rule and -ideal of my own--to treat me according to my fancy--to make every -sacrifice of himself and his nature and thoughts and feelings to me, and -I was willing to consider him in nothing! But oh, my God, I have been -shown my wickedness and selfishness! The scorching light of truth has -come, and now I see it all. If I could have him back! If I could wipe -out the past, and be once more in my wedding-dress and veil, and give -him my vows again, O God, thou knowest whether I could keep them now or -not! It cannot be, it cannot be! He pities me and would be kind to me, -but he does not love me any longer. O God Almighty,” she cried aloud, -writhing her body from the lounge, and getting on her knees, with her -hands and her face lifted upward, “take me and work in me, and give -light to my blinded eyes! Give me the strength to do what is right--to -give him up--to stop thinking of him! I cannot bear this tearing -struggle any more. I can fight no longer. I beg thee only, only for -this--that I may somehow grope and stumble through this time without the -loss of the one thing that is left to me--my woman’s pride!” - -She fell forward, with her face buried in the lounge, and great sobs -shaking her body. Gradually these subsided; but long after they had -ceased she knelt there with her face concealed, alone in the silence and -darkness. - - * * * * * - -AT the same moment, only a little distance off, the sunlight was pouring -down in floods upon the palms, the stuffs, the pictures, the statues, -and the crowd of fashionable men and women who thronged the great -exhibition of the spring Salon. - -Voices of men and women rose melodiously, whether in praise or blame. -Lorgnettes were raised, hands clasped in delight, and shoulders -shrugged in disapproval. Fans were waved in delicate, gloved hands, -whose every movement stirred the air in waves of sweet perfume from -flowers, or delicate odors wafted from women’s gowns. Smartly dressed -men and women stood about in groups, and now and then a hum arose as -some great man, decorated with orders, and smiling with confident good -humor, passed along, bowing to right and left, and receiving -compliments--too familiar to be anything but gently stimulating--on the -beauty of his latest pictures. - -There were groups, larger or smaller, before many of the canvases; and -in one of these groups, standing a little apart from the rest, were -Harold and Martha Keene. - -The picture before which they had paused was a rather small canvas on -which was painted a woman leaning with her elbows on a table, and her -chin resting in her hands, which met at the wrists, and then closed upon -the cheeks at either side. The little table before her was perfectly -bare. There was a striking absence of detail. The one thing which was -accentuated by careful and distinct painting was a plain gold ring on -the third finger of the left hand. The loose drapery which wrapped the -shoulders, leaving bare the throat and arms, was simply blocked in with -creamy white paint and heavy shadows. The hair was gathered in a thick -coil at the top of the head. There was beauty in its coloring, and merit -also in the flesh-tints of the face and throat; but the power of the -picture was in the eyes, which looked directly at one. The brows above -them were smooth, definite, and uncontracted. The lines of the face were -youthful and round. The lips were firm and self-controlled. All the -expression was left to the eyes, which, large, honest, courageous, and -truthful, met those of the gazer, and gave their message--the message of -despair. - -“It is called in the catalogue simply ‘A Study,’” said a man standing -close to Harold Keene; “and certainly there is no need to name it. The -artist’s name is given as ‘G. Larrien.’ Does any one happen to know it?” - -No one did, and the group of people soon passed on; but Harold stayed -and looked. Martha, who stood at his elbow, was palpitating with -excitement. She knew the picture and the artist, but she was determined -not to betray, even by a look, the secret which she had promised her -friend to keep. She saw that Harold studied the picture with intent -interest, and she schooled her face to express nothing, in case he -should look at her. She was watching him closely, and she thought that -his color changed a little, but he gave no other sign of feeling. He did -not look toward her. Indeed, there was neither question nor curiosity in -his eyes, but a look of conviction and, she thought, a look of pain. - -A man and woman had paused beside them now, and stood gazing at the -picture. - -“It’s quite a remarkable thing,” said the man; “and it appears to be by -a new exhibitor. I do not know the name. It certainly tells its story.” - -“Yes,” said his companion; “I believe that it is only through marriage -that despair comes to a woman. If one painted that look in a man’s eyes, -one would have to invent some better explanation of it than a -wedding-ring.” - -Harold glanced toward the speakers, and then began to move away, without -looking again at the picture. Martha waited to hear what he would say; -but as to this particular picture, he said nothing. - -Why was it that she felt a sudden certainty that he knew who had painted -it? It seemed absurd to suppose that he could, and yet she had a -conviction about it impossible to shake off. - -The picture, as Martha knew, had been the hasty work of a few days, and -had been painted at home. When Sonia had brought it to show to Etienne, -he had been so surprised and delighted at it that he had insisted upon -substituting it for the careful and painstaking piece of work which she -had done in the atelier on purpose for the exhibition. It was evident -that he recognized some rare quality in this picture, and that others -had now recognized it also. Martha, looking back, saw that another group -had formed in front of it, and that animated comment was in progress. - -It came over Martha now--a thing she had not thought of before--that in -spite of the different contour and coloring of the whole face, there was -a certain vague resemblance to Sonia in it. It was not the eyes -themselves, for they were blue in the picture; but there was something -in the shape and setting of them which suggested Sonia. She wondered if -the lovely princess could have been aware of this herself, for she had -shown a strong reluctance to exhibit this picture, and had required of -Etienne and herself a very strict promise of secrecy about it, saying -that it had been seen by them only. Martha, who knew that her friend was -unhappy, and that her sorrow had come to her through her marriage, felt -in her heart that Sonia had painted this picture from the look of her -own eyes in a mirror when off her usual guard. She wondered if by chance -Harold had had the same idea. - - - - -XVIII - - -THE next morning Martha drove to the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, and -found her friend in bed, suffering from a headache which had been so -severe that she had had a doctor. She had passed a sleepless night, and -it distressed Martha much to see how really ill her beautiful princess -looked. There were dark rings around the lovely eyes, and the sweet -mouth, which the girl so loved, had a pathetic droop which showed that -tears were not far off. - -Martha tried to cheer her up, by telling her how much her picture had -been noticed, and repeating some of the comments which she had -overheard. - -It was strange how little all this was to Sonia. Her pulses did not -quicken, by one beat, until suddenly Martha said that Harold had been -fascinated by it, had lingered before it and gone back to it, and that -somehow she could not help thinking that he suspected that she had -painted it. - -“How could he? It is impossible!” Sonia cried, a faint flush rising to -her face. - -“Yes; I suppose it must be,” Martha conceded; “and yet there was -something special about the picture to him; and after he had seen it, he -certainly took no further interest in looking yours up, which, in the -beginning, he had told me he was going to do.” - -“Martha, you must never let him know it! I trust you for that. I shall -never own the picture as long as I live; and I have the solemn pledge of -both you and Etienne not to betray me. You know it was against my will -that I consented to exhibit it, and I could not endure to have it known -that a melodramatic thing like that (for that is what it will be called) -had been painted and exhibited by me. Did your brother laugh at it? Tell -me the truth. If he laughed at it, I wish to know it.” - -She had raised herself in the bed, and sat upright, looking at Martha -with commanding eyes. - -“Laugh at it, Sonia? Could any one laugh at that picture--least of all -Harold? It is one of the most deadly things that I ever looked at. No; -he did not laugh. Indeed, I think it took from him all power of being -amused for the rest of the day. I only say this to prove that the -impression which your picture made was a serious one. He said nothing -about it, but I know he was impressed by it.” - -The princess fell back on her pillows, with a face so flushed and eyes -so brilliant that Martha feared that she must be in a fever, and blamed -herself for having talked to her on a subject so exciting as the Salon. -In a few moments she rose to go. Her friend, although she declared that -the visit had done her no harm, did not try to keep her, for a sudden -and excited fancy had seized her. - -No sooner was Martha gone than she rose quickly, rang for her maid, and -began to dress, regardless of the fact that her head felt light, and her -limbs were trembling. She put on a long cloak and a large black hat; -and, ordering her carriage, had herself driven to the Palais de -l’Industrie. - -A feverish desire to see the picture again had laid hold upon her. She -wanted to look at it after knowing that Harold had done so, and to judge -how much she had betrayed of - -[Illustration: “SHE PUT ON A LONG CLOAK.”] - -what her own heart had felt, and her own eyes had expressed, when she -had painted that picture before her mirror, trusting in the complete -disguise of the decided changes in features and coloring which she had -made. She had painted the expression as faithfully as she could, knowing -that no one who had never seen her completely off guard would recognize -it. She felt now that if she should discover that there was a trace of -possible identification in either features or expression, she could not -endure it. Harold would think, and would have a right to think, that she -had made capital out of her most sacred shame and sorrow; and he was the -sort of man to whom that idea would be monstrous. She knew that she -never could have painted it if she had had the least idea of exhibiting -it; but when it was done, and she had shown it to Etienne to get his -criticism on the technique, and he had been so plainly delighted with -it, and urged her not to carry it any farther, but to exhibit it as it -was, she had agreed to it for three reasons. One was to please her -master, who was not very easily pleased; another was because she knew -she could keep it secret by telling no one except the two people who -already knew; and the third and decisive one was that it was a way -suddenly opened to her of giving her message to the world impersonally. -She felt a sort of exultation in the thought that in this way she could -say: “Look in my face, and see. This is marriage!” - -When Sonia got out of her carriage she dismissed it with the maid, and -mounted the steps with a look of greater firmness and resolution than -she really felt, for physically she was ill and weak. She knew, however, -that she might meet with acquaintances here, and might attract the -attention of strangers by being quite alone, and therefore she realized -the necessity of calmness in her outward manner. Her face was partly hid -by a veil, and she had managed to avoid the gaze of one or two people -whom she had recognized as she made her way quickly to the room in which -she knew that her picture was hung. - -In spite of her preoccupation, it quickened her pulses a little to see -that there was a small group of people in front of it, evidently talking -about it. As she stood behind these, and looked full at the face on the -canvas, which was looking full at her, a sudden sense of conscious -power, the knowledge that she had created a thing of intrinsic -character, came over her, and she could hardly realize that it was she -who had done it. - -There was certainly no trace of her feature and coloring in this -picture, and yet she shrank back, and had an impulse to conceal herself, -for what she saw before her was undoubtedly the picture of her soul. Her -heart fluttered, and she felt herself beginning to tremble. Was she -going to faint here, alone? A wild sense of helplessness seized her, and -at the same moment she was conscious of a certain familiarity in the -outline of a shoulder and arm between her and the picture. She glanced -quickly up at the head of this man, and saw that it was Harold. A little -sound--scarcely more than a stifled breath--escaped her, and he turned -suddenly, just in time to go to her and take her arm in his steady, -reassuring grasp, which seemed to nerve her soul as well as her body to -make a desperate effort for self-control. - -“You are ill. You should not have ventured out alone,” he said. (Oh, the -strong, protecting voice; the firm, availing touch!) Then he led her to -a seat, with some quiet words that seemed to put new power into her to -endure and to resist. - -“I must go home,” she said, rising as she felt her strength return. “I -have been ill. I did not know how weak I was.” - -“I will take you to your carriage,” he said; and without seeming to -recognize the possibility of resistance, he drew her arm in his, and led -her from the room and down the steps. - -It came to her, suddenly, that her carriage was not there. - -“I sent the carriage away,” she said. “I thought I would stay awhile, -and see the pictures.” - -He signaled to a waiting cab, and as it drew up to the sidewalk, and he -put her in, he said quietly, but with resolution: - -“I cannot let you go alone in this cab, ill and faint as you are. I beg -your pardon, princess; but I must go with you”; and he gave the number -to the cabman, and got in beside her. - -That word _Princess_ stung her pride, and gave her a sudden feeling of -strength. She knew that he meant to convey by its use the idea that it -was only as a matter of formal courtesy that he felt bound to care for -and protect her now. She drew herself upright, with a slight bend of -the head in acknowledgment of his civility. - -For a few moments they drove along in silence, utterly alone together. -Harold wondered if the thoughts of other days and hours were in her -mind. At the same instant she was wondering the same thing about him. -She had forgotten that he had just spoken of her with formality, and -called her princess. Apparently he had forgotten it, too; for he now -said in a low tone and with suddenness: - -“Your picture is remarkable. You have told your story well.” - -She felt that denial would be useless. Since he had found her standing -there before it, she was certain that he knew the truth as well as she -did. - -“I never meant that it should be known that I painted it,” she said. -“You must know that.” - -“Why should it not be known?” he said. “If a woman has looked on what -those eyes have seen, surely she is called upon to give her warning. If -that is what marriage meant to you, God pity you! God be thanked that -you are out of it!” - -At his words there rushed across her mind the memory of a thousand acts -and thoughts and words of tenderness, of love, of strong protection, of -help in need and comfort in distress, which this man beside her had -given her. How could she tell him, though, that the ground of the -despair which she had painted had been the renunciation of these--the -thought that she had had a vision of what the love of man and woman -could be in a wedded life, and had been shut out from it? Where were now -the reasons that had seemed so powerful and sufficient for the course -which she had taken? Why was it that, try as she might, she could get no -sense of support and satisfaction from recalling these? Was it because -she felt them to be the foolish qualms of an ignorant girl, who was -prepared to fight against any and all conditions of life which did not -answer to her whim? O God, the hideous possibilities of error and of -wrong that were about one! How confident of right one might be in doing -an act of weakness and of shame! - -She could not answer his last words. She felt herself suddenly so -possessed of the sense of his nearness that she could neither collect -nor control her thoughts. Her eyes were lowered, and she could not see -his face; but the very sight of his strong brown hand lying ungloved -upon his knee, the very bend of that knee and fold of the gray trousers, -seemed as familiar to her as her own body. - -Suddenly she seemed to feel that he was hers, and that she was his, -whether they chose to recognize the fact or not; that God had joined -them, and no man, not even themselves, had power to put them asunder. - -Harold, meantime, was wondering at her silence. Why was it that, after -her old defiant fashion, she had had no answer ready for his bitterly -felt and spoken words? That picture had stung his soul, and he would -have died sooner than have owned to himself even a wish to have her -back. - -In spite of this, he could not forget that they were alone together, and -that she was ill and weak, and needed pity. He wondered suddenly if he -had been cruel in what he had said to her, and had put too great a tax -upon her strength. - -As this thought crossed his mind the cab stopped, and he became aware of -a din of sound, made by the tramping of men and horses, and the blare -of brass instruments and the beating of drums. The cabman leaned down -and called to him, saying that the way had been crossed by a procession. -It would be some time passing. Was monsieur in a great hurry? Harold -answered no; and as he turned from the window he glanced toward the -woman at his side, and saw that she was leaning back weakly in her -corner, deadly pale. Her eyes met his, however, with a wide, direct, -unflinching look, and he saw that there was no danger of her fainting. -Consciousness, acute and powerful, was written in those eyes. - -Outside, the crowd pushed and jostled by, while the clatter of hoofs and -feet came more distinctly to the ears as the sound of the band moved off -in the distance. An instinct to protect that pallid face from being -gazed upon made him draw down the thick silk blinds. He did this, -explaining his motive to his companion in a few quick words. Then he -turned and looked at her, and in the suddenly created gloom their eyes -met. - -He was striving with all his might to keep the fire out of his; but -suddenly he became aware of the same effort on her part, as she closed -her lids an instant, and then, as if mastered by a feeling stronger -than her will, opened them wide, and looked at him again. - -His heart leaped. His pulses throbbed. His cheeks flushed darkly. He -moved a little nearer to her, so that their faces were close, and still -her eyes met his with that wild, burning, concentrated gaze. - -“For God’s sake, what is it?” he said. But she did not move a muscle or -an eyelash. She only gave her eyes to his, as one would hold up the -printed page of a book to be read and understood. - -“What is it?” he said again, coming so near as to speak in the lowest -whisper, while his hands grasped hard the top of his stick, and his -breath came thick and fast. - -Her eyes still clung to his, but her lips were wordless. - -“I do not understand,” he said. “For God’s sake, speak! I do not want to -lose control of myself, but I cannot forget that you have been my wife.” - -These words, which moved him so that he shook visibly, made apparently -no impression upon her. Her breathing was so scant and so light as -scarcely to lift the lace upon her breast; and, near as he was to her, -he could not hear it. Was she, perhaps, unconscious? He might have -thought so, but for the deep, intense consciousness in the gaze that she -fixed upon him, and the flutter of her long-lashed lids as she shut and -opened them occasionally from the strain of that prolonged look. - -Outside, the drum throbbed distantly, like the beating of a great -excited heart. The thin call of a trumpet sounded keenly like a sigh of -pain. Nearer the tramp of men and horses could be heard. But all these -things only made them feel more absolutely alone together--this man and -this woman who had once been one in marriage! With his breast heaving -quickly with deep, uneven breaths, he suddenly uttered her name in a -thick whisper. - -Still she remained as she had been before, motionless and wordless, -while he read her eyes. He dropped his stick, and seized her hands in -both his own, which were cold and shaking. - -“Speak!” he said commandingly. “In God’s name, what do you mean, unless -it is that you love me still?” - -Her hands were quiet and nerveless in his grasp, and in another instant -he would have lost control and consciousness of what he was doing. But -at this very moment the cabman called to his horse and cracked his whip, -the carriage gave a lurch forward, and they rattled rapidly away. - -Recollecting himself, Harold dropped the hands which he had seized so -recklessly, and touched the springs of the curtains, which instantly -flew up, letting in the full light of day. - -The fresh air which came in seemed to calm his heated blood, and he was -master of himself again. - -When he turned to look at his companion, she was leaning back in exactly -the same position, only her heavy, richly fringed white lids were -dropped over her eyes. - -In this way she remained quite still until the carriage stopped before -the door of her apartment. Harold, who thought that she had now really -fainted, was about to summon help from the concierge, when she opened -her eyes with a look of entire self-possession in them, got out of the -cab without the aid of his offered hand, and, bowing her thanks, without -speaking walked past him into the house, with a look of cool dismissal -which made it impossible for him to follow. - -Puzzled, confused, bewildered almost to the point of frenzy, he got -back into the cab, and ordered the driver to drive in the Bois until he -should tell him to turn. - -Sonia, during that same time, was shut within her room, thinking as -intensely as he. She had been able, by dint of enormous will-power, to -control herself in all other points while indulging herself in one. She -had said to herself during those crucial minutes in the cab, while she -consciously threw open the windows of her soul to this man in that clear -and unrestricted gaze, that she would neither speak nor stir, though the -effort should kill her. She found that she could best carry out this -resolve by relaxing her body utterly, while her will got every moment -tenser in its strain. She had said to herself over and over to what -seemed a thousand times: “Don’t move--don’t speak. Don’t move--don’t -speak”; and the very consciousness that she was equal to this effort -made her the more free in the abandonment with which she had let him -read her heart in her eyes. - -Now, as she threw her wraps aside, and paced up and down her room, a -feeling of delicious exultation possessed her, and the physical weakness -which she had lately felt was gone and forgotten. It had been a draught -of intoxicating joy simply to look at him with free and unbridled eyes. -Was he not her husband, who could not be, by any act of man, really -parted from her? What had she shown him but a woman’s feeling for her -wedded lover? Was she crazy, she wondered, that she could have done it -then, and could feel now no regret--only a wild delight--in having done -it? O God, O God, how long it was that she had shut herself off from -feeling, and how good it was to feel once more! She was alive in every -nerve and pulse, as she had not been for so long; and the throbbing of -life was sweet, sweet, sweet! Never mind about the future; she would -meet it boldly, and make up some excuse--that she had been ill or -unconscious in the cab--pretend that she had forgotten the whole -thing--do anything that was needed, as to that!--but the throbbing bliss -of that one half-hour, she exulted that she had been bold enough to make -her own. - - - - -XIX - - -THE _cours_ was closed at Etienne’s, but Sonia, who could not bear to -face the hours of idleness which each day must contain during the few -weeks which her aunt was still to spend in Paris, got permission to come -and work in the atelier during the afternoons. She was privileged to get -her own models as she required them, and Martha was to come also when -she had time and inclination. - -The day after her encounter with Harold at the Salon, Sonia, strong in -purpose and confident in will, went to the atelier with only Inkling to -protect her and keep her company, and set resolutely to work to do some -severe drawing. - -She had abundance of both time and space now, and she settled herself -with great care and deliberation, with the anatomical figures and -numerous copies of Ingres’ drawings full in view. She had not worked -very long, however, before her enthusiasm began to ebb, and she put -down her charcoal and went across to the model-throne, where she sat -down with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and fell to -thinking deeply. Inkling came and jumped up in her lap, but she pushed -him away with a roughness unusual to her, and he had to content himself -with curling up on her skirt. As she sat there, conscious of being quite -alone, she was as absolutely still as any of the customary holders of -this position; but the varied expressions which crossed and changed her -face would have made any class of students in the world despair of such -a model. Sometimes she would look quite happy for an instant, as if a -thought of joy had forced its way uppermost. Then again deep pain would -come into her face, and shadows of doubt, perplexity, and hopelessness. - -She sat so for a long time. Inkling had had a deep and peaceful sleep on -the soft folds of her gown, from which he was startled by a knock at the -door. His mistress sprang up suddenly, rolling him over, and he began to -bark furiously, while Sonia, with an attitude of studious absorption, -took her place at the easel, and seized her bit of charcoal. She -thought it was probably only some boy on an errand, but she was also -acutely conscious of whom it might possibly be. So she was not entirely -unprepared for the sight of Harold appearing quickly around the edge of -the old sail-cloth screen. - -He bowed with a brevity and formality which seemed to imply that she -need fear no agitating disturbance from him; but instead of standing in -his place and stating the reason of his presence, he came forward. - -Inkling, wild with excitement, began a repetition of his frantic -performances of the former occasion; but his mistress, determined to -have nothing of that sort, promptly suppressed him, and he slunk away -and lay down with great meekness. - -Harold, seeming to take no cognizance of the dog, came nearer, and -waited until the absorbed figure before the easel should notice him. -Presently she did this by saying formally: - -“Martha is not here. She has not been here to-day.” - -“She is at home. I have just left her,” he answered. - -“Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you had come to see her.” - -“No; I have come to see you.” - -“To see me?” lifting her eyebrows in light surprise. - -“If you are at leisure.” - -“I am busy, as you see; but I can talk to you as I draw, if you don’t -mind.” - -“If you will allow me, I will wait until your drawing is done.” - -“That would take up too much of your time,” she said, laying down her -charcoal, and elaborately brushing off her fingers with her -handkerchief. - -“Not at all. I have nothing to do.” - -“I would rather speak to you first--whatever it is you have to say--and -go on with my work afterward. I dislike to draw with people looking on.” - -“In that case I will ask you to give me your attention at once. Will -you, perhaps take this seat?” - -He indicated an old wooden arm-chair; but she declined it with a quick -motion, and went over and took her old place on the model-throne, -lifting Inkling to her lap. Harold seated himself on a bench directly -facing her. - -“I am sorry if I am annoying you,” he said; “but I cannot take the -consequences of not speaking to you now.” - -“Consequences?” she said. “What consequences?” - -“Consequences to you and to me. I will ask you to be kind enough to look -at me while I explain them.” - -Her eyes were fastened upon Inkling, and she kept them so, while she -began to twist his soft ears. There was a moment of intense stillness -throughout the room. Then the man, in a voice of deep concentration, -spoke her name. - -“Sophie,” he said. - -“Pray don’t call me by that name,” she answered quickly. “I have never -liked it, and I wish now to forget it.” - -“Sonia, then, if you prefer it. I want simply to make plain the fact -that I am speaking to _you_, the woman who bears that name, and not to -the princess, as you are supposed to be.” - -“Go on,” she said. - -He was silent. She kept her eyes fixed on the dog until she was afraid -that her stubbornness would look childish, or, worse even than that, -timid. Then she looked up. - -The next instant she wished that she had not, for the compelling look -that met her own did for a moment make her feel afraid. She summoned all -her force, however, and looked at him defiantly, her head raised, her -eyes steady. - -“I want you to explain to me what you meant yesterday,” he said. - -“What I meant yesterday? What do you mean?” - -“What you meant yesterday, driving home in the cab.” - -“What I meant yesterday by driving home in the cab? I suppose my meaning -was the obvious one--that I was tired and ill, and that my own carriage -was not there.” - -The timidity which she had felt before grew now into positive terror, as -she felt the masterful force of this man’s power over her. So strong was -her sense of it that she felt absolutely reckless of what she said or -did, so long as she was able to resist him. - -“You will not move me, or change my intention--my _determination_ to get -an answer to my question. Your evasion of it is childish as well as -useless.” - -“I will be childish if I choose. Who is to prevent me?” she said -defiantly. - -“I will. I have no intention of submitting to any such childishness -now. You are a woman, and you are the only woman who exists for me. In -that character I mean to have your answer to my question.” - -His words made her heart throb quick, with a feeling outside of the -terror of self-betrayal by which she was possessed. She gave no outward -sign, however, as she looked down, and began once more to pull at -Inkling’s ears. - -Before she realized what he was doing, Harold had bent forward, and -lifting the dog from her lap, he set him on the floor, with a shove that -sent him half-way across the room. As the little creature ran off -frightened, Harold turned to the woman facing him, and forcibly took -both her hands in his. - -She jerked them from him with a powerful wrench, as she sprang to her -feet, retreating a few paces until she was stopped by some benches and -easels huddled together on that side of the room. - -“Don’t touch me!” she cried, in a voice of real terror. - -He let his hands drop to his sides, but he followed, and stood very -close to her, as he said: - -“You had better answer me, and let me have my way. I am not to be -turned now. This interview between us must be final, and I promise you -that after it you shall be safe from any persecution from me. Now, -however, the present moment is my own. I have you in my power--and that -power I intend to use!” - -“An honorable and manly thing to say!” she panted, her eyes blazing and -her lips curled. “Do you mean me to understand that you would use force -to make me comply with your wish?” - -“I mean just that,” he answered, bending over her with eyes that gave -her the feeling of a physical touch. “I will prevent your leaving this -room until you have honestly and fairly spoken to me, and have either -confirmed or denied what your eyes plainly said to me yesterday.” - -“You are cowardly and cruel!” she cried. “You are taking a mean -advantage of me! I was ill yesterday. I was half unconscious--” - -“You may have been ill,” he interrupted. “I know indeed that you were, -and that physical weakness may have led to self-betrayal; but you were -not unconscious. Far from it. You were never more acutely conscious in -your life than during those long moments when you looked at me with -love.” - -“I deny it!” she cried angrily. - -“Useless!” he answered. “It is not to be denied.” - -She tried to draw farther away, but the barricade of easels stopped her. -Then he himself stepped backward, and put some feet of space between -them. - -“I cannot bear to see you shrink from me,” he said. “You will have to -forgive a persistence that may seem to you brutal; but fate has put this -opportunity into my hands, and I’d be a fool not to use it.” - -“And what do you expect to get from it?” she asked. - -“An answer in plain words to this question, Do you, or do you not, love -me?” - -“I do not!” she cried hotly; but her breast was heaving so, her heart -was throbbing so, that she could scarcely catch her breath; and she felt -that not for all the world dared she look him in the face. - -“Your eyes yesterday contradicted your words of to-day,” he said. “I -will not be content until I have had both. So help me God, you are not -going to trifle with me now! I will make you look at me, and confirm -with your eyes the words you have just spoken, or I’ll have you for my -wife again!” - -He caught her in his arms, and drew her close against him. She opened -her mouth as if to scream, but he laid his palm upon it, not forgetting, -for all his strength, to touch her gently. - -“Oh, my darling, my precious one,” he said, “don’t call out for -protection from me, as if I were your enemy! Surely you know that I -would die by torture before I would hurt you--body or soul. But -something--a wicked pride, perhaps--is making you struggle against the -truth; and, for your sake as well as for my own, I must make a fight for -it. Look! I offer you the chance. If you can look me in the face, and -say with eyes and lips together, ‘Harold, I do not love you,’ then you -are as free as air. If you can do that, I will go, and never cross your -path again.” - -He had taken his hand from her mouth, for fear her panting breaths would -cease. He could feel the violent beating of her heart against his side. -An overwhelming tenderness and pity for her filled him, and his arm, -relaxing its stern pressure, drew her close, with an embrace whose only -constraint was that of love. Her ear was very close to him, and he spoke -to her in the lowest whispers. - -“Dear one,” he said, “what is it you are fighting against, if it be not -the coming back of love and joy?” - -He could not see her eyes. He did not wish to see them yet. This waiting -was bliss, because there was hope in it. - -She had ceased to struggle, and was quiet in his arms. They stood so, -many seconds, their hearts throbbing against each other, their cheeks -pressed. In the unspeakable sweetness of his nearness, Harold felt -against his face the moisture of a tear. - -“What is it?” he whispered. “You are crying! For God’s sake, tell me -why!” - -A gentle little head-shake answered him; but she made no motion to draw -herself away, and he, enraptured, held her close. - -“There is nothing--_nothing_ that you cannot tell to me,” he said, still -in that whisper that thrilled the silence of the room. “Perhaps you do -not understand. Listen, and I will make it all plain. I loved you then. -I love you now. I have loved you through all the pain and silence in -between. Oh, dearest, never dream but that you are still my own--wholly -and unchangeably as I am yours--if only you love me!” - -She kept so still that he was puzzled. He made a motion to draw back his -head and look at her, but she put up her hand and pressed his cheek -still closer against hers. He passionately wished that she would speak; -but there was no sound except that fluttered breathing, no motion but -that little tremor which he felt against his side. She was weakening, -weakening, weakening--he was sure of this; but he was in such an -absolute terror of misunderstanding her mood that he dared not move or -speak. - -As they stood there so, he felt a sudden tightening of the pressure of -her arms. They strained him close against her. His heart leaped; but he -was not sure. There was something that alarmed him even in that clasp of -love. - -“Are you happy?” he whispered in the lowest murmur. But with a sudden -wrench she tore herself away from him, and when he tried to follow, -waved him back with a gesture which he could not disregard. - -“Happy!” she said in a voice that mocked the thought, as she wrung her -hands together, and then, for a moment, hid her face in the curve of one -tensely bended arm. “What have I to do with happiness?” she cried out, -flinging wide her arms, and looking upward, as if appealing to some -invisible presence rather than to him or to herself. “I had it given to -me once in boundless measure, and I played with it, and tossed it from -me. It was lightly and easily done, and now it cannot be undone.” - -Harold stood where her imperious gesture had stopped him, and looked at -her in consternation. - -“What do you mean?” he said. “You will not try now to deny your love for -me! You have owned it in that close embrace which can mean nothing -but--” - -“Good-by!” she interrupted him. “It means inevitable parting. You must -go, or, if not, I must fly to some place where we cannot meet again.” - -“But, dearest, we cannot part. I have told you how I love you in plain -words. You have told me the same, without the need of words.” - -She looked at him,--a deep, inscrutable gaze,--and shook her head. - -“I have had perfect love once,” she said, “and from you--the one man -whose love could ever have any meaning for me--love that included -perfect trust, perfect confidence, perfect respect. I refuse to take -from you a smaller thing. It is easier to give you up than to face that -thought.” - -“But Sonia! Darling! You have got that love! I tell you it is just the -same!” - -She shook her head. - -“It cannot be,” she said. “You would feel that what had been once might -be again. You could never feel secure for even one moment. I could not -bear it. You must remember what I felt in that one embrace. Oh, Harold, -I _want_ you to remember that! And now you must let me go.” - -“Go?” he said. “Where should you go, but here to me--to your right -place, your home, your husband?” - -At this last word she gave a sharp cry. She had been standing -unsupported, and now a sudden trembling seized her, and she half -tottered toward a chair. In an instant he was at her side, his arms -about her, fast and sure. It was too sweet, this strong and tender -holding up of her weak body. She let it be, but she was motionless and -wordless in his arms. - -“My own child,” he said, “there can be no question as to our future now. -It was all a mistake--the past! If we acknowledge it--” - -“Oh, the past, the past!” she said. “I can never get away from it. We -have lost two years. No matter if we had the whole future of time and -eternity, we could never get those back--and it was I that did it! It is -good of you to say that you forgive me; but I--oh, I never can forgive -myself! You never can believe in me again. I dare not ask or look for -it. I don’t deserve it. You would be wrong and foolish if you did.” - -“Then wrong and foolish I will be!” he said. “I will believe in you -again and again, forever! You have forgotten something, Sonia. There is -no question of judgment between you and me, because you are myself. Do -you not feel that that is so?” - -She did not answer, and he said again, in that compelling tone she knew -so well: - -“Do you not feel it so, my wife?” - -She raised to his, unswervingly, eyes that were clear as stars after -their recent tears. She unveiled her soul to him as daringly as she had -done yesterday, and the message that they gave him was the -same--abundant, free, unstinted love, without reserve or fear. - -He drew her quickly closer, still holding her eyes with his. - -“Speak! Tell me!” he said. - -Then voice and look together spoke: - -“I love you, Harold--my husband!” - -He took the dear words from her lips with his. - - * * * * * - -AFTERWARD, when they were seated together on the model-throne, they were -startled by a timid little tinkling, and as they both with a sense of -compunction called to Inkling to come, and he sprang up between them -quivering with joy, and making frantic efforts to lick both their faces -at once, their laughs and struggles made such a commotion that they did -not hear the door open, admitting Martha. - -She half crossed the room, and then stood still, transfixed with -amazement, till they drew her down between them and told her everything. - - * * * * * - -“SO you are not a princess, after all!” said Martha. - -“Oh, yes I am,” Sonia answered quickly. “I’m ‘The Happy Princess’--and -this is my Prince!” - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess Sonia, by Julia Magruder - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS SONIA *** - -***** This file should be named 62637-0.txt or 62637-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/6/3/62637/ - -Produced by D A Alexander, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Princess Sonia - -Author: Julia Magruder - -Illustrator: Charles Dana Gibson - -Release Date: July 13, 2020 [EBook #62637] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS SONIA *** - - - - -Produced by D A Alexander, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="" /> -</div> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="" -style="border:2px solid gray;padding:.5em; -margin:1em auto;max-width:70%;text-align:center;" class="smcap"> -<tr><td> -<a href="#LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">List of Illustrations</a></td></tr> -<tr><td> -<a href="#THE_PRINCESS_SONIA">The Princess Sonia: </a> -<a href="#I">I, </a> -<a href="#II">II, </a> -<a href="#III">III, </a> -<a href="#IV">IV, </a> -<a href="#V">V, </a> -<a href="#VI">VI, </a> -<a href="#VII">VII, </a> -<a href="#VIII">VIII, </a> -<a href="#IX">IX, </a> -<a href="#X">X, </a> -<a href="#XI">XI, </a> -<a href="#XII">XII, </a> -<a href="#XIII">XIII, </a> -<a href="#XIV">XIV, </a> -<a href="#XV">XV, </a> -<a href="#XVI">XVI, </a> -<a href="#XVII">XVII, </a> -<a href="#XVIII">XVIII, </a> -<a href="#XIX">XIX.</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p class="c">THE PRINCESS SONIA</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_0" id="fig_0"></a> -<img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“THE BEAUTIFUL YOUNG WOMAN ... HAD STEPPED BACK FROM HER -EASEL.” (<a href="#page_3">SEE PAGE 3</a>.)</p> -</div> - -<h1>THE PRINCESS SONIA</h1> - -<p class="c">BY<br /> -<br /> -JULIA MAGRUDER<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY<br /> -CHARLES DANA GIBSON<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<img src="images/i_title.jpg" -width="75" -alt="" -/> -<br /> -<br /> -NEW YORK<br /> -THE CENTURY CO.<br /> -1895<br /> -<br /><br /><br /><small> -Copyright, 1895, by<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Century Co.</span><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -THE DE VINNE PRESS.<br /></small> -<br /><br /><br /> -TO GENEVIEVE</p> - -<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="3" cellspacing="0" summary=""> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_0">“The beautiful young Woman ... had stepped back from her Easel”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_6"><small><i>Frontispiece</i></small></a></td></tr> -<tr><td> </td><td class="rt"><small>FACING PAGE</small></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_1">“A little American Chatterbox”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_6">6</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_2">“A tall old Man”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_16">16</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_3">“The Princess was very tall”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_20">20</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_4">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>It will be quite safe, I see’<span class="lftspc">”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_31">31</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_5">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Ah, I have made a Mistake, I see’<span class="lftspc">”</span> </a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_37"><small>PAGE</small> 37</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_6">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Alice has a fine Voice’<span class="lftspc">”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_39">39</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_7">“In the American Colony”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_43">43</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_8">“Her Head in its large plumed Hat”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_50">50</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_9">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Is it you, Martha?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_58">58</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_10">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh, I am so, so sorry’<span class="lftspc">”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_60">60</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_11">“The Man who stood waiting to give the Bride”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_76">76</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_12">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I knew it was Anguish to you’<span class="lftspc">”</span> </a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_92"><small>PAGE</small> 92</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_13">“As she had seen her once before”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_93">93</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_14">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh, Sonia, were you ever really as happy as that?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_98">98</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_15">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I beg your Pardon,’ he said again”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_104">104</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_16">“Among the Flower-stalls”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_106">106</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_17">“Sonia passed very near him”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_124">124</a></td></tr> -<tr><td valign="top"><a href="#fig_18">“She put on a long Cloak”</a></td><td class="rt" valign="bottom"><a href="#page_196">196</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span></p> - -<h1><a name="THE_PRINCESS_SONIA" id="THE_PRINCESS_SONIA"></a>THE PRINCESS SONIA</h1> - -<h2><a name="I" id="I"></a>I</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>ARTHA KEENE had been at work for several months in Etienne’s atelier, -in the Latin quarter of Paris, and although her appearance would have -led one to believe her frail in health, she had never missed a -working-day, and always occupied a good position well in view of the -model, because she always came among the earliest to secure it. Her work -was far from brilliant, and Etienne had noticed her very little at -first. If he did so more of late, it was her ability to stick which had -won her this favor. So many students had come and gone, rousing his -hopes only to disappoint them, that it had got to be rather a comfort to -the little old man to be sure of one earnest worker always in her place; -and while he could not say that her work was good, it was certainly not -bad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span></p> - -<p>Recently he had told Martha this several times. “Not bad” was about the -highest praise that most of Etienne’s pupils got from him; and when the -young American girl heard it for the first time applied to her work, she -experienced what was perhaps one of the most thrilling sensations of her -life.</p> - -<p>It was followed by another thrilling sensation; for, as she looked up -from the canvas which the master had thus commended, she met the -beautiful eyes of the princess, turned upon her with a congratulatory -smile.</p> - -<p>It was almost too much for Martha. Her heart thumped so that her -breathing became rapid and a little difficult. Instead of answering the -princess’s smile, a frown contracted her forehead; for she was afraid -that she was going to lose her self-control, and she needed a stern -effort not to do so. Martha had a heart which was made for worshiping. -Etienne and the princess were two of the people that she worshiped, and -there was a third.</p> - -<p>When Etienne had passed on, after smudging one part of her drawing with -his thumb until it was a dirty blur, and scratching another part with -ruthless streaks of soft charcoal, she remembered she had received his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> -first words of encouragement rather coldly, and had made the same sort -of return for the princess’s smile. This plunged her from a state of -delight into one of wretchedness. She looked toward the master with some -hope of making amends; but he was too absorbed in his next criticism, -and it was only too evident that her chance was gone. Then she glanced -at the princess, to receive the same impression from that quarter. The -beautiful young woman on whom her eyes rested had stepped back from her -easel, and with her head turned sidewise, and her eyelids drawn up, was -looking at her picture. She held a brush in one hand, with the fingers -delicately poised, and in the other her palette, laid with brilliant -dabs of color. Her lips were pursed critically, and her whole attitude -and expression showed such absorption in her work that Martha felt it -would be absurd to imagine that she or her behavior could have any part -in that beautiful lady’s consciousness.</p> - -<p>As usual, when Martha allowed herself to look at the princess, she -forgot everything else. She had long ago had to make it a rule to place -her easel so that she would be turned away from her enchantress while -she was work<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span>ing; otherwise she could see and think only of her. At the -present moment she was completely fascinated by the tall, strong figure, -so firmly poised, with one foot advanced, and her body thrown backward -from the slender waist, where a belt of old silver confined the folds of -her red silk shirt-waist above the sweep of her skirt of dark green -serge. This was her ordinary working-rig; and as she wore no apron, as -most of the other students did, it was more or less streaked with paint. -Martha herself wore her calico apron religiously, and was always neatly -clothed beneath it; but she would have protested utterly against seeing -her neighbor in an apron. It would have looked so unprincesslike! She -was very tall and straight, this princess, and “Serene Highness” seemed -to Martha to be written on every inch of her.</p> - -<p>There was not much sociability among the students in the atelier. They -came from many different countries, and spoke many different tongues; -and they were such a mixture of aristocrats and plebeians—some were so -afraid of patronizing and others of being patronized,—that the -conditions generally were such as were opposed to much mixing. Talking -was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> forbidden during work-hours, except the little absolutely necessary -whispering; and in the intermission at noon the princess always went -away for lunch, and sometimes did not return. Martha, too, went to her -mother’s apartment for the midday meal, though nothing ever prevented -her from returning. Some of the students had chums, with whom they -chatted glibly in the cloak-room; but as a rule, these intimacies had -been formed outside.</p> - -<p>Martha Keene was a girl who would never have made the first advance -toward an acquaintance with any one; for, although she had passed her -twentieth year, she was incorrigibly shy. This reserve of manner was so -evident that it discouraged advances from others. She knew this and -regretted it, but could not help it.</p> - -<p>It had pleased Martha very much when, on a single occasion, this wall of -isolation which she had built around herself had been broken through by -a little American chatterbox, who had rattled away to her for ten -minutes one day as she was waiting for her carriage in the cloak-room. -This had been soon after her entrance at Etienne’s, and her voluble -country-woman had vanished from the horizon the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> next day; but in that -one talk she had got almost all the knowledge of the atelier which she -possessed.</p> - -<p>Her informant had told her that the students were not supposed to -inquire about one another at all, the ideal of the atelier being a place -where high and low alike could lay aside their disabilities and get the -benefits of the common workshop. She added that there had been several -personages of importance studying there since she herself had been a -student, but that she had always heard of it from the outside, and they -had generally left before she had identified them. “I spotted the -princess, though,” she had said. “As soon as I heard that there was a -Russian princess studying here, I picked her out. Do you know which one -she is?” Martha had answered, “The lady in the red blouse”—a guess at -once confirmed. “Isn’t she stunning?” her companion had gone on; “I’m -dying to speak to her! If she were not a princess, I’d have done it long -ago. I can’t go the Russian; but no doubt she speaks every language. -Russians always do.” At this point of the conversation the lady herself -had come into the cloak-room. A neat French maid who was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_1" id="fig_1"></a> -<img src="images/i_006.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“A LITTLE AMERICAN CHATTERBOX.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">in waiting had come forward, and held out her lady’s wrap, a magnificent -sable thing, in which the beautiful creature had quickly infolded -herself, and left the room, the two girls meanwhile making a tremendous -effort to cover their breathless interest by an air of unconsciousness.</p> - -<p>Ever since that day—indeed, even before it—Martha had been a silent -worshiper at the shrine of the princess. She had a passionate love of -beauty, and her heart, for all her grave and shy exterior, was packed as -full of romance as it could hold. The discovery that this beautiful -being was a princess—and a Russian princess, of all others—was meet -food for this appetite for the romantic; and she dreamed by the hour -about this young woman’s life, and wondered what it had been and was to -be. She knew she could not be many years older than herself, and she -wondered, with burning interest, whether she was or was not married. -Sometimes she would hold to one opinion for days, and then something—a -mere turn of expression, perhaps—would convert her to the opposite one. -She wanted her to be unmarried, so that she might be free to construct -from her imagination a beautiful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> future for her; and yet she dreaded to -find out that she was married. There was certainly a look about the -princess which contradicted Martha’s ideal of her as the possessor of a -fair, unwritten life-page. Martha had watched her hands to see if she -wore a wedding-ring; but those extraordinarily beautiful hands were -either loaded down with jeweled gauds of antique workmanship or else -quite ringless. Still, many married women were careless about wearing -their wedding-rings, a thing which Martha herself could not comprehend; -but she felt that this wonderful creature was removed as far as possible -from her in both actuality and ideas.</p> - -<p>Martha had heard the sound of the princess’s voice only once or twice, -and on those occasions she had spoken French with what seemed to the -American girl an absolutely perfect accent. Once she had been near -enough to hear a little talk between the princess and Etienne, as he was -criticizing the former’s work with rather more humanness, Martha -thought, than he showed to the students generally; and once or twice -when the princess had been placed near the model’s little retiring-room, -Martha had had the joy of hearing her divinity give<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> the summons, in the -usual atelier jargon, “C’est l’heure!” It seemed to the girl a most -lovable act of condescension on the part of her Serene Highness.</p> - -<p>One day (it was the day after Etienne had told her that her drawing was -“not bad,” and the princess had smiled at her) Martha was working away, -when she became aware that an easel was being pushed into the unoccupied -space at her right hand. She had known that some one would soon take -possession of this place, and she did not even look round to see who it -was. Her whole attention was bent on making Etienne see that his -encouragement had yielded good fruit, even though she had made no verbal -acknowledgment of it. She went on drawing, with intense concentration, -until, weary at last, she put down her charcoal, and stood resting her -arms, with her hands on her hips. As she finished her scrutiny of her -work, and looked around, she started to discover that it was the -princess who was seated at the easel next her own, and was looking full -at her. As Martha, confused and delighted, encountered that gaze, the -beautiful lady’s lips parted in a friendly smile, and she whispered -gently,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Bon jour.”</p> - -<p>Martha crimsoned with pleasure as she returned the greeting, and then -both fell to work again. The princess was painting, laying on her color -in a broad and daring style that almost frightened her neighbor. Martha -watched her furtively while she crumbled her bread, and pretended to be -erasing and touching up certain points in her picture. It was a -bewildering delight to her to stand so close to the princess and see her -at work, and she was agreeably aware that the princess was also aware of -her, and perhaps even pleased at their being together.</p> - -<p>When the time came for the model to rest, and the quiet of the room was -a little relieved by the whispered talk that sprang up among the -students as they waited, Martha felt that the princess had inclined -toward her a little, and was looking at her work. She put down as -childish the impulse that rushed up in her to cover the picture from -sight, or to say how bad she knew it was, and she stood very still and -very much embarrassed until the princess said again, in that exquisite -utterance of French subtleties,</p> - -<p>“C’est bien difficile, n’est-ce pas?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Martha answered her somehow—she never knew what.</p> - -<p>When the model came back, and they began to work again, she felt that -she had become part of a wonderful experience. She had never seen the -princess talking to any one else, and, amazing and undeserved as the -tribute was, she could not be mistaken in thinking that the lovely lady -wished to know her, and perhaps to allow her the dear privilege of such -intercourse as their atelier life permitted. She never expected it to go -beyond that; but that was far more than anything she had imagined.</p> - -<p>Across one corner of her canvas Martha’s name was scrawled in full, and -she knew that the princess must have seen it. She looked to see if there -was any signature upon the princess’s picture, and, as if interpreting -her thought, her neighbor, with a brilliant smile, dipped her brush in -vermilion, and wrote in a bold, strong hand the word “Sonia.” This name -(which Martha did not know to be the Russian abbreviation of Sophia) -seemed to the girl very odd and beautiful, and peculiarly appropriate to -its possessor.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="II" id="II"></a>II</h2> - -<p>Martha said nothing to her mother and sisters of her encounter with the -princess. She had a way of locking very close in her heart her most -personal and sacred feelings, and all that related to the princess was -sacred to her now. During her earlier years she had so often been -laughed at for an enthusiast that she had learned to keep back what she -felt most strongly; and for that very reason, perhaps, the intensity of -her feelings grew greater as she grew older. The enthusiasm of her life -was for her only brother, whom she worshiped with a blind idolatry of -the extent of which even he was unaware. There had been one or two other -divinities in her horizon, always second to Harold; but at this period -of her life she was suffering from a sense of disappointment in these -as, one after the other, they had come short of her ardent expectations. -She was now, therefore, in the exact state of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span> mind to take on a new -object of worship. This the princess had become.</p> - -<p>It was not surprising that Martha’s ideal had been so repeatedly -unrealized, for it was a difficult one. She had suffered acutely from -her former disappointments, and had even resolved never to pin her faith -and hope on another woman. But the princess was not to be resisted. -Martha felt that even if her goddess never spoke to her again, she was -worthy of all adoration.</p> - -<p>As the young girl drove through the streets of Paris in the early -morning of the day following her brief interview with the princess, her -heart was very happy.</p> - -<p>In appearance Martha was small and rather plain; and no one would have -noticed her, perhaps, but for the concentration of expression on her -face as she looked out of the carriage window on her way to her atelier -in the Latin Quarter. The people abroad at that hour were not of a class -to pay much attention to such a look on a girl’s face. The little army -of street-cleaners, occupying their brief hour with busy industry to -produce the beautiful effect of gay cleanliness which the world enjoyed -later in the day, had no time to notice Martha, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> she was as unaware -of them. Even the ice on the figures in the fountains of the Place de la -Concorde, which she generally admired in passing, she did not so much as -see to-day. The “cold sea-maidens” wore an unusually beautiful veil of -mist, made by the freezing spray, and Martha might have got an -impression for some future picture if she had studied it with the early -sunlight on it.</p> - -<p>But she was thinking only of the princess as she drove along and crossed -the bridge and entered old Paris. Here, too, all was familiar, for -Martha had taken this drive daily for months, and there was nothing to -disturb her preoccupation until she reached the Invalides, where her -hero-worshiping soul never failed to offer a passing tribute of awe to -the ashes of Napoleon.</p> - -<p>As she turned into a cross street farther on, a little funeral -procession met her. This sight, too, was familiar; but no wont and usage -could keep Martha from being deeply moved as often as she witnessed the -pitiful little ceremonial which attends the burial of the very poor in -Paris.</p> - -<p>It is usually in the early morning that these funerals occur, as there -seems to be a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> demand upon the poor to give up to the more prosperous -even the space in the streets which they, with their dead, lay claim to -for so short a time. This was a child’s funeral, or, rather, it was the -funeral of two children. There was neither hearse nor carriage. Each -little coffin was borne upon a wretched bier carried by rough and shabby -men, who appeared cross and reluctant in their miserable, faded -trappings of mourning. Looking carefully, Martha discovered that there -was a separate family of mourners to each little bier; and as the whole -procession was under the command of a tall old man, who held his -shoulders very erect, as if to atone for a limp in one leg, she -comprehended that this bedizened old undertaker, with the ragged crape -on his cocked hat and the dirty bunches of black and white ribbons on -the end of his long staff of office, had consolidated his duties, -probably at a slight and very welcome discount to his poor patrons, and -was burying the dead of two families at once. Directly after him came -the bearers of the light coffin, and just behind it were five little -children, four girls and a boy, walking abreast, and dressed in -mourning. This mourning con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span>sisted of hastily fashioned aprons made of -dull black calico, and so carelessly fitted that the many-colored -undergarments of the children showed plainly at every opening. The -children were regular little steps, the boy being the youngest; and cold -as it was, they were all bareheaded. Each carried a sprig of yellow -bloom, which resembled, if indeed it was not, the mustard-flower. This -they held very stiffly and correctly in their right hands, and they -walked with an air of the utmost decorum. Behind them came their father -and mother, the former looking more apathetic than sad, and the latter -carrying with some complacency the dignity of a dingy and draggled crape -veil, in frank contrast to a blue-and-green plaid dress. She was taller -than her husband, and leaned awkwardly upon his arm, keeping no time -whatever to his shuffling gait. Then came the other coffin and the -second group of mourners, who were evidently not so fashionable as the -first; for they made no effort at mourning, and walked after their -little dead one with nothing like a flower, and in their common -working-clothes.</p> - -<p>While Martha’s carriage was passing this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_2" id="fig_2"></a> -<img src="images/i_016.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“A TALL OLD MAN.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">procession, she saw on the other side of them, going in the same -direction with her, a smart turnout in which a gentleman was driving, -with a groom behind. The horses shone like satin, and their harness -jingled and glittered in the morning sunshine. The gentleman and his -servant were dressed with a brilliant effect of care and detail. The -former was smoking a cigarette, and had a scarlet flower in his coat.</p> - -<p>As the little funeral procession passed this carriage, the young swell -who was driving bared his head, with its smoothly parted blond hair, -remaining uncovered until the procession had passed, his servant -imitating his act. This little tribute of homage to death which the -French take the pains to perform always touched and pleased Martha. She -thought of the absurdity of this man’s uncovering his head to that -pauper baby alive; but the mystery of death imparted to it a majesty -which the equal mystery of life could not. This child was a partaker of -the knowledge of the unknown, into which Napoleon, lying near by, had -also entered, and was, with him, divided from the merely mortal.</p> - -<p>Martha thought of this as she watched the showy carriage, which had -relaxed its speed<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span> for a moment, whirling rapidly away toward the -outskirts of the city. She wondered where that handsome, -prosperous-looking, well-bred man was going at this early hour. Probably -to fight a duel, she thought, in her romantic way! Perhaps in a few -hours’ time he might be as dead as the poor little baby; and perhaps -there was some one who loved and adored him as she did Harold!</p> - -<p>These were the ideas which filled her mind as she reached the atelier, -there to learn that there was a disappointment about the model, who had -failed to come.</p> - -<p>She was about to take off her wraps, and go to work on some drawings -from casts, when an exquisite voice behind her said suddenly, “Pardon, -mademoiselle,” and she turned to meet the gaze of the princess fixed -upon her with a smile of lovely friendliness.</p> - -<p>“What are you going to do?” she said in that faultless French which -Martha had already admired.</p> - -<p>For a moment the girl was quite overcome at such unexpected -graciousness. Then she managed to say in her own faulty though perfectly -fluent French, that she had thought she would go on and do what she -could without a model.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is so dull, after having that glorious Antonio to pose for one,” -said the princess. “I am not in the humor, and my carriage is gone. -Yours, perhaps, is gone also. Do you feel like drawing to-day? Or do -you, perhaps, feel more like calling a cab, and taking a drive with me? -I should like it. Will you go?”</p> - -<p>Martha crimsoned with pleasure as she accepted the invitation. There was -no mistaking her delight at the suggestion.</p> - -<p>“You are very good to go,” said the other, “especially as you know -nothing of me, I suppose.”</p> - -<p>“I know only that you are the princess—the Russian princess,” said -Martha.</p> - -<p>Her companion frowned slightly, and, Martha thought, looked a little -annoyed. She reflected that she ought not, perhaps, to have told her -that her secret had been discovered.</p> - -<p>The little frown soon passed, however, and the princess smiled genially -as she said:</p> - -<p>“I am living incognito in Paris to study painting, and I do not go into -the world. When I am not working I am often bored, and I frequently long -for companionship. You make me very grateful by giving me yours this -morning.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>The princess was very tall—so tall that when Martha walked at her side -she had to turn her face upward to speak to her. They walked along in -the most natural companionship until they reached a cab-stand nearby, -and Martha thought her divinity more worshipful than ever as she stood -wrapped in her long cloak, with a large, black-plumed hat crowning her -beautiful head, and said some words of gentle pity about the poor old, -weak-kneed cab-horses drawn up in a line.</p> - -<p>When they had entered a cab, and were seated side by side, the princess -said abruptly:</p> - -<p>“If you had not heard something of me, I should have told you nothing. -Why should we ask questions about each other? We meet to-day, art -students in a Paris atelier, and we shall part to-morrow. What have we -to do with formalities? Of you I know that you are a young American -studying painting here, and I think, in a way, sympathetic to me. I am -content to know that, and no more, of you. Do you feel the same about -me?”</p> - -<p>Martha replied eagerly in the affirmative, and in five minutes the two -had come to a perfect understanding. The girl felt her awe at being in -“the presence” gradually fading away,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_3" id="fig_3"></a> -<img src="images/i_020.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“THE PRINCESS WAS VERY TALL.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">as this winning young woman sat and talked with her on a footing of -friendly equality. It was after a short silence between them that the -princess said:</p> - -<p>“There are one or two things that it will be necessary for you to -know—that is, if you like me well enough to come to see me, as I hope -you do. I am living in the Rue Presbourg, and when you come to see me, -you are to ask for the apartment of the Princess Mannernorff. You will -come, will you not?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you will only let me, it will be my greatest happiness!” said -Martha. “I can’t understand what has made you so good to me!”</p> - -<p>“Simply, I like you. It isn’t hard to understand. I’ve noticed you a -long time, and I’ve liked you more and more. I like your manner; I like -your face; I like your devotion to your work; and I like your work.”</p> - -<p>“My work! My scratching and smudging, you mean! Oh, how <i>can</i> you notice -it or care for it when you look at yours? Every one must see that -Etienne knows that you are his best pupil. He does not speak to any one -as he does to you, and you must know as well as I that it is not because -you are a princess.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course; I know that perfectly well. But I fancy that Etienne, -in his little critical heart, feels that he hasn’t got out of me what he -looked for at first. At least, I have that idea; and you see I have -studied enough, compared with you, to be a great deal further ahead of -you than I am. I have digged and delved for that treasure more than you -realize. I hope to do something tolerable some day; but I’m not as -confident about it as I used to be, and I fear Etienne is not, either. -Oh, I <i>wish</i> I could!”</p> - -<p>She said this with such fervor, and followed it by such a wistful sigh, -that Martha, who had not yet taken in the idea that the princess might -not be the all-fortunate creature she imagined, felt a sudden protest -against the thought of her wishing for anything vainly.</p> - -<p>“Surely you will!” she said. “I can’t imagine your wanting anything very -much without getting it.”</p> - -<p>The princess laughed, throwing up her chin, and looking at Martha with -an indulgent smile.</p> - -<p>“You can’t?” she exclaimed. “Well, if you take the trouble to continue -my acquaintance, you will find that I’ve missed pretty much<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> everything -in life that I very greatly wanted. It is sad, but true.”</p> - -<p>Martha did not answer, but she looked as if she would like to speak out -something that was on her mind, and her companion saw this, and said:</p> - -<p>“What is it? Speak! I give you full permission.”</p> - -<p>“It was nothing,” said Martha, rather confusedly. “I was wondering about -you—as, of course, I can’t help doing. I don’t want to be told things, -however. I would far rather imagine how they are.”</p> - -<p>“Very, very sensible. I see that I shall like you more and more. There -are a few things, however, which it will be well for you to know. For -instance,”—she paused, with a slight look of reluctance, and then went -on rapidly,—“no doubt you wonder whether I am married.”</p> - -<p>Martha’s eyes confirmed her.</p> - -<p>A cloud seemed to have settled with surprising suddenness upon the face -of the princess. She looked fixedly at the passing prospect outside the -window as, after a moment of difficult silence, she said almost -brusquely:</p> - -<p>“I am a widow.” Then she turned and looked at Martha. “You will -understand, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> the future,” she went on more naturally, “my wish for -silence on this subject. I am living temporarily in Paris with my aunt. -I used to know French society well, but I am out of it now, and I don’t -regret it. Painting is the only thing I really care for—that, and -music, and some books; some, but not many. Books give such false ideas -of life. I think it was what I read in books that led me to expect so -much. I was not to be convinced but that all the happiness I imagined -was quite possible; and when it would not come to me, I thought there -was a force in me which could compel it. As a rule, I’ve given that idea -up; but there are times even yet when it rises and conquers me. I know -it is very foolish, and that experience cures one of such feelings, but -I’m not altogether cured yet, in spite of hard and repeated blows.”</p> - -<p>Martha had listened with intense interest, and now, as her companion -paused, she felt that she ought to volunteer, on her part, some sort of -sketch of herself and her surroundings.</p> - -<p>“I don’t care to tell you anything about myself,” she said, “because -it’s so uninteresting. My father has been dead a great many years; mama -is delicate; and we live in Paris<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span> so that I may study painting and the -younger girls may have lessons. We go to America for the summers. My -brother is the eldest of us, and he lives there. The younger girls are -pretty, and mama wishes them to go into society and to be admired. She -used also to wish this for me, but she saw how I hated it, and how -little chance I had in it, so she lets me alone now, particularly since -I got Harold to speak to her.”</p> - -<p>“Are you sure that she would not disapprove of your friendship with me, -knowing of me only the little that you are able to tell her?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I’m certain of it. She wouldn’t mind. She knows I never get into -mischief. I feel perfectly free to do as I choose about this, and I -don’t mean to mention you to any one—not because there would be any -objection, but because you are too sacred to me, and if you let me be -your friend, I can’t share that knowledge and possession with any one.”</p> - -<p>Martha was determined to say this, but she did not accomplish it without -a good deal of hesitation and embarrassment. Her companion looked at her -with a sort of wondering scrutiny.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Where do you get that earnest, concentrated nature, I wonder—so -different from mine!” she said. “Does it go with the American character? -Your words are very foolish, child; but it is so long since any one has -held me sacred that I am ridiculously touched by it.”</p> - -<p>There was something that looked like rising tears in the beautiful eyes -of the princess; but a gay little laugh soon banished the shadow from -both her face and her voice. Suddenly she sat upright and said:</p> - -<p>“Suppose you come home with me now! I want you to learn the ways of the -place, so that you may come and go as you please. Will you come with me -there to-day?”</p> - -<p>Martha agreed at once, and with evident satisfaction the princess leaned -out of the window, and gave the address to the cabman.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="III" id="III"></a>III</h2> - -<p>Martha felt herself in a dream of delight as she descended from the cab, -and, following the princess into the courtyard of a large -apartment-house in the Rue Presbourg, mounted the stairs at her side.</p> - -<p>Their ring was answered by a foreign-looking man-servant, to whom the -princess spoke in a tongue which Martha recognized as Russian, but of -which she understood not a word. She saw, however, that it related to -herself; for the servant, who wore a curious and elaborate livery, -looked at her and bowed.</p> - -<p>“I have been telling him,” explained the princess, “that whenever you -come you are to be brought at once to my private sitting-room, whether I -am at home to other people or not. If it should chance that I cannot see -you,—an unlikely thing, for I generally do what I want, and I shall -always want to see you,—my maid can bring you word there. You see,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> I -am not going to take any risk of having you turned away from my door.”</p> - -<p>The antechamber into which they had been admitted was charmingly -furnished, not at all in the French style; and there was something in -the whole environment of the princess which commended itself strongly to -Martha’s artistic taste. Everything that she saw, as she passed along, -deepened this impression. She followed her companion in excited silence -through the antechamber, and into the large and sunny salon, where two -persons were sitting.</p> - -<p>One was a little old lady with very white hair, elaborately arranged -under a queer-looking lace cap fastened with jeweled pins; the other was -a dark and severely dressed woman, who, Martha at once saw, was a sort -of companion or maid. As the princess approached, this woman rose and -courtesied. The old lady looked up, with some surprise in her placid -face, and immediately laid down her embroidery, and took up a silver -ear-trumpet, holding out her other hand to the princess.</p> - -<p>The latter bent, and kissed the proffered fingers lightly, and then, -raising her voice a little, uttered several sentences in Russian<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> into -the trumpet, at the same time indicating Martha in a way that made her -understand that this was an introduction. The girl also bent, and kissed -the hand now extended to her, and then the princess led her away.</p> - -<p>“My poor aunt is so deaf,” she said, “that it is almost impossible to -talk to her, and I could not go into any long explanation about you. She -never interferes with me, however, and no questions will be asked. Come -now to my own room.”</p> - -<p>Martha, following her companion, found herself in a small boudoir -opening into a bedroom. The door of the latter was open, and the two -apartments gave an impression which she told herself she could best -describe by the word lovable. The musical instruments stood open. The -lounges and chairs seemed to have taken the shapes of their occupants. -Flowers that looked as if they had been willingly plucked were all about -in vases. Well-worn volumes and drawing-books were scattered about, and -some of the princess’s atelier studies were placed against the walls on -the floor. Martha, who could hardly believe in her good fortune in -having received even the smallest notice from the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span> princess, was yet -more bewildered and delighted when the latter crossed the little -boudoir, and led her into the bedroom.</p> - -<p>Here the French maid whom Martha had seen at the atelier sat sewing. She -stood up, evidently surprised. As she courtesied, and came forward to -take her lady’s wraps, the latter hastily threw her cloak to her, and -then, striking her hands together with a quick little clap, said:</p> - -<p>“Va-t’en, Félicie!”</p> - -<p>The maid smiled. She and her mistress evidently understood each other -well. Deftly gathering up her work, she left the room, and Martha found -herself alone with her divinity, in the privacy of her own bedroom. She -felt quite foolishly happy. Perhaps the princess saw it, for she said, -with her bewildering smile:</p> - -<p>“You like it, do you not? You needn’t explain. I see you do, just as I -saw that you liked me, without your saying a word. I am so glad.”</p> - -<p>“<i>Like</i> you!” said Martha, protestingly. “Oh!”</p> - -<p>Then the princess came and stood in front of the young girl, and put her -arms around<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_4" id="fig_4"></a> -<img src="images/i_030.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>IT WILL BE QUITE SAFE, I SEE.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">her neck, clasping her long hands at the back, and looking down at her.</p> - -<p>“It will be quite safe, I see,” she said, still smiling, “for me to make -my confession to you, and own that I was drawn to you in quite an -extraordinary way. I really did not mean to go so fast, however; and if -I had stopped to think, I should probably not have proposed to you to -take this drive with me. But for once I am glad that I did not stop to -think. My impetuosity is generally my bane in everything. This time I -feel that it has brought me a blessing. I can prove to you that it is -not my habit to go out to strangers in this way by the fact that I am so -friendless. I have no intimate friend in Paris, though I know scores of -people here. If I like you, and want to see more of you, and you have -the same feeling toward me, why should we not indulge ourselves? Very -well! So we will!” and she bent, and kissed Martha on the cheek.</p> - -<p>The girl’s heart quivered with joy; but she could find no words in which -to express it, so she was quite silent. She felt herself very stupid as -she let the princess take off her wraps and hat, and lead her to a -seat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Now,” said the lovely lady, “as I am one of those people who must be -comfortable before they can be happy, I am going to put on a loose gown. -No excuses necessary, I know.”</p> - -<p>She disappeared for a moment, and came back in an exquisite garment of -pale-blue silk with borderings of dark fur. She had seemed to Martha -very splendid and beautiful before, but now she was so winning, so -sweet, so adorable, that the young girl felt her whole heart glow with -delight as, with a long-drawn sigh of ease, the princess threw herself -on the lounge at her side.</p> - -<p>“Now,” she said, as her hand closed on Martha’s, “talk to me.”</p> - -<p>Poor Martha! What could she say? Her gratefulness for this unexpected -confidence and friendliness moved her almost to tears, but she was -silent.</p> - -<p>“Talk to me, Martha,” said the princess, coaxingly. “I may call you -that, may I not?”</p> - -<p>She called it “Mart’a,” with her pretty foreign utterance; and Martha -thought her homely name had suddenly become adorable. But she could not -even tell this to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> the princess. How dull and stupid she was! Her -consent must have shown itself in her eyes, however, for the princess -went on:</p> - -<p>“I can’t call you Martha unless you call me by my name, too. Will you? I -have a fancy to hear you say it now. Will you call me by my little -Russian name—Sonia?”</p> - -<p>It was evident that the girl’s silence did not offend her. She must have -understood its basis, for she said, with an encouraging smile:</p> - -<p>“Say it. Say ‘Sonia.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> - -<p>“Oh, you are too good to me!” exclaimed Martha. “You spoke of knowing -that I liked you. I don’t <i>like</i> you—I <i>love</i> you! I don’t <i>love</i> -you—I <i>adore</i> you! O <i>Sonia</i>!” and the girl actually slipped from the -low chair to her knees beside the lounge.</p> - -<p>The princess jumped to her feet, and with strong hands lifted Martha to -hers; then holding both the girl’s hands, and stretching her arms apart -to their full length, as their two faces were drawn together thus, she -kissed Martha with affectionate warmth.</p> - -<p>“What a dear thing you are!” she said. “How good it is to see some one -who can really feel! How tired one gets of the <i>fin-de-siècle</i> spirit in -both women and men!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> Bless you, my Martha! You have come to be a great -joy in my life. I feel that we are going to be friends for always—do -you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you will let me! If you will only not be disappointed in me! I -am afraid to speak, afraid to breathe almost, for fear that you will -find out that I am only a poor, commonplace little creature, in whom -your goodness has made you see something which does not exist. Oh, I -<i>pray</i> I may not disappoint you! And yet how can I dare to hope?”</p> - -<p>“Listen, Martha,” said the princess in a matter-of-fact tone, as she -drew the other down to a seat beside her on the lounge; “let us take -each other quite simply, and not promise anything. We will just agree to -be perfectly natural with each other—just to be ourselves. If you -continue to like me, and I you, it is all right. If not, we shall have -broken no pledges and done each other no wrong. Now, with that basis to -go upon, we can both feel natural and satisfied. Only don’t cover up -your real self to me, for you may be concealing just what I love, and -pretending what I hate. It is because you are different from others that -I have been so<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> drawn to you. Now don’t try to be like other people, and -ruin everything.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I feel I can be myself with you. I feel I can tell you everything -that is in my heart, and talk of things that I have never been able to -speak of to others. How beautiful it is! How strange that such a -relationship between two women can come about here in Paris in this age -of the world!”</p> - -<p>“It could not if we were Parisians; but both of us being foreign to this -atmosphere, it can. I love your being an American. I felt sure you were -even before I asked Etienne.”</p> - -<p>“And did he tell you? I have always understood that he never answered -questions about his students.”</p> - -<p>“So have I; but I asked him all the same, and he told me who you were. I -had quite fancied you before, and after that I fancied you still more, -as I love the ideal of the American, a creature newer from Nature’s -hands, and nearer to her heart, than we of the Old World; and, -fortunately or otherwise, I have known too few of your people either to -confirm or contradict this idea. So now I think I shall go on liking -you. And how is it with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> you? Do you think you will not be disappointed -in me?”</p> - -<p>Her beautiful lips widened in a smile of broad amusement that made her -eyes twinkle. Martha looked at her with a speechless adoration which she -could not have been so dense as to misunderstand.</p> - -<p>“How delightful!” said the princess. “It has been so long since I have -permitted myself the luxury of a friend that my appetite for one is all -the keener.”</p> - -<p>She had thrown herself back on the lounge, and as Martha sat down by -her, the princess again took her hand, saying as she did so:</p> - -<p>“Now I will tell you two things about myself at the outset of our -acquaintance: one is that I love to ask questions; the other is that I -hate to be questioned. Will you remember these facts, and will you be as -frank with me if I do what you don’t like? I am very nearly certain that -we shall get on together admirably, for the reason that I know you have -no vulgar curiosity about me or my affairs. You have sense enough to be -convinced by one look at my aunt, if there were nothing else, that I am -respectable. Now I am pretty confident that you have an impulse to talk<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span> -out freely to me, and to answer any questions that I may choose to -put—all the more so because your general habit is one of strict -reserve.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_5" id="fig_5"></a> -<img src="images/i_037.jpg" width="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>AH, I HAVE MADE A MISTAKE, I SEE.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>The princess kept her eye on her companion’s face while she was talking, -and she could tell by its expression that she had interpreted her -correctly. She said so, with a little laugh of contentment, and then -added:</p> - -<p>“Tell me about yourself first of all.”</p> - -<p>Martha’s countenance fell.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah, I have made a mistake, I see,” said the princess. “We have not come -to that yet; but we will come to it—you and I. Some of these days you -will find yourself telling me all those close-locked secrets of your -heart; and yet even they, I fancy, will relate more to others than to -yourself. So be it! I can wait. Tell me now about your people—your -family here in Paris.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” began Martha, “there are mama and we four girls—Alice, Marian, -Florence, and I. Alice is very handsome, and poor mama has had to shift -over to her and to the younger girls, who also bid fair to be charming, -all the hopes which she once centered in me. I have been struggled with -for years, and finally let alone. Mama agrees to my working at my -painting because she has made up her mind that unless I amount to -something in that I shall never amount to anything at all; but I don’t -think she has much hope of me. She is not far from beautiful herself, -and is accustomed to being admired, and it took her a long time to -accept my indifference to it. However, it’s quite accepted now; and I -even think that, with three other girls to be taken into society, she -finds a certain relief in leaving<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_6" id="fig_6"></a> -<img src="images/i_038.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>ALICE HAS A FINE VOICE.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">me out of it. The other girls are studying music and languages. Alice -has a fine voice.”</p> - -<p>“And your father is dead, is he not? Did you not say you had a brother?”</p> - -<p>Martha’s face grew quite white with the concentration of mind which this -thought produced.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I have a brother,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me,” said the princess, with swift sympathy. “There is -evidently some reason why it pains you to speak of your brother. Forget -that I asked you.”</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to Martha’s face as it occurred to her that her -companion might misunderstand her reluctance to speak on this subject.</p> - -<p>“It’s not that I am not proud of him that it is hard for me to speak,” -she said; “it’s expressly because I am. I made up my mind long ago not -to talk about Harold. I found I must not, because I could not speak of -him with any freedom without saying things that people would think no -merely mortal man deserved. I have worshiped him all my life, and, as -I’m rather ashamed to own, I’ve had a great many other idols which -turned out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span> to be made of clay. This one, however, has never proved for -an instant unworthy of my adoration.”</p> - -<p>The princess smiled.</p> - -<p>“One would like to get a look at him,” she said. “An absolutely -faultless being must be interesting to look at.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t laugh at me!” cried Martha. “If it were any one but you I could -not bear it; but I know you would say or do nothing that could hurt me -really. I don’t wish you to understand that I think Harold faultless. He -is not. But to one who understands him as I do, his very faults are part -of his greatness. They all have their seat in something noble, and to -see how he fights to conquer them is a thing that thrills me. He is now -off in America hard at work. He has done some quite extraordinary things -in electricity, and is absorbed in his career. When I am a little older, -and mama gives me up as a hopeless job for society, I am to go and live -with Harold, and keep house for him. That is my dream and his.”</p> - -<p>“Sooner or later, dear child, you will have to wake from that dream. I -do not find it as unlikely as you seem to that you will marry;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> and even -if you should not, your brother probably will.”</p> - -<p>The princess was smiling, but her smile faded at the look of tragic pain -in her companion’s face. She could see that the young girl had been -touched in her heart’s tenderest place.</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, with that frown of sadness unrelaxed, “he will never -marry.”</p> - -<p>“Forgive me again, dear Martha,” said the princess. “Your brother has -had some disappointment, about which your heart is as sensitive as his -own. I see that, and you need tell me no more. It is good that he has -you to comprehend and sympathize with him. It is good that you have each -other. If you gave your heart and life to a husband as wholly as you -have given them to your brother, he would probably break the heart and -wreck the life, and even the right to dream would be taken from you. -Living with this brother, whom you love and worship so, whether he -deserves it or not, you may have many a sweet and joy-giving dream which -no reality would equal. I wish I could make you see how fortunate you -are.”</p> - -<p>“I care very little for my own happiness,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span>” said Martha, too absorbed to -realize that she was saying anything that called for comment. “All that -I care for is to give Harold a little comfort and calm. He can never be -happy again.”</p> - -<p>“He tells you so, dear child, and no doubt he believes it. <i>I</i> tell you -it will pass. Men do not grieve perpetually for women. I know them -better than you do.”</p> - -<p>“You do not know this man. If you imagine that he is like any other man -in the world, you are wrong. He could not get over this sorrow and be -the man that he is. It is simply a thing impossible to him. Not that he -shows it! It has been two years since it happened, and no doubt every -one except myself thinks he has recovered. I dare say he wants to have -it so, and he’s generally cheerful and bright. Even to me he never says -a word, but I think he knows that I understand. At all events, he knows -that, though it is the desire of my life to go and live with him, I -would never do him the wrong to suppose that I could make him happy.”</p> - -<p>“He has, then, it would seem, the same ardent temperament as yours. Dear -me! how odd it would be to see a man like that in this</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_7" id="fig_7"></a> -<img src="images/i_042.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">IN THE AMERICAN COLONY.</p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span></p> - -<p class="nind">generation! Was this woman very cruel to him that you resent it so?”</p> - -<p>“Resent it!” said Martha, dropping her companion’s hand, to clasp her -own hands together. “Even to you I can’t talk about that. I should -either cry like a fool or rage like a fury. I know very little about -what happened, except that she has utterly ruined Harold’s life, and cut -him off from everything that makes life sweet.”</p> - -<p>“You allow yourself to suffer too much for him, perhaps,” the princess -said. “I am not going to antagonize you at the outset by saying all that -I might say to you on this subject, but believe me, my little <i>ingénue</i>, -I could give you points about men. I will not do it now, however, and I -will even show my willingness to spare you by changing the subject. Tell -me about Alice. Is she really so handsome? Does she go into society? -Where could one see her?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; she goes out a good deal—in the American colony, principally. I -don’t think there is any doubt that she’s handsome.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’m all the more unfortunate in having no acquaintance in the -American colony. Does she look like you?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No; the fact is—” Martha blushed, and was in evident confusion, as she -went on—“the fact is, I’m considered like Harold. Not really, you know, -because no one can deny that he’s magnificent; but there’s said to be a -sort of family likeness.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can believe that, my dear, without absolute insult to your -brother. Is Alice much admired?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a good deal; but she’s engaged now, and so she is not noticed as -much as she was.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she’s engaged, is she? And when is she to be married?”</p> - -<p>“The day is not fixed, but it will be before long. The trousseau is -being bought now. Her fiancé is an Italian officer of very good family, -though not much fortune. Still, Alice is happy, and mama is satisfied, -and Harold has given his consent. He is coming over to the wedding. Oh, -if you could see him—and he could see you!”</p> - -<p>“His seeing me is wholly unnecessary; but the other part might be -accomplished. It would be a good idea to give me a card to the wedding -if it takes place in a church. Then I could see all your people without -their seeing me, and probably disapproving of our intimacy<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span> and breaking -it up—or else putting it on a footing that would have no comfort in -it.”</p> - -<p>“How <i>could</i> they disapprove?” said Martha, deeply hurt. “How could they -be anything but honored that I should be noticed at all by a great -princess like you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, there’s no greatness about this princess, child,” said the other, -laughing. “Don’t expect to see me going around with a throne to sit on, -in either a literal or a figurative sense. To you I am only Sonia—a -fact which you seem to have forgotten, by the way! I wish you’d call me -Sonia, and stop thinking about the princess. With your American ideas -it, no doubt, seems much more important than it is. Are you going to -tell your people about me really or not?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Martha; “I wouldn’t for the world. It may be selfish, but I -want you all to myself.”</p> - -<p>This was perfectly true; but at the same time, ignore it as she might, -there was a lurking feeling in Martha’s heart that the princess was -right in imagining that if her mother knew of the friendship that had -sprung up between the two students at Etienne’s, she <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span>might insist upon -investigating the princess—an indignity which Martha felt that she -could not endure.</p> - -<p>The princess herself seemed pleased at Martha’s evident wish to -monopolize her; and the two parted at last with the confidence and -affection of old friends.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="IV" id="IV"></a>IV</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> days at the atelier had now a new interest for both students, and -their work was manifestly the better for it. To Martha these days were -filled with a glorious delight, which seemed to give her all that her -nature craved; and if it had not been for sad thoughts of her brother -and his loneliness, she would have felt that she could ask for nothing.</p> - -<p>To have the princess painting near her, and to be able to look up and -see her beautiful figure, with its sinuous grace, posed before her -easel, and to receive from her now and then a brilliant smile of mutual -comprehension, was quite enough of personal bliss for Martha Keene.</p> - -<p>Martha had an ardent and romantic temperament, but she seemed to be -capable of satisfying its needs vicariously. There undoubtedly are such -women, though the like has possibly never existed in the other sex.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> For -instance, it was a continual battle with her now to put down the -temptation, which constantly assailed her, of imagining a meeting, an -attraction, and finally a union between the brother who realized her -romantic ideal of man and the friend who realized his complement in -woman’s form. She knew it was impossible. She knew that Harold would -never marry; and she even realized that if he could love again, after -the manner in which he had loved one woman, he would, by that fact, -compel her to lower her standard either of love or of him.</p> - -<p>And yet Martha felt that the meeting and blending of these two lives -would, if she could have seen it, have satisfied every need of her -heart. She believed that her pleasure and contentment in looking on at -such a union as this would give her the greatest joy that could be for -her—would indeed, in a way, give her the feeling of satisfied love.</p> - -<p>It was very hard to put down these imaginings; but she told herself that -it must be done. Harold’s life and love had been given once, and she -knew he was right in saying that they were not his to give again; and on -the princess’s part, no doubt the idea would<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span> be a wild suggestion, -indeed. Martha did not know what rigid laws of etiquette and convention -might not bind the princess; and condescending as the latter had chosen -to be with regard to herself, she felt that this beautiful lady would -never do anything unworthy of her caste. Her husband, whether she had -loved him or not, had no doubt been a great prince, whose name and title -the woman on whom he had bestowed them would never consent to debase. -The thing was hopeless and wrong, of course, and the idea must be put -away from her. But it was hard to do, with her hero constantly in her -mind, and her heroine constantly before her eyes.</p> - -<p>One day, after an unusually hard morning’s work, the princess invited -Martha to go home to lunch with her, and to spend the afternoon at the -Louvre, looking together at the pictures which they had so often enjoyed -apart.</p> - -<p>When they reached the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, the princess was -informed that her aunt had already finished her second breakfast, which -she took with the regularity of clockwork, not depending upon the -comings and goings of the rather erratic<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> person who was the other -member of the family. This the princess explained lightly, as she led -the way to the dining-room. The servants by this time all knew Martha; -and they looked upon her, as the friend of their mistress, with the most -amiable glances. Not speaking the Russian language, Martha could show -her good will only by a pleasant smile, in return for the evident -pleasure which they showed in serving her.</p> - -<p>The princess threw her wrap backward over the chair, as she sat at the -head of the round table, with her slender figure against a background of -dark sable, and her head, in its large plumed hat, standing out from a -halo of many-hued old stained-glass in the window behind. Martha, -sitting opposite, fell into an unconsciously intent scrutiny of her -face.</p> - -<p>It was certainly safe, Martha thought, to call this face beautiful, both -for feature and character. The eyes were large, dark, brilliant, and -fervidly suggestive. One wondered what those eyes had seen, were seeing, -and were capable of discovering for others. The hair was a brilliant, -waving brown, arranged in a loose mass that was still firm and lovely in -its outline—hair, as Martha thought, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_8" id="fig_8"></a> -<img src="images/i_050.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“HER HEAD, IN ITS LARGE PLUMED HAT.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">it must be sweet to touch with fingers and with lips. Also the girl -thought one might well long to prove by touch whether that white skin -was as smooth and fine as it looked. The firm, short nose was definitely -pointed, and tilted upward, slightly lifting with it the short upper -lip. Her chin was bewitching—at once strong and alluring. The mouth was -very individual, and, as Martha studied it, she concluded that if she -could tell why it was so charming, half the charm would be gone. For the -first time it occurred to her to wonder how old the princess was.</p> - -<p>“You are wondering how old I am!” said the princess, almost taking the -girl’s breath away.</p> - -<p>“I never knew anything so strange!” exclaimed Martha. “It was the very -thought I had in my mind.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, I read it there! I can do that, sometimes, with people who -are very sympathetic to me. I fancy it would be rather dangerous for -<i>you</i> to do any very private thinking in my presence. I sometimes read, -too, without reading aloud. I think I have read some of your thoughts -lately, without your suspecting it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>She looked at Martha, over her cup of bouillon, and smiled. Martha felt -herself blushing, as she wondered if that persistent and dominating -thought about her brother, which had been so often in her mind of late, -could have been perceived by this wonderful being. It frightened her so -that she quickly changed the subject, and the remainder of the meal -passed in less personal talk.</p> - -<p>When they were seated in the princess’s coupé, a little later, driving -past the Arc de Triomphe, Martha saw her companion turning her head to -look at it with lingering, earnest eyes.</p> - -<p>“I always look at the Arc whenever I can,” she said; “and it always has -something to say to me. Its expression of strong beauty and repose -always makes me feel that what is, is right. If I am happy, it makes me -feel that joy is both good and permanent; and even when in times of -unhappiness it makes me feel that sadness is permanent, it somehow seems -to tell me that that too is good. Did you ever stand quite close to it -and look up?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Martha.</p> - -<p>“We must, some day, together. It will give you a new sensation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I always thought that it appeared better at a distance,” said Martha.</p> - -<p>“So it does, in a way; but the impression is different. I love it from -the Place de la Concorde, when the horse-chestnuts are in bloom. Then it -looks like a magnificent image of beneficence, stretching out two great -arms to take in all those people, in carriages and on foot, who are -thronging the Champs-Élysées, its body vague and distant in the clouds. -That’s a sufficiently fantastic thought for you, if you like; but it is -one that has comforted me. I love Paris. It is the only city that has -ever seemed to me to be lovable. Its streets are so gay and clean, and -the faces of the people one meets, along here at least, are so -good-humored and intelligent. I love this mixture of fashion and -ruralness. Look at the swells and the peasants driving side by side! -Look at those white-aproned men drawing handcarts, that mail-coach -coming alongside, those old peasants in their covered wagons, and that -superb mounted policeman with his gorgeous trappings! How friendly and -at home they all seem! Even that omnibus, with its three white -Percherons abreast, looks sociable and friendly by the side of the -<i>steppeurs</i> of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span> <i>haute école</i>. Oh, it’s all very human and charming; -or is it that you humanize me, and make me feel its charm more than I -have done for many a day?”</p> - -<p>She was still in this delightful humor when they reached the Louvre, and -made their way at once to pay their homage to the Venus of Milo. They -did not say much as they looked at her, moving slowly from place to -place to get the different points of view. Each knew what the other -felt, and words seemed out of place. Presently the princess said:</p> - -<p>“I have a fancy to try an experiment. Let’s name her! What I mean is, if -that were a real woman, what would you think the name best suited to -her?”</p> - -<p>Martha smiled comprehendingly, and looked at the statue with a gaze of -deep concentration. This changed, after a moment, into a smile, as she -said:</p> - -<p>“I’ve named her. It’s so absurd, however,” she went on, “to give such a -name as I’ve chosen to that ancient Greek statue, that I’m almost -ashamed to tell it.”</p> - -<p>“You needn’t be,” said the princess, smiling too; “for I’ve got a name -about which I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> have exactly the same feeling. Come; I’ll say mine first. -It’s Gloriana.”</p> - -<p>“And mine is Georgiana! How odd that they should be so much alike!”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t it? It’s delightful, though; for it shows that there’s something -in my theory of names, and that this statue has made almost exactly the -same impression on us. I’m eager now to name the Winged Victory. Come; -let’s go and look at her.”</p> - -<p>They hurried away to the foot of the wide staircase, where, looking up, -they saw the magnificent creature with her great wings spread.</p> - -<p>After standing before her in silence a few moments, the princess -exclaimed suddenly:</p> - -<p>“Oh, have you named her yet? A <i>perfect</i> name for her has come to me!”</p> - -<p>“And to me, too—<i>perfect</i>!” said Martha. “How many syllables has -yours?”</p> - -<p>“One.”</p> - -<p>“So has mine!” said the other, breathlessly. “Now let’s count three, and -say the name.”</p> - -<p>Simultaneously they said: “One, two, three—<i>Ruth</i>!”</p> - -<p>Then they looked at each other with an excited delight that the -passers-by must have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> thought rather amazing even for two artists -looking at the Victory.</p> - -<p>“It’s the most wonderful thing I ever heard of,” said Martha. “Don’t you -feel positively creepy?”</p> - -<p>“I should think I did! Little cold chills are running all over me. Oh, -how nice it is that we can think and feel together in this way!”</p> - -<p>Her face, as she spoke, was glowingly beautiful; and Martha returned her -gaze with a look which expressed what no words could possibly have -done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="V" id="V"></a>V</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">One</span> morning the princess did not come to the atelier; and Martha, after -working along without her for a while, thinking that her friend might -have been delayed and hoping that she would come later, found her mind -so preoccupied by the absence of her usual companion that her work would -not go at all, and at last she concluded to stop trying, and to go to -look the princess up.</p> - -<p>She called a cab, and drove to the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, where -she was now well known. Even the old concierge, with her shining white -hair, brilliant black eyes, red cheeks, and bearded upper lip, gave her -a smile of welcome as she passed through the court; and the princess’s -servant gave her another as he conducted her at once to his mistress’s -boudoir.</p> - -<p>Here he left her. Martha tapped on the door, and waited. Getting no -answer, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> turned the knob and entered, intending to knock at the -inner door; but no sooner had she shut herself into the room than she -became aware, although it was almost wholly darkened, that it was not -unoccupied.</p> - -<p>A stifled sound reached her ears, and she could now make out the figure -of the princess, lying on the lounge, with her face buried in her hands.</p> - -<p>The girl’s heart ached with pity, and she did not know whether to yield -to her own impulse, and to go forward, or to consult the possible -preference of her friend, and go back.</p> - -<p>While she hesitated, the princess took her hands from her face, and saw -her. As she did so, she started up, touching her eyes with her -handkerchief, and clearing her voice to speak.</p> - -<p>“Is it you, Martha? Come in, child,” she said. “I have a headache -to-day, and intended to see no one. I forgot, however, that I had given -orders that you were always to be the exception. I should not have let -you see me like this if I had known beforehand; but now that you have -looked upon your poor friend in this humiliated state, sit down, and -never mind.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_9" id="fig_9"></a> -<img src="images/i_058.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>IS IT YOU, MARTHA?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>Martha had come near, and now took the seat beside the lounge, her face -tragic with sympathy.</p> - -<p>“I am so sorry you are ill,” was all that she could say.</p> - -<p>“I am not ill, really,” said the princess. She was lying back upon the -lounge, and fanning her flushed face with her little gossamer -handkerchief, which Martha could see was limp with tears. “My head does -ache now, but I brought it on by this wretched crying. It’s all my own -fault. You did not know that I was such a weakling, did you?” and she -made an effort to smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am so, so sorry!” said Martha, helplessly.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t be, dear. Never be sorry for any man or woman who is equal -to his or her life—and I am equal to mine. One time out of ten it gets -the better of me, but the nine times I get the better of it. This mood -will surely pass. Indeed, it is passing now. You have helped me already. -It has been very long indeed since I have found or wanted human help, -and it takes me by surprise.”</p> - -<p>Martha saw that she was preparing to lead the talk away from her recent -tears and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> cause, and she passionately wished that her friend -should feel that she longed to enter into her sorrow with her, if it -could be allowed her; so she said impulsively:</p> - -<p>“I don’t suppose you feel like telling me your trouble; but oh, I wish -you could!”</p> - -<p>“I do feel like it, you darling child! I could talk to you about it -better than to any one on earth; but there are some things one cannot -speak of even to one’s own heart. That is the trouble now. If I were to -let myself indulge freely in imaginings and regrets, I should satisfy -the want of the moment, but it would undo me utterly. My great -temptation is regret, and I must be strong enough not to regret.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, how sad life is!” cried Martha. “I have always thought that you at -least ought to be happy. I gave you the name of ‘The Happy Princess,’ -out of Tennyson. It has seemed to me from the first that you were a -creature who had it in you to command happiness.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, dear child, if you could only know how helpless I am there! The -best thing that is in me is the power to command courage. That I can, -and for the most part do. While that is so, I shall not complain.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_10" id="fig_10"></a> -<img src="images/i_060.jpg" width="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>OH, I AM SO, SO SORRY.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<p>“Then you are really unhappy? Oh!” said Martha, drawing herself up with -an impulsive movement.</p> - -<p>“I know what that fervent exclamation means as well as if you had put it -into words,” said the princess. “You are wishing that there were some -way in which, by sacrificing yourself, you could purchase happiness for -me.”</p> - -<p>Martha, startled at the correctness of this guess, could say nothing in -denial.</p> - -<p>“I knew it,” said the princess, reading her face. “I have not the -faintest doubt that you would do it; and—now I am going to knock over -some of your idealizing of me—there have been moments in my life when -my greed for happiness has consumed me so that I believe I would have -been willing to take it, and to let another pay the price. That’s a base -thing for a woman to say of herself, but so true it is that I thank God -I was never tempted when those moods were on me. Something not wholly -different from that panting after an impossible joy was upon me this -morning. Shall I never get the better of it utterly? <i>Can</i> one overcome -it? Did <i>you</i> never have it, Martha? To me joy is im<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span>possible, but it is -not so to you. Don’t you ever long for it? I will speak to you quite -openly, Martha, and tell you this—when I say joy, I mean love. <i>Is</i> -there a woman’s heart that does not long for that? Be as honest with me -as I have been with you, and tell me.”</p> - -<p>“I will try,” said Martha. “I will do my best to be perfectly truthful. -I <i>do</i> long for happiness; but—this may seem strange to you, and you -may even think that I am pretending to be better or more unselfish than -others—”</p> - -<p>“That I <i>never</i> will! I <i>know</i> that isn’t so. Go on.”</p> - -<p>“I was going to say that the craving of my heart seems somehow to be -impersonal. I want happiness intensely, but the way in which I want it -is to see the beings whom I love best have it. Now there are two -creatures in the world whom I love supremely—my brother and you. You -know that this is so. If I could see both of you happy, in the manner -and degree that I want, I believe that I could then be perfectly happy, -too. I believe all the needs of my own heart could be answered in that -way; and indeed I almost<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> think that my greed for joy is as great as -yours at times. It has strained my heart almost to bursting, in Harold’s -case, and I feel now almost the same about you. I have never spoken of -this to any one; indeed, I was never fully aware of it, I think, until I -put it into words now. It must seem quite incredible to you.”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least. I believe it utterly, or rather it’s a stronger thing -than belief with me. I feel that it is true. I admire you for it, and -all the more because it is so different from me. I want happiness and -love for myself—every ounce of flesh, every drop of blood in me longs -for it as well as every aspiration of my soul. It is <i>self</i> that I am -thinking of when I get like this—my own power to enjoy, and also—oh, -God <i>knows</i> that this is true!—and also the power to give joy to -another. Martha, I will tell you something,” she said, with a sudden -change of tone, dropping her voice, and leaning forward to take both of -Martha’s hands in hers as she spoke, with her eyes fixed intently on the -girl’s. “I have known this joy. I have loved supremely, and been loved. -You have never tasted that cup of rapture as I have;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span> but then you have -never known, as I have, the anguish of that renunciation. Which of us is -the fortunate one? If you knew how I suffer you would probably say that -it is you; but if, on the other hand, you knew what ecstasy I have had, -I think that you might decide differently. Oh, if God would give me one -more hour of it, I think I would be content! One more hour, to take it -to the full, knowing that I must, after that, come back to what I suffer -now! I think those sixty joy-absorbing minutes would make up to me for -everything. But to have it <i>never again</i>!”</p> - -<p>She broke off, and, hiding her face in her hands, turned away, and lay -for some moments quite silent and still. She was not crying—Martha -could see that; and when she presently turned, and looked at the young -girl, holding out both her hands to her, although there was no smile on -her face, it showed that she had conquered her dark mood, and was strong -again.</p> - -<p>It was a very gentle sort of strength, however, that was not too -self-sufficient to feel pleasure in the words and looks and touches of -quiet sympathy which Martha gave her now. They sat there, hand in hand, -for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> long time; and presently the princess said, with her own -beautiful smile:</p> - -<p>“You have done me a world of good, Martha. My headache is gone, and also -its cause. Sometimes, do you know,—I’m going to let you see just how -weak I am,—sometimes I succumb for days to a mood like this. Nobody -knows that tears have anything to do with the headaches that I suffer -from—at least nobody but Félicie, and she gives no information. My aunt -loves me dearly, but is no more acquainted with the real <i>me</i> than if I -were a stranger; and yet she adores me—perhaps for that reason. I tell -her nothing, because the feelings that I have are quite outside her -comprehension, while the headaches are quite within it. She recommends -various powders and pellets, and is constantly getting new prescriptions -for me. She says my headaches are of a very obstinate type, and I agree -with her. To show you how completely you’ve cured me,” she added, rising -to her feet, with an entire change of tone, “I am going to work this -afternoon. You will stay and take your lunch with me, and then we’ll be -there in time for the second model’s pose.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t stay,” said Martha, rising too;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> “but I will meet you there -promptly. I am keeping my cab below, so that I may be back at the -atelier by the time the carriage comes for me. You know how very quiet I -am keeping my little escapades with you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, to be sure!” exclaimed the other, smiling. “I had forgotten the -necessity of that precaution. What <i>would</i> ‘mama and the girls’ say? I -think I shall write them an anonymous letter, saying that if madame had -been under the impression that her eldest daughter devoted herself -wholly to the pursuit of art during the hours of her absence from home, -it might have surprised her had she seen the aforesaid young lady this -morning come out of the atelier, call a cab, give a number, go to a -distant apartment (where she was evidently well known to the concierge, -who passed her on to a servant in Russian livery, who as evidently knew -her well), enter, by a special passage, a certain room, where she -remained shut in for a long time, emerging finally in great haste to -drive rapidly in the cab, which she had kept waiting, back to the -atelier in time to meet her own carriage, and come innocently home to -join the family circle at lunch! Couldn’t I make out a case?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> And what -<i>would</i> the mother and the little sisters say?”</p> - -<p>Martha, too, laughed at the picture; but in spite of some discomfiture -of feeling to which it gave rise, she had no idea of changing her -tactics. The very thought of her mother’s going to work to investigate -the princess, and ascertain if she were a proper friend for her -daughter, smote the girl to the heart, and she resolved to guard her -secret more carefully than ever. She determined that she would ease her -conscience for the deception by confessing everything to her brother -when he came. This would make it all right.</p> - -<p>As Martha drove back to the atelier, after an affectionate <i>au revoir</i> -to the princess, she was conscious that something was rankling in her -mind. When she came to search for the ground of this feeling, she found -it to exist in the confession of love which the princess had made. This -knowledge caused Martha to realize that she had not even yet succeeded -in putting from her the imaginings by which she had connected her -brother and her friend. Before knowing the princess she had always -cherished the belief that her brother would sink below her ideal of him -if he ever loved<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span> a second time. Lately, however, she had imagined the -possibility of his telling her, after knowing the princess, that the old -love was not the perfect one he had imagined it; and she could fancy -herself forgiving him for loving a second time, with the princess as his -apology. It had even seemed to her lately so monstrously wrong and cruel -that Harold’s life should be wantonly wrecked that she was now prepared -to accept a good deal more than would once have seemed possible, in -order to see it mended.</p> - -<p>Martha, for all her demure appearance, had something that was more or -less savage and lawless in her nature, especially where Harold was -concerned; and the same feeling, in a lesser degree, dominated her in -regard to the princess. She had long ago admitted to herself the fact -that Harold had missed his chance of happiness in love; but it was as -painful as it was unexpected to her to find that the princess too had -loved before. She had known that she had been married, but with very -little difficulty she had constructed for herself a theory of that -marriage in which the princess had played the part of an innocent victim -to circumstance. For instance, she might have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> been married by her -parents in early youth to a man perhaps far older than herself, whom she -had never loved, and for whose death she could not have grieved much.</p> - -<p>It was a surprise to Martha now to find how entirely she had let this -utterly unfounded idea take possession of her. The words of the princess -this morning had shattered it to atoms, and in spite of herself she felt -strangely heavy-hearted.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="VI" id="VI"></a>VI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">After</span> the morning on which Martha had been by accident a witness of the -princess’s self-betrayal, there seemed nothing lacking to the complete -understanding of the two friends, and their intimacy was now stronger -and closer than ever. It was not practicable for Martha to visit the -princess very often, as she was compelled to take the time for these -visits out of her atelier hours, and both women were too earnest in -their work not to begrudge this. Lately they had fallen into the custom -of the generality of the students, and went for their midday meal to the -<i>crèmerie</i> in the neighborhood, after they had visited first the -butcher’s shop, and selected their own mutton-chop or bit of beefsteak; -then they had it cooked according to their directions. This, with fresh -rolls and baked apples and milk, made an excellent meal, sometimes -augmented by potato salad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> Martha had been initiated into these -mysteries by an American girl whose acquaintance she had made through -the latter’s having once offered to help her on with her “josie,” a word -which had established an easy footing between them at once.</p> - -<p>Martha never exchanged more than a passing remark with the other -students, partly because she had, in the beginning, built a sort of -barrier around her by her shyness, and, recently, because she felt that -her intimacy with the princess, who knew none of the others, set her -more than ever apart.</p> - -<p>One morning Martha came to the atelier rather late, and showed, -moreover, a certain excitement in her movements and expression which she -accounted for at lunch-time by telling the princess that her sister’s -wedding had been hurried up, and was to take place almost immediately.</p> - -<p>There were several good reasons for this; one being that it suited much -better the plans of the bridegroom elect, and another that Mrs. Keene, -being in rather delicate health, had been urged by her physicians to -leave Paris. So, as soon as the wedding was over, she was to go south -with the younger girls and their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> governess; and Martha, who rebelled -against being taken from her beloved painting, had a beautiful plan of -getting her brother to stay awhile in Paris with her in their mother’s -apartment. This she confided to the princess with breathless delight, -saying that she had written to Harold about it, and told him to cable -her if he were willing. Her friend could see that, with her usual -license of imagination, Martha had been making all sorts of plans in -connection with this scheme, and she more than suspected that some of -these concerned herself.</p> - -<p>“My dear Martha,” she said, with a penetrating look into her friend’s -eager eyes, “give it up at once, on the spot, if you have been making -any plans to introduce your brother to me!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <i>why</i>?” said Martha, in tones of the keenest regret.</p> - -<p>“Because, my dear, it is out of the question. If you knew how sick to -death I am of men, you would not ask it. Please, if you love me, don’t -speak of it again.”</p> - -<p>This, of course, was final, and Martha was compelled to bear her -disappointment with what patience she could summon. She got a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> promise -from the princess, however, that she would come to the wedding, which -was to take place in the American church. At least this would give her -the satisfaction of feeling in the future that her friend had seen her -brother, and she hoped she might contrive in some way that the latter -should see the princess, since it was now decreed that the intercourse -could go no further.</p> - -<p>Great as Martha’s disappointment was, she forced herself to recognize -the fact that, as things were, it might be all for the best that these -two should not meet. She could imagine but one result of that meeting, -and that, under existing circumstances, might be disastrous to both. -Neither of them had fully confided in her, but both of them had told her -plainly that a second love was the thing which they most strongly -repudiated. In Harold’s case, she knew that this feeling was one that -his conscience, no less than his heart, ordained; and in the case of the -princess, she somehow felt that it was the same.</p> - -<p>The princess, for some reason, did not tell Martha what a notable -exception to her rule she made in going to this wedding. The fact was, -she had never been to any wedding since<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> her own; and it may have been -that fact which accounted for the state of intense excitement which she -was in as she drove alone in her carriage through the streets of Paris -to the church in the Avenue de l’Alma.</p> - -<p>As she got out, and instructed her coachman where to wait, this inward -excitement showed in every rapid movement and word. Afterward, when she -entered the church, and walked, with a definiteness of manner which -would seem to have indicated a prearranged plan, straight down the -left-hand aisle to the choir-stalls, her face was flushed and her eyes -were brilliant. It was early, and few people had come as yet.</p> - -<p>The princess wore a long, dark cloak, which concealed her figure, and on -her large hat, which hid the outline of her head, a rather thick Russian -veil was fastened, so that her features were scarcely distinguishable.</p> - -<p>There was a shaded corner near the organ, behind the chorister-stalls, -that was quite screened from the congregation, and so situated as to be -almost out of view from the chancel also, if one chose to protect one’s -self behind the great pillar that stood there. The day was dark and -cloudy, but the chancel was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span> brilliant with lighted candles. The -princess with firm confidence walked to this place, and took her seat. -She did not seem to care whether the church was filling up or not. She -scarcely noticed when some people came and took the seats near her. In -these moments she was so lost in thoughts and reminiscences that the -furious beating of her heart almost suffocated her.</p> - -<p>When, from just behind her, a great organ-note swelled forth, and filled -the church with tremulous vibrations, the princess gave a little -fluttered start. No one was near enough to observe this, however, or to -see the crouching back into her seat which followed it. The music seemed -to heighten her emotion, and she trembled visibly. She quite lost count -of time, and did not know how long it was before she saw a clergyman -enter the chancel and stand there, waiting. Then, as two officers in -rich uniforms came and took their places in front of him, the sonorous -chords of the old familiar Mendelssohn march swelled from the organ, and -the heart within her seemed to stop and sink. It was the sound and -influence to which, in perfect joy, she had walked to her own wedding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span></p> - -<p>She knew that the bridal procession was coming up the aisle, but she did -not turn her head to get a view into the church. She felt the people -about her rise to their feet, but she sat still. Her trembling limbs -would not have held her up; but she did not even know that she was -trembling. She knew only that she was waiting—that all her heart and -all her soul were wrapped in a bewildering suspense until the coming of -what was very near her now. They passed close to her, the girls in their -white dresses, and the officers in their glittering uniforms, and stood -in divided ranks, leaving the space between them clear.</p> - -<p>Into this space, directly in front of the clergyman, there now advanced -a woman covered with a cloud of gauzy tulle. She leaned upon the arm of -the only man in the party who was not in uniform.</p> - -<p>It was on this figure that the princess fastened her eyes, never once -removing them until the short ceremony had come to an end. The bride was -a shapeless blur. The bridesmaids were a billowy cloud. The officers -were mere dazzles of color and gold lace. One object there was that cut -its way into her consciousness with acute distinctness—the dark-clad,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_11" id="fig_11"></a> -<img src="images/i_076.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“THE MAN WHO STOOD WAITING TO GIVE THE BRIDE.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">clearly outlined figure and pale profile of the man who stood waiting to -give the bride.</p> - -<p>When the music ceased, and the minister told the congregation that they -were assembled to join together this man and this woman in holy -matrimony, it was another man and woman that she thought of; and so -through all the solemn charge and searching questioning that followed.</p> - -<p>When the minister asked, “Who giveth this woman to be married?” and the -man that she had been watching gave up his companion with a slight -inclination of the head, and moved aside, the gaze of the princess still -followed and rested on him. When, a moment later, a strange foreign -voice said painstakingly, “I, Victor, take thee, Alice, to my wedded -wife,” what she heard, in natural and familiar English utterance was -this: “I, Harold, take thee, Sophia, to my wedded wife, to have and to -hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for -poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us -do part, according to God’s holy ordinance, and thereto I plight thee my -troth.” And it was her own voice which made answer: “I, Sophia, take -thee, Harold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>A hard clutch was on her heart. He was there—the Harold who had made -that vow to her; and she, Sophia, was here, in life, not death! “Till -death us do part,” they had both of them sworn, and they had let life -part them! The terrible wrong of it all rushed over her. The reasons -which had made that parting seem to her right before now vanished into -air. She felt that crime alone could ever link one of them to another. -She felt that this separation between them was in itself a crime, and -she who had done it the chief of criminals.</p> - -<p>All this she felt with terrifying force, but a feeling stronger than -even any of these had taken possession of her—a want and longing had -awakened in her heart which strained it almost intolerably. She looked -at the bride’s brother, standing there intensely still, in an attitude -of complete repose, and a feeling that he was hers, and hers alone took -possession of her. She grew reckless of appearances, and stood up in her -place, with her face turned full toward him. She heard the clergyman’s -stern behest that man put not asunder those whom God hath joined, and -she heard him pronounce that they were man and wife, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span> the name of the -Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Her heart said a solemn -amen.</p> - -<p>Imagination lingered on these thrilling thoughts while the blessing was -pronounced and the service ended; and then the little procession, the -bride and bridegroom at its head, and the figure that she watched at his -mother’s side behind them, passed her and went down the aisle, while the -familiar music was playing, to which she had walked from the altar a -blissfully happy wife—and she was left alone!</p> - -<p>The organist quickly closed the organ, and hurried away. The people near -her moved off too; and still she sat there motionless, feeling herself -deserted and most miserable. A boy, putting out the candles, roused her -to consciousness, and somehow she got out of the place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="VII" id="VII"></a>VII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Keene’s</span> apartment on the Place de la Madeleine was a scene of -joyful commotion and confusion. The small breakfast which followed the -wedding was an informal affair; and though it was supposed that only the -nearest personal friends were present, the rooms were cheerfully -crowded, and the uniforms made a show and glitter. The charming girls -who were permitted to be their sister’s bridesmaids were the object of -much notice and attention; and when the company had risen from the -table, the eldest sister, who was so much the least pretty and -vivacious, was scarcely missed from the room. A few people inquired for -the bride’s brother, who had also disappeared; but as he was a stranger -to every one, the fact of his absence was little noticed.</p> - -<p>Martha, when she went to look for Harold, found him in his own room, -smoking.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I knew it was you,” he said, as she came in, closing the door behind -her. “I thought you would come to look me up; but why did you? I’m poor -company for anybody to-day. Well,” he added, with a short, deep breath, -“thank the Lord, that’s over! When you get married, Martha, I want you -to elope. I’ve no business at a wedding. I feel that I have cast an evil -eye on Alice and Victor.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harold, I was thinking of you more than of them all the time,” said -Martha, earnestly. “It did seem absolute cruelty to have required it of -you. How <i>could</i> mama!”</p> - -<p>Concentrated as her tone and manner were, she was doubtful whether they -even penetrated the consciousness of her companion, who, with his chair -tipped backward, his frock-coat thrown open, with a ruthless disregard -of the smart gardenia which ornamented its lapel, and his hands thrust -deep into his trousers pockets, was smoking vigorously, and looking away -from her out of the window.</p> - -<p>Martha had come here in the ardent hope of giving comfort, and she felt -a little hurt. She smothered the feeling back into her heart, however, -as she said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I knew it was anguish to you, standing there and going through that -ceremony.”</p> - -<p>He turned, and looked at her.</p> - -<p>“Well, rather!” he said, with a short laugh, still keeping the cigar in -his mouth, and talking with his teeth clenched upon it. Then he turned -his face toward the window again; but his glance was so vague that -Martha felt that he saw some picture in his mind, rather than the scene -below. “The service was the same,” he said, clasping his hands behind -his head, and narrowing his eyes as if to get the perspective. “The -music was the same—and those roses! And that was not all. Vivid as she -always is to me in every other respect, I have not always been able to -hold on to her voice; but to-day I heard it perfectly, saying, ‘I, -Sophia, take thee, Harold,’ and all the rest.”</p> - -<p>He got up suddenly, threw his cigar into the grate, and walked across -the room.</p> - -<p>“Oh, poor Harold!” Martha said, her voice thick with tears.</p> - -<p>The effect of her words was instantaneous. He turned suddenly, and -showed in both face and figure a swiftly summoned and effectual calm.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dear girl,” he said quickly, “you don’t suppose I’m posing for an -injured husband, I hope? I have suffered, of course; but with a man -certain kinds of suffering get to be a business. To speak of it seems -like talking shop. It’s detestable to be talking it to you now; but the -truth is, this wedding affair has nearly knocked me out. I could have -gone on keeping up the bluff, of course, and talked the usual bosh with -the wedding-guests in yonder; but I found I had a contract with myself -that had to be seen to. It has cost me something to smooth out and -harden down my thoughts and feelings about my own life; but I had got -the thing done. This wedding business, however, upheaved it all. When I -found that I was actually sinking into the mushy swamp of self-pity, I -thought it was about time to come away, and steady up my nerve a bit. -I’m all right now, however, and I see clear again. The thing’s over, and -no harm is done.”</p> - -<p>Martha’s eyes followed him wistfully as he turned to the dressing-table, -picked up a brush, and smoothed the swart surface of his thick, dark -hair, brushed some specks of dust from his coat, and carefully -straightened the injured flower.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Shall we go back?” he said. “We may be missed.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t go quite yet. No one will think about us,” she said; and then she -added doubtfully: “May I talk to you a little, Harold?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly, my dear. Talk all you want,” he answered, sitting down; -“only there’s nothing to say.”</p> - -<p>“Where is she? I’ve so often longed to know.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t the least idea. She asked me not to follow her movements, and -I never have.”</p> - -<p>“Then you do not even know whether she is living or dead?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I know that much. She is not dead. I feel her in the world. If she -went out of it, I believe I should know it. Besides, I would have been -informed of that. She spoke of it, and said so.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s pause, which Martha broke.</p> - -<p>“Will you tell me this,” she said, “whether you are as hopeless about it -all as you were when I last spoke to you of it?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly as hopeless. When a thing is ab<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span>solute, my dear, it doesn’t -have degrees. I have never been anything else than hopeless since the -hour of my last interview with her. She told me then,” he said, with a -sort of cold conciseness, “that her first wish was to set me absolutely -free. She said she wanted me to marry again. She said that just as soon -as we had lived apart the time required by law for a divorce, she wanted -me to get it. She said she was sorry there was no way to get it sooner. -She said, also, that she would take back her maiden name.”</p> - -<p>He got up, thrust his hands into his pockets, and, walking over to the -window, stood there for a moment. Then he turned suddenly, and came and -stood in front of Martha, looking her directly in the eyes. She saw by -that look that he was calm and steady, and so she ventured to question -him a little further.</p> - -<p>“Do you know whom she lives with?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“With an aunt, whose life, as she told me, is utterly out of the world -that we knew together. She said that, on this account, there was good -reason to hope that we would never meet again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Martha, who felt that this subject might not be spoken of between them -again, continued to question him as he stood and looked down at her with -a perfect consciousness of self-possession.</p> - -<p>“Was she so beautiful?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And are you still unchanged in giving her the supreme place that you -did give her from the moment you first saw her?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said again.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harold,” exclaimed the girl, “I sometimes think it might have -turned out differently if the marriage had not been so rash and sudden.”</p> - -<p>He took a seat near her, and continued to look at her as he said:</p> - -<p>“It could have made no difference to me. You don’t fully understand it, -Martha. It is impossible that you should. I knew, the day I met her, -that I had been set apart and saved for her. I know it now. It was the -kind of gravitation that comes once in a life.”</p> - -<p>“Then you do not regret it?”</p> - -<p>“For myself, not in the least. She was my wife for a month. What I have -gone through since is a small price to pay for that. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> when I think -of what it has cost her—that most delicate of women—to face the odium -of it—that superb woman’s life shadowed by the vulgarity of a suddenly -ruptured marriage; and—deeper than that!—to have her best life maimed -forever—God! I curse the day that I was born!”</p> - -<p>“And what has she brought on you, I’d like to know?” cried Martha. “It -was she who cast you off—not you her. Ah, Harold, if she had been the -woman she should have been, she never could have done it!”</p> - -<p>He looked at her with some impatience in his glance.</p> - -<p>“Whether she was the woman she should have been or not is a thing that -neither concerns nor interests me. She was the woman I loved. The whole -thing is in that.”</p> - -<p>“And the woman you still love? Is that true, Harold?”</p> - -<p>“True as death,” he said; “but what does it all matter? Your -relentlessness is the friend’s natural feeling. It shows how bootless it -is to give account. I care more for your opinion than any other, but -even your scorn does not signify to me here. It misses the point. The -only pride that is involved is pride<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> in my own immutability. Love ought -always to be a regeneration,” he went on, as if putting into shape the -thoughts that were rising out of the recent chaos in his mind. “It’s -easy enough to keep true when the love, the joy, the equal give and -take, go on unbroken. It’s when a man actually turns and walks out of -heaven, and the gates shut behind him forever, that he finds out the -stuff that’s in him. Sometimes, when I think about it, I try to fancy -what would be my humiliation if I found I had grown to love her less.”</p> - -<p>Martha was silent a moment. Then she said, as if urged by the necessity -of speaking out, for this once, all that she had so long kept back:</p> - -<p>“Suppose, after you get the divorce, you should hear that she was -married?”</p> - -<p>“I’m braced to bear that, if it comes,” he said. “I know it is possible, -but I don’t fear it. I may, of course, be wrong; but I don’t believe, -with what has been between us, that she could ever be the wife of -another man while I lived. She might think so. She might even try—go -part of the way; but I never felt more secure of anything than that she -would find herself unable to do it.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Then do you think that she possibly still cares for you?”</p> - -<p>“No; I’m not a fool. She made that point sufficiently plain. Didn’t she -tell me, in the downright, simple words, that she did not love me—had -never loved me—had found out it was all a mistake? I believe she meant -it absolutely. I believe it was true. You don’t suppose, if I doubted -it, I’d have given her up as I have done?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harold, what was it all about, that quarrel that you had? Could you -bear to tell me?”</p> - -<p>“There’s nothing to tell. We thought we were perfectly suited, perfectly -sympathetic. Our feelings had stood every test but marriage. When it -came to that, they failed. It was a case of non-adjustment of -feelings—different points of view—different natures, perhaps. I saw -facing me the demand that I should change myself, root and branch, and -become a different creature from what God had made me. This I could not -do. I might have pretended and acted, but she was not the woman to -tolerate the wretched puppet of a man which that would have made of me. -<i>Her</i> changing was a thing I never thought of.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> I was never mean enough -to think that a woman was bound to sacrifice her individuality in -marriage. Why should a wife surrender that sacred citadel any more than -a husband? How odious should I feel myself, if I had ever taken that -position in the slightest degree! And shams were out of the question -with us. Neither of us could have tolerated anything uncandid—anything -that smacked of a tacit convention.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s pause, and then Martha broke out impulsively:</p> - -<p>“I can’t help thinking that it might have been prevented. It may be that -you were too proud. Have you ever thought that?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, with a certain grimness. “I have never taken that view of -the case. She made it so entirely plain that she wanted to be rid of me -at once and forever—that there was no room for reflection on that -point. If there is a man alive who could have held her bound after her -words to me, I hope I may never make his acquaintance.”</p> - -<p>The appearance of agitation which had marked the beginning of the -interview was now utterly gone from Harold. He spoke deliberately, and -as if with a certain satisfac<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span>tion in the sense of getting his thoughts -into form.</p> - -<p>Again there was a pause. Then Martha said, speaking very low:</p> - -<p>“But, Harold, you are doing without love.”</p> - -<p>“I have had it,” he answered, “and what has been is mine, to keep -forever. I have lost my wife, but the greatness, the exaltation, of my -love increases. I have learned that love is subjective and independent. -A renunciation is only an episode in it. I deserve no pity. No, Martha; -never fall into the mistake of pitying me. I should pity you from my -heart if I thought you would miss what I have had; and the gods may be -lenient to as sweet a soul as yours. You may have the joy, some day, -without the renunciation.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want it! I wouldn’t have it!” cried the girl, vehemently. “No -one will ever love me, and I wouldn’t have them to. It would break my -heart. It makes me seem ridiculous even to speak of it. I want <i>you</i> to -have love and joy. That is all I ask.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’ve had it. Be satisfied. Of the two of us,—except that you -have hope, which I have not,—you are the one to be pitied.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Harold, <i>don’t</i>! Unless you want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> break my heart outright, don’t -talk to me about being happy. I want happiness for <i>you: I’ve</i> got no -use for it.”</p> - -<p>She got up as she spoke, and moved toward him. Harold stood up, too, and -bent to kiss her. Demonstrations between them were unusual, and it was a -very Martha-like instinct that made her now so incline her head as to -receive his caress upon her hair.</p> - -<p>“We will go back to the others now,” said Harold. “Thank you, Martha.”</p> - -<p>So together they went back to the wedding-party.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_12" id="fig_12"></a> -<img src="images/i_092.jpg" width="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I KNEW IT WAS ANGUISH TO YOU.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_13" id="fig_13"></a> -<img src="images/i_092-2.jpg" width="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“AS SHE HAD SEEN HER ONCE BEFORE.”</p> -</div> - -<h2><a name="VIII" id="VIII"></a>VIII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> day after the wedding, when the bridal pair had left Paris by one -train and the bride’s mother and younger sisters by another, when Harold -had gone off to attend to some business which formed one part of the -reason of his coming to Paris, Martha, having now full use of the -carriage, ordered it to wait outside the atelier while she went in to -see if the princess was there. It confirmed a suspicion which had -somehow got into her head when she found that her friend was absent. -With scarcely a glance at the model and the busy students, she withdrew, -and, reëntering her carriage, ordered her coachman to drive her to the -Rue Presbourg.</p> - -<p>Upon going at once to her friend’s private rooms, she found her lying on -the lounge in semi-darkness, as she had seen her once before; but now -there were no tears, nor any trace of them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have a real headache this time,” she said, as she stretched out her -hand, with a smile. “It’s better than it was, though, and I am glad to -see you.”</p> - -<p>“Were you at the wedding?” was Martha’s first eager question, when she -had kissed her friend and taken the seat beside her.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I was there,” said the other promptly. “How charming you looked in -your bridesmaid’s dress, and how handsome your Alice really is!”</p> - -<p>She wondered what Martha would think if she knew the truth—that she had -seen Alice and herself scarcely more than if they had not been present!</p> - -<p>“And you saw Harold?” was the next question.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I saw your paragon of paragons,” was the answer, spoken in light -and well-guarded tones.</p> - -<p>Martha’s face fell. Still, she was too earnest to be lightly rebuffed, -so she went on:</p> - -<p>“And what did you think of him? Now, Sonia, don’t tease me! You know how -important it is to me—what you think of Harold. Do tell me, dear, and -don’t laugh.”</p> - -<p>In response to this earnest appeal the prin<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span>cess’s face grew grave. She -did not look at Martha, however, but occupied herself with twisting up -her loosened hair as she answered:</p> - -<p>“I thought him handsome, dear. I thought his face both strong and -clever. I could understand you loving him so much. I could see nothing -in his face, or figure, or expression, that looked in the least degree -unworthy of the great ideal that you have of him. There! Does that -satisfy you?”</p> - -<p>She caught Martha’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and for a -second she met her gaze full. Then she got up hastily, and walked across -the room.</p> - -<p>When she presently came back, she had the air of a person thoroughly on -guard, and conscious of her ability to cope with circumstances. She did -not return to the lounge, but sat upright on a stiff sofa which admitted -of no lounging. Martha, glowing with pleasure at her heroine’s praise of -her hero, was determined to follow up her advantage.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you will take back what you said, and let me bring him to see -you—won’t you, Sonia?” she said ardently. “We are going to have the -apartment to ourselves for weeks, Harold and I; and we three could have -such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span> ideal times—such little dinners and jaunts to the play! As things -are with you both, I think there is all the more reason for you to know -each other. You could be such friends! I should think a real man friend -would be such a comfort to you. You seem made for that sort of -<i>camaraderie</i>, as well as for love. And what a comfort the friendship of -such a woman as you would be to Harold! I feel myself at times so -inadequate to him, and I have the very same feeling, sometimes, with -you. I will confess to you, Sonia, that I did have a hope once, even -though you are a princess and he just a simple American gentleman, that -you and Harold might some time, after years, come to be something to -each other; but I have given that up. I see that it is impossible to -either of you. I had a talk with Harold yesterday, and he is as much -protected by his past as you are by yours. So there could be no danger -to either in such an intercourse. Oh, Sonia, <i>won’t</i> you consent to it?”</p> - -<p>There was great gravity and deliberation in the tones of the princess as -she answered impressively:</p> - -<p>“Now, Martha, listen to me. I want you to put that idea out of your head -at once and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span> forever. You will do this, I am sure, when I tell you how -it distresses me and embarrasses our whole intercourse. You are quite -mistaken in supposing that I have either a need or a desire for the -friendship of any man alive. You really must believe me when I tell you -that I am sick of men. One reason that I have so entirely given up -society is that they fret me so with their offers of what you and they -call friendship. I did have men friends once, and I know what they -amount to. While I was married, my—I mean the man I married—was my -friend. Since I lost him I have never had another.”</p> - -<p>As she ended, she rose and walked across the room. Her tone was so -decided that Martha felt that she could say nothing more, and so, with a -sigh, she gave up this dream too.</p> - -<p>In a moment the princess returned, bringing two photographs, which she -had taken from a drawer.</p> - -<p>“I have been looking at some old pictures this morning,” she said. “This -one was taken when, as a girl, I was presented at the English court.”</p> - -<p>She was silent while Martha was uttering<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span> her glowing words of praise, -as she looked at the photograph of the beautiful young girl in her white -court-dress with plumes and veil; and then she put the other into her -hand, saying quietly:</p> - -<p>“This was taken in my wedding-dress, a few days after my marriage.”</p> - -<p>Her manner indicated a controlled excitement, but she was quite -unprepared for the effect that this photograph had upon Martha. The girl -fixed her eyes upon it with a sort of greedy delight, and while she drew -in her breath with thick, short respirations, the hand that held the -picture trembled.</p> - -<p>“I can see it all!” she exclaimed. “Oh, Sonia, were you ever really as -happy as that? What were you looking at, with your head turned in that -eager way?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I was a Happy Princess once, my dear. But you are a wonderful -creature, Martha! No one but you ever thought to ask that question, so I -have been saved the embarrassment of explaining. Since you have asked -me, I will tell you that I was looking at my husband. While the -photographer was posing me in various ways, my husband was waiting for -me. He was supposed to be out<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_14" id="fig_14"></a> -<img src="images/i_098.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>OH, SONIA, WERE YOU EVER REALLY AS HAPPY AS THAT?’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">of sight, but I heard a newspaper rustle, and looked quickly around, and -caught a glimpse of him, between two screens, seated quietly and -unconsciously reading the paper. One of those great rushes of passionate -tenderness which the sight of the man she loves can sometimes bring to a -woman’s heart came over me. At that moment the photographer got the -instantaneous impression. I don’t know why I should tell you all this, -except that you saw it all there. To other people there never seemed any -special significance in the picture.”</p> - -<p>She reached out her hand to take back the photographs, but Martha handed -her only the first.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sonia, <i>let</i> me keep this!” she begged. “It is such delight to me -to look at it!”</p> - -<p>“No, dear; I couldn’t. No one but myself should ever see that picture. I -ought not perhaps to have shown it to you. It was just an impulse. -Promise never to speak of either of these pictures—not even to me. You -never will?”</p> - -<p>“Never,” said Martha, sadly, as she gave the picture up. Her friend took -it, and, without glancing at it, locked it away in a drawer.</p> - -<p>When she came back her whole manner had<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> changed. She began at once to -talk about her work at the atelier, and told Martha that Étienne wished -her to enter a picture for the Salon. The wedding preparations had kept -Martha at home a good deal lately, and the princess had some interesting -bits of news to give her. She was very graphic in her account of some of -Étienne’s last criticisms, and got into high spirits, in which Martha, -somehow, could not entirely take part.</p> - -<p>The girl went away at last rather heavy-hearted. This conversation had -deprived her of her last hope of bringing the princess and her brother -together. She had an engagement with Harold for the afternoon, so she -could not go to the atelier; but she promised to meet the princess there -in good time next morning.</p> - -<p>That afternoon she indulged herself in giving her brother a brief -account of her romantic friendship. She did not, however, mention the -name by which the princess was known to her, or any but the external -facts in the case.</p> - -<p>As she had foreseen, her brother made no objection to the intercourse, -and told her she had been very wise to keep the whole thing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> to herself. -He did not seem in the least surprised that the princess refused to make -his acquaintance, and explained it to Martha by saying that she was -probably an independent and self-willed young woman, who was disposed to -suit only herself in the matter of friends; but that this was not -inconsistent with a certain regard for conventionalities, and it was -probable that she did not care to bother with her family, or even to -take the trouble to find out anything about them. Martha felt that her -brother was moderately interested in the matter because of its relation -to herself; but in spite of all her enthusiasm she could not feel that -she had inspired him with any special interest in the princess, or any -appreciably greater desire to make her acquaintance than she had shown -to make his.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="IX" id="IX"></a>IX</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">A few</span> days later Martha came to the atelier in a state of only -half-concealed excitement. She had a plan which she broached to the -princess with some timidity. She began by saying that her brother was -compelled to be absent from Paris during the whole of the next day, and -that, as it was Sunday, and there would be no work at the atelier, she -would have the whole day on her hands.</p> - -<p>“Come and spend it with me,” said the princess.</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you would only come and spend it with <i>me</i>!” said Martha, so -wistfully that her friend laughed gaily, and said:</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Harold takes an early train, and will not be back until night,” said -Martha; “and it would be such joy to have you in my own room, sitting in -my own chair, lying on my own bed, standing on my own rugs, and giv<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span>ing -me sweet associations with these things forever.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I’ll come—with pleasure,” said Sonia, pausing in her work to -answer Martha’s whispered words.</p> - -<p>So, in this dream, at least, Martha was not to be disappointed; and she -parted from her friend with the delightful expectation that she was to -see her next as her guest.</p> - -<p>The young girl waked early next morning, and had her first breakfast -with her brother; and after he had gone she found the time long while -she waited for her visitor. No definite hour had been agreed upon, and -she was afraid that the princess would come far too late to suit her -eager longing. Still she had not liked to urge too much upon her.</p> - -<p>Martha had ordered heaps of flowers to make her room and the little -boudoir which adjoined it look attractive; and she took Harold in to -inspect them before he went away. He rushed through hurriedly, said -everything was charming, gave her a hasty kiss, and was gone.</p> - -<p>She stood at the window, which looked upon the Place de la Madeleine, -and waited a long time, thinking deeply. The flower-mar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span>ket below was -unusually rich, as the day was warm and springlike; and it presently -occurred to her that among the glowing masses of bloom exposed to view -there were some varieties of flowers which she did not have. She -therefore determined to fill up a part of the time of waiting by going -down to get some of these. Hastily putting on her hat, she ran down the -winding stairway, crossed the open space, and was soon threading her way -among the flower-stalls under the shadow of the beautiful great church. -She kept her eye on the entrance to her apartment-house, however; and as -she knew the princess’s carriage and livery, she felt that there was no -danger of failing to see her friend, should she happen to arrive during -her brief absence.</p> - -<p>The princess, however, did not come in her carriage, or, rather, she -sent it away after having crossed the thronged streets of the Place de -la Concorde, and, wrapped in her dark cloak, she walked quickly along -with the foot-passengers until she reached the house of which she was in -search. Then she slipped quietly in, and mounted the steps to the third -story.</p> - -<p>Her ring was answered by a man-servant,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_15" id="fig_15"></a> -<img src="images/i_104.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I BEG YOUR PARDON,’ HE SAID AGAIN.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">who explained that his young mistress had just gone down to the -flower-market for a moment, and who ushered her into the large salon to -wait.</p> - -<p>Scarcely was she seated there when the bell rang again, and the servant -opened the door to admit Harold. He had forgotten an important paper, -and had come back for it in great haste. He knew that it was his part to -avoid the princess in case she should have arrived; but concluding that -she would, of course, be with Martha in her own rooms, he came directly -into the salon, which was the nearest way of reaching his own apartment.</p> - -<p>When he had entered, and the door was closed behind him, he took two or -three steps forward, and then stopped as if petrified in his place.</p> - -<p>The princess had risen to her feet, and stood confronting him, her face -as pale and agitated as his own.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said, taking off his hat mechanically; “did you, -perhaps, wish to see me?”</p> - -<p>“No,” she answered; “I wished to see your sister. She has gone across to -the flower-market.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>Her eyes had fallen under his, and she felt that she was trembling as -she stood in front of him and answered his questions as mechanically as -a stupid child.</p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon,” he said again; and he seemed to grow paler still as -he stood there irresolute.</p> - -<p>“Do you wish to see my sister alone?” he then said. “I don’t understand. -Do you wish me to stay or to go?”</p> - -<p>“I wish you to go,” she said, rallying a little as the thought occurred -to her that Martha might return. “Your sister is expecting me. I came -with the understanding that you were to be away.”</p> - -<p>A light broke over him, but it cast a sudden shadow on his face.</p> - -<p>“You are, then, the princess of whom she has spoken to me,” he said. “I -beg your pardon.”</p> - -<p>“I am Sophia Rutledge,” she said. “Martha believes me to be a princess, -and I let her think it. Some one in the atelier told her so. What will -you tell her now?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly what you wish.”</p> - -<p>“Say nothing. Let her keep her delusion. Her friendship is dear to me; I -do not wish it turned to hate.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_16" id="fig_16"></a> -<img src="images/i_106.jpg" width="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“AMONG THE FLOWER STALLS.”</p> -</div> - -<p>“I shall say nothing,” he said.</p> - -<p>They both stood silent there a moment, looking away from each other. -Then the woman, feeling her knees grow weak and trembling under her, -sank back into her seat; and the man, urged by some impulse of -self-protection which demanded that he should fly, had bowed and left -the room before she had quite recovered from the momentary dizziness -which had possessed her as she fell into her chair. She heard the front -door close behind him presently, and knew that he was gone. Then she -felt that she must brace herself to meet Martha calmly.</p> - -<p>When the young girl, a few moments later, came in with her load of -flowers, and smilingly uttered her apologies and surprise at having -missed her, her friend’s senses seemed somehow to return, and she was -able to answer calmly.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Martha that the beautiful princess looked ill, and she was -tenderly anxious about her; but she little suspected that during those -few moments of her absence Sonia and her old love had been face to face, -or, more marvelous still, that Harold had seen again the woman who had -been his wife.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="X" id="X"></a>X</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> impression left upon the mind of Sonia by that meeting with Harold -was an intensely disturbing one. Even the stirrings of old feeling, and -the memories of past pleasures and pains, which the sight of him had -recalled, were less strong in her than a certain feeling of humiliation. -She felt that she had been overcome by so great a weakness that she must -have made a self-betrayal of which it nearly maddened her to think. -Knowing how completely she had been thrown off her guard by this totally -unexpected meeting, she felt that every emotion of her heart, which she -herself was so conscious of, had been laid bare to him, and she could -not rest for the torment of that thought. Her hours with Martha were -therefore disturbed and unsatisfactory to them both; and when, soon -after the mid-day meal, Martha asked her if she would like to drive, she -accepted the relief of that idea with alac<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span>rity, only stipulating that -they should not go to the crowded Bois.</p> - -<p>Martha ordered the carriage, and they drove about for an hour or two, -stopping several times to go in and look at churches which they had -often seen, but never entered. In some of these vespers were in -progress, and they paid their sous for seats near the door, and sat down -for a few moments; but the music played too dangerously upon Sonia’s -overwrought feelings, and she hurried her friend away.</p> - -<p>In one or two of the smaller churches there were only silent kneeling -figures here and there, and the two women walked about, looking at the -mixture of dignified antiquity and tawdry decoration on every side, and -reading the tablets all about the approach to the chancel, erected as -thank-offerings to Mary and Joseph for favors granted. In spite of her -inward perturbation, Sonia could not help smiling at the economy of -words on some of these. One or two had merely, “Merci, Joseph,” or -“Merci, Marie et Joseph,” while the more elaborate ones recorded the -thanks of the giver of the tablet for a favor received—the restoration -of a beloved child from illness, the conversion of an erring son, the -rescue of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> husband from shipwreck, and even the miraculous -intervention of Mary and Joseph to restore to health a little boy who -had been gored by a bull. The very ignorance of it was touching to the -two women, and the conviction that it was in each of these poor hearts a -reaching upward kept them from feeling any scorn.</p> - -<p>As they returned to their carriage, Martha, who during the recent scene -had been furtively watching her friend’s face, now saw upon it an -expression which she was at a loss to account for. Was it, she wondered, -religious devotion, stirred by the associations of the church, which -made the lovely face beside her look so passionately tense with feeling? -For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what her friend’s -religion was.</p> - -<p>“Are you a Catholic, Sonia?” she said.</p> - -<p>The answer came impulsively:</p> - -<p>“No, I am not a Catholic. It is easier to say what I am not than what I -am—except that, before and beyond all, I am a miserable woman.”</p> - -<p>As these words escaped her the lack of self-control of which they gave -proof was so alarming to her that she begged her friend to take her home -at once, saying that she was really<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> not well, and must be alone to -rest. Martha felt chilled and hurt. It was all so disappointing, and she -seemed so completely put at a distance. The day which she had looked -forward to with such eager joy had turned out dreary and sad. There was -nothing to do, however, but to drive her friend back to her apartment.</p> - -<p>When they got there, Sonia turned and kissed her warmly, but said -nothing; and Martha drove home, feeling lonely and perplexed.</p> - -<p>She did not expect to see the princess at the atelier next morning; but -to her amazement, when she got there quite early herself, the beautiful, -lithe figure was already before the easel, hard at work. There was, -moreover, an air of strength and self-reliance about her which offered -the greatest contrast to her manner of the day before.</p> - -<p>As Martha came into the room, Sonia, who was one of the quiet group -around the model—a thin child who twitched and wriggled and could not -keep still for two consecutive minutes—waved her a welcome with a -little flourish of her brush, and gave her a bright, decided nod. It was -too late for Martha to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span> get a position near her, so talk was impossible -until the midday recess; but that gesture, glance, and bow of the head -were enough of themselves to put new spirit into the girl, and she found -her place, and fell to work, going ahead with more vim than she had been -able to command for a long time.</p> - -<p>When rest-time came the two friends showed their canvases to each other, -and both of them could see the improvement in their work. Feeling much -encouraged, they went off to the butcher’s shop, selected their chops, -and while waiting for them to be cooked, sat at their little table in -the <i>crémerie</i>, and talked.</p> - -<p>At first they spoke only of their atelier work and Etienne’s criticisms -and suggestions; but when that was pretty much talked out for the -moment, Sonia, with a sudden change of manner, said abruptly:</p> - -<p>“I want to atone to you for the gruesome mood that I was in when I went -to see you yesterday. If you’ll invite me again, I will be -different—and, oh, by the way, I’ve got over that foolish idea that I -had about not meeting your brother. If it would give you any pleasure, I -don’t in the least object. It would certainly be very silly to let him -spoil<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> this beautiful chance of our being together, as it would if I -refused to meet him.”</p> - -<p>Martha looked at her in surprise. She had so entirely made up her mind -that the powers had decreed that these two beings should not meet that -Sonia’s words rather disconcerted her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, are you not pleased?” said the latter, disappointedly. “I thought -it would delight you.”</p> - -<p>“So it does,” said Martha, quickly; “but, to be perfectly frank, I had -so entirely accepted the idea that there might be some unknown danger in -a meeting between you two that I had given it up; and now that the -likelihood of it comes again, some sense of danger comes with it. You -both seem such tremendous forces—in my eyes, at least,—that it is not -like any ordinary acquaintanceship. It is very foolish, though; for even -two locomotives may rush toward each other without danger, if each is -solid on its own track, leading to its different destination. And surely -no harm is done when they come very close, and exchange signals of -friendliness, and then part, and go their opposite ways.”</p> - -<p>“Perfectly sage and true! Most wisely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span> spoken!” said Sonia. “So you are -reconciled now, are you? What weathercocks we women are! I am sure I may -say it of you as well as of myself, contrasting your former eagerness -with your present reluctance for this meeting. Well, I suppose it’s a -part of our nature, and I don’t know that men are so very different.”</p> - -<p>“Harold is different,” said Martha.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no doubt <i>he</i> is quite, quite the immaculate,” said her friend, -lightly; and then, with a sudden change, she added in tones of extreme -earnestness:</p> - -<p>“Martha, you have never told him one word about me—have you? Nothing, I -mean, of what I have told you or let you see concerning myself. All that -was and must remain sacred between you and me.”</p> - -<p>“Not a word, not a syllable!” cried Martha. “How could you even ask? He -knows of you only as my atelier friend, and that you are a Russian -princess, and he knows of my visits to you, and my love and admiration -for you; but not one word of what your confidence has taken me into -about yourself personally. I told him how little I knew or cared to know -about you—that you were a young and beau<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span>tiful widow, whose past -history was wholly unknown to me. What you have let me see of the -writing which that history has made upon your heart was a sacred -confidence which no power could ever draw out of me.”</p> - -<p>“I knew it, dear. I never doubted it. Don’t defend yourself, as if I had -distrusted you. It is because I do trust you that I consent to meet your -brother. I would certainly not willingly make the acquaintance of any -man who could possibly be supposed to know as much of my heart and its -weaknesses as I have revealed to you.”</p> - -<p>“And when will you come to me again?” said Martha, allowing herself to -feel unchecked the joy which the prospect before her stirred within her -heart.</p> - -<p>“I will dine with you to-morrow, if you like,” said Sonia, with an air -of decision.</p> - -<p>It was an intense surprise to Harold when Martha told him that the -princess was to dine with her next evening. He at once proposed to go -out and leave them <i>tête-à-tête</i>, but his wonder increased when he was -told that the princess had avowed her willingness to meet him. After -hearing that, there was but one thing for him to do. This he saw -plainly;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> but at the same time he realized that a more difficult ordeal -could not possibly be put before him. What could be her object in a -course so extraordinary, and what could be the feeling in her heart to -make such a course possible?</p> - -<p>He had believed her to be deeply moved, as no sensitive woman could fail -to be, by their unexpected meeting of the day before; but that she -should deliberately wish to repeat the meeting looked like the most -heartless caprice. She had always been capricious, daring, and -impetuous, and had loved to do unusual and exciting things; but that he -could excuse as a part of her character and individuality. Heartless he -had never had occasion to think her. Even her sudden recoil from him and -repudiation of their marriage he believed to be the result of some -commanding quality of her fine nature, which he could not help -reverencing, even though he did not comprehend it.</p> - -<p>The courtship of Harold Keene and Sophia Rutledge had been very short, -and their wedding sudden. He had met the young English girl in London -near the close of the season; had seen her first in her court-dress, at -her presentation; and had afterward spent ten days with her at a country -house. Their mu<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span>tual attraction had been a current which had swept -everything before it; and when it had to be decided whether or not she -should go on a voyage to Japan with her aunt, as had been planned,—a -prospect which would separate them for months to come,—they took things -into their own hands, and were married at short notice. The parents of -Miss Rutledge were both dead. Her father, an Englishman, had married a -Russian; and it was her mother’s sister with whom she was supposed to -live, though she had spent most of her grownup years, and all of her -childhood, in England. Her aunt was now a widow and a feverishly -enthusiastic traveler, and the girl had looked forward with some -pleasure to the long travels ahead of them. Her sudden marriage to the -young American, introduced to her by some common friends, changed her -life absolutely; but Harold was determined that she should realize at -least one of her ardent dreams of travel, and take a journey up the -Nile. Soon after their marriage they had set out on this journey, and -the history of its rapturous beginning and miserable ending was known -only to themselves.</p> - -<p>In this way it had happened that Harold’s wife had never been seen by -his family, and he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> had even declined to send them a photograph of her. -He said he disliked photographs, and none could ever give a fair -representation of his beautiful wife. He wrote Martha that she must do -her best to restrain her impatience, as they were to come at once to -America at the end of their honeymoon on the Nile, and to make their -home there, while he settled down to work.</p> - -<p>Instead of this, however, came the brief announcement of their -separation, which almost broke Martha’s heart. She had put aside any -natural feeling of deprivation and pain, to throw herself, heart and -soul, into the delight of Harold’s romantic marriage, and as the young -couple dreamed their way up the old Nile, she dreamed it with them. It -is probable that few people in the world get the intense joy out of -their personal experiences of love that this ardent and impassioned girl -derived from the mere imagination of her brother’s happiness. The blow -that followed it was therefore very keen and deep. The courage and -complete reserve which her brother had shown in the matter had given her -strength to bear it; but, in spite of that, a permanent shadow had been -cast upon her life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XI" id="XI"></a>XI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">As Sonia</span> got out of her carriage before the house in the Place de la -Madeleine, and mounted the steps with her maid, her heart was beating -violently, but she had never been stronger in the sense of complete -self-possession. She knew that a difficult ordeal was before her, but -she had no fear that her spirit would falter. It was only necessary for -her to remember her former weakness, and how she had paled and cowered -before Harold, to make her securer in her defiant resolution with every -pulse-beat.</p> - -<p>At the door of the apartment she dismissed her maid, and, dropping the -train of her heavy dress, swept into the little ante-chamber, regally -tall and self-collected, to the admiration of the servants, who thought -her every inch a princess.</p> - -<p>A door opposite opened, and Martha appeared in a pretty evening gown and -led her friend into the salon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span></p> - -<p>Near the table, holding the “Figaro” in his hands, and bending his eyes -upon its columns, sat Harold. His severe evening dress, his grave, dark -face, with its close-trimmed, pointed beard, and his straight, smooth -hair, with its definite part, all spoke of composure, deliberation, and -repose.</p> - -<p>He rose to his feet, laid down the paper, and stood in his place, -waiting. His sister’s guest had taken off her lace hood and thrown open -her cloak, between the parted folds of which appeared a rich evening -dress. She came forward, moving lightly in her heavy garments, and when -Martha, with a fluttering heart, which made her manner somewhat excited -and confused, said, looking from one to the other, “My brother, Mr. -Keene—the Princess Mannernorff,” she looked him full in the face with -what Martha thought a rather haughty look, and gave him a somewhat -ceremonious bow.</p> - -<p>Harold met her gaze with unflinching eyes, and bowed in his turn with an -air which Martha thought unnecessarily formal and distant. After all she -had said to each about the other, it disappointed her that their meeting -should be so absolutely without cordiality. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> asked her friend if she -would come into her room to lay aside her wraps; but the latter -declined, and threw her cloak and hood upon a chair before Harold had -time to offer his assistance.</p> - -<p>She was dressed in a plain gown of thick yellow satin, with trimmings of -brown fur and creamy lace. A diamond arrow pierced the mass of her rich -brown hair, and a great clasp of many-colored jewels in an antique -setting held the folds of her gown at the waist. She wore no other -ornaments, and her beautiful arms and hands were without bracelets or -rings. She did not seat herself, but opened a fan, and stood waving it -softly as she looked down at Martha from her greater height. The -introduction had, of course, been in French, and the conversation -continued in that language.</p> - -<p>In strong contrast to her glowing brilliancy of color Harold was very -pale as he stood with his shoulders braced against the mantel, and -talked to her. He was, however, quite as collected as she.</p> - -<p>Presently she began to wonder dimly if he were not more so; for -underneath her assured calm of manner there was a wild excitement<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span> of -which she was intensely aware, and all the force of her will was set -upon the effort of concealing it from her companions.</p> - -<p>She did not wish Martha to know that she was excited; and to have this -quiet man in front of her get even a suspicion that she was not fully as -composed as he appeared to be, was a thought that she could not endure.</p> - -<p>She began to talk about the atelier where she and Martha had met and -made friends, and she gave an amusing description of her first encounter -with Etienne when she had gone there to enter her name as a pupil.</p> - -<p>“It was my first venture into the Bohemia of the Latin Quarter,” she -said; “and I felt brave, but self-protective, when I reached the place -and went in, with my maid, to investigate. The cloak-room was empty, and -when I got to the atelier, and walked around the great piece of -sail-cloth which turned its dirty and undecorated side toward me, I saw -a fat little old man, in carpet slippers, and a dirty, besmeared linen -blouse, and black skull-cap, washing brushes in some soft soap contained -in an old lobster-can. ‘I wish to see M. Etienne,’ I said rather -haughtily; and to my great indignation he answered, still dabbing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span> and -flattening out his brushes in their lather of soap, ‘What do you want -with him?’ My maid quite jumped with fright, and I, wishing to show my -courage, said severely, ‘That is what does not concern you.’ Instead of -showing the self-abasement which I thought my rebuke merited, he said -amiably, still rubbing his brushes round and round: ‘But yes, it does; -for I’m the man you are looking for. What will you have?’ I was so -honestly discomfited that he kindly came to the rescue, and, overlooking -my blunder, began to talk business. I have heard since that the mistake -which I made had been so frequently made before that I suppose he -scarcely noticed it.”</p> - -<p>As she ceased speaking, the readiness with which Martha took advantage -of the pause to move toward the dining-room suddenly made her aware that -dinner must have been announced,—how long ago she could not tell,—and -that her garrulous speech and gesticulation had prevented her from -hearing it. Her back was toward the door; but how excited she must have -been, and appeared, not to have been aware of the announcement! Her face -flushed, and she bit her lip with vexation.</p> - -<p>Martha looked at her brother, supposing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> that he would offer his arm to -their guest. Instead of doing so, however, he merely stood aside and -waited for the two ladies to go into the dining-room before him. In -doing this, Sonia passed very near him; and with a feeling of defiance -in her breast she looked straight at him.</p> - -<p>He did not meet her gaze, however; for his own eyes were gravely lowered -and hid behind a pair of heavy lids, the curves and lashes of which were -startlingly familiar to her.</p> - -<p>In the lull which the formalities of the moment occasioned, it was -painfully borne in on Sonia that she had been too talkative. Her recent -rapid speech smote annoyingly on her ears; and when she recalled the -fact that she had done all the talking, and must have made an appearance -of almost vulgar chattiness, she felt humiliated and indignant. Was she -exposing her inward excitement to this quiet man, who was now giving -some low-toned instructions to the butler with a self-possession which -she suddenly envied? Feeling hurt and angry, she fell into utter -silence.</p> - -<p>A constraint had fallen upon the party which was even more marked than -that which<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_17" id="fig_17"></a> -<img src="images/i_124.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“SONIA PASSED VERY NEAR HIM.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">usually characterizes the first moments at a formal table. Sonia felt -that she would bite her tongue in two before she would speak again, and -Martha had a helpless sense that things were somehow going wrong. It was -Harold who broke the silence.</p> - -<p>“Martha,” he said, “the princess will say, perhaps, what wine she -prefers.”</p> - -<p>Sonia felt as if she hated him. He knew all her little aversions and -preferences as well as she knew them herself, and had ordered her -dinners and wines times out of number. How could he pretend that he had -never seen her before, with so much success as almost to impose upon -herself? Was it really a dream? Which was the dream, the past or the -present? How could he seem to be so indifferent, unless he really felt -so? Perhaps he was. That might be the simple explanation of what seemed -mysterious.</p> - -<p>As these thoughts hurried through her mind while she made a pretense of -eating her soup, it suddenly occurred to her that her present complete -silence might look as odd as her former garrulousness. Harold, while -eating his dinner with apparent relish, was doing all the talking now, -but with how different a manner<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> from hers! How quiet he was, and what -well-bred pauses interspersed his talk, and how agreeably he deferred to -Martha and herself, and brought them into it! She had come to this -dinner with the proudest confidence of being able to conform the -conditions about her absolutely to her will, and yet, in spite of -herself, she seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper every moment into -the slough of regret and self-reproach which she had come here to get -out of.</p> - -<p>As the meal proceeded, her self-dissatisfaction increased, and -presently, with a feeling almost of panic, she realized that her conduct -must be so peculiar as to cause surprise to Martha, if not to her -brother. What interpretation would be put upon the sudden dumbness that -possessed her? A very obvious one occurred to her, which it filled her -with anger to think of, and she felt she must talk, must recover -herself, must do away with the impression of her present stupidity.</p> - -<p>Martha, groping about for an agreeable topic, had mentioned the young -bridal couple, and a telegram which she had just received from them, and -that led her to some remarks about the wedding.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, it was a beautiful wedding—I was there!” said Sonia, in a -breathless endeavor to come naturally into the talk.</p> - -<p>As she spoke she met Harold’s eyes, and thought that she discovered just -a shade of surprise in them. He only bowed, however, in assent to her -rather demonstrative expression of praise. Sonia felt at once that her -attendance at any wedding, particularly that one, was a thing that -grated on him. His presence there was, of course, a necessity; but the -odious taste of her going, out of pure curiosity, as it would appear to -him, to see this marriage, must add one more item to the evidence which -was rolling up against her. She was experiencing what was new to her—a -sensation of total inadequacy to the social demands of her surroundings.</p> - -<p>“Harold, do you think you can possibly stay for the opening of the -Salon?” said Martha, presently, in another effort to make the -conversation go. This was a topic which she thought Sonia should be -interested in. Apparently she was right.</p> - -<p>“I’m going to exhibit a picture,” said Sonia, quickly.</p> - -<p>Sonia had thought only of recovering her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span>self by talking naturally, and -this speech, as well as the last one, she regretted bitterly the moment -she had uttered it. Not only did it seem in bad taste to speak of her -exhibiting, when Martha was so far removed from such an honor, but it -might also make the impression that she thought that the fact might be -an inducement for him to stay for the Salon. It was maddening to have -him look at her again with polite interest, and express his -congratulations upon a fact of which she now felt heartily ashamed. How -he must despise her! What should she do?</p> - -<p>“I wonder,” said Martha, at this point, in her clear, low voice, “if -Harold has ever seen that striking picture that hangs in your room, -Sonia. It is Watts’s ‘Hope,’ Harold. Do you know it?”</p> - -<p>Harold answered that he did not, and Sonia’s sense of helpless misery -increased as she perceived that Martha was going to describe it. She bit -her tongue to keep from crying out as Martha proceeded to give the -following description:</p> - -<p>“It is a woman’s figure lying on the globe in an attitude of fatigue and -dejection. The scantily draped form is beautiful, but not -youth<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span>ful-looking, and the face, partly concealed by a bandage over the -eyes, is also beautiful, but lined with care and sorrow. In her hands -she holds an old lyre with every string broken except one. This one -string, frayed and worn and lax, she is striking with her thin, weak -fingers, and she is bending her dulled ears to try to catch the note. -When Sonia first showed it to me, and said that it was one of her -favorite pictures, I did not understand it. We have all been taught at -Etienne’s such a fine contempt for English art that I was disposed to -treat it lightly. I soon saw, however, the wonderful, tragic meaning in -the picture, and I quite long to see the original.”</p> - -<p>This was too much. Sonia felt that if anything else occurred to hold her -up to contempt in this man’s eyes, she should give up, and burst into -tears. Her courage was fast oozing to the last ebb; and with a feeling -of actual desperation she looked involuntarily into the face of her -opposite neighbor, and met his eyes fixed on her with a strong gaze that -in an instant supported and calmed her. She did not quite read its -meaning, but she felt that there was kindness for her in it, and that -there was no contempt. A look from him had given her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> courage many a -time in the past, and it was availing now. She felt suddenly -self-possessed and strong; but the remainder of the meal was a confused -blur in her memory, and she was devoutly thankful when her maid came to -fetch her home.</p> - -<p>Martha thought it a little strange that her brother did not go down to -put their guest into her carriage; but she reflected that he was far -more familiar with the rules of foreign society than she was, and she -concluded that he must be acting in accordance with them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XII" id="XII"></a>XII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Martha</span> felt herself genuinely surprised, puzzled, and disappointed at -the result of the meeting which she had worked so hard to bring about. -Nothing could be more incontestably evident than that her brother and -her friend had not proved sympathetic—did not “hit it off.” What was -the reason? How could both of them be so perfectly congenial to her and -still uncongenial to each other? It was a painful mystery, to which she -tried in vain to find the key.</p> - -<p>Next morning Sonia did not come to the atelier at her usual time, and -Martha painted on without her in pronounced despondency of spirit. When -she had quite given the princess up, she looked around, and, to her -delight, saw Sonia placing her easel, and preparing to go to work, a -short distance off. She thought her friend looked a little pale and ill; -but when she managed presently to catch her eye,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span> she received an -affectionate smile from her, which gave her a certain amount of -reassurance.</p> - -<p>When the interval for lunch came, and they went off together to the -<i>crémerie</i>, Martha waited for her friend to introduce the subject so -near to her heart, and was surprised when she led the talk in an -entirely different direction.</p> - -<p>It had been much the same with Harold after their guest had left the -evening before. Beyond a rather preoccupied and spiritless assent to all -she had to say about the beauty of the princess, he had seemed more or -less indifferent on the subject, and had plunged with zest into the -discussion of other things. Martha could not altogether wonder at this, -for she had never seen her adored friend appear to so little advantage. -Her brother, however, had seemed to her charming, though not, of course, -at his very best, and she expected that Sonia would at least say that he -was handsome and agreeable. When it appeared that she was going to say -nothing at all, Martha boldly took the initiative, and asked:</p> - -<p>“What do you think of Harold?”</p> - -<p>“Think of him? Oh, I think he’s very<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> good-looking, though less like his -sister than I could wish.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Sonia, don’t tease me! If I thought you meant that, I should give -you up, both as an artist and a friend. But, really, did you like him or -not?”</p> - -<p>“I could hardly say ‘not’ to that heartfelt appeal,” said Sonia, -smiling; “and, indeed, I don’t feel inclined to. I liked him, of course. -But, my dear, I told you only the truth when I said I was sick to death -of men. Etienne is the solitary exception. I like him for the reason -that he did say a decent word to me this morning, and I really believe -he thinks I am beginning to daub with promise.”</p> - -<p>Martha saw that there was no hope, so with profound disappointment she -gave up, and said no more.</p> - -<p>As for Sonia herself, never had she been in a state of such abject -self-abasement. She had donned her gorgeous raiment and gone off to that -dinner in exultant self-confidence, and had never doubted her ability to -conform circumstances to her will, and to make exactly the impression -upon Harold which she desired him to have. What, then, was the secret of -her complete and humiliating failure? She asked her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span>self this question, -and immediately tried to shut fast her ears to the answer which her -heart gave. She had confidently believed, up to this hour of her life, -that her woman’s pride was strong enough for any demands which she could -possibly make upon it; but it had failed her. She had passed a sleepless -night after that dinner, and it took tremendous effort to go to her work -next morning. She did it only because she knew that if she did not the -news of her absence would reach Harold, and she could not endure the -thought of the motive to which he might attribute it. Perhaps the most -poignant recollection which rankled in Sonia’s mind was the thought -that, in her helplessness, she had made an appeal to him by that look -which he had answered with such strength-giving kindness. It had enabled -her to get through with the remaining time; but now, as she thought of -it, she felt that he had taken it as an appeal of weakness which he had -been strong and merciful enough to respond to.</p> - -<p>This thought, whenever it recurred, made her cheeks tingle.</p> - -<p>And what could she do to right herself? She dared not make any more -self-confident plans,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> only to have them end in fresh humiliation. She -now felt afraid of seeing Harold, and it seemed to her that the utmost -that was in her power was to be regular and faithful to her work, in the -hope that the report of such a sensible course would reach his ears.</p> - -<p>Martha made a weak little effort to get her friend to come to her again, -but to this she received such a faint response that she let the subject -drop. All sorts of conjectures were busy in her mind to account for the -present phenomena. She even wondered if she and her brother, with their -American education and ideas, could have done anything which offered an -affront to the state and dignity of their princess-guest. But this could -hardly be. Sonia was as friendly and affectionate as ever, though she -now seemed to wish to confine their intercourse to the limits of the -atelier, and did not even ask her to come to her own apartments. So -Martha was free to give up all her spare time to her brother, and they -had numerous trips to the theater and opera; but somehow the <i>solitude à -deux</i> with her beloved Harold had not the zest in it which she had -counted on beforehand. He was certainly changed, this brother of hers. -He had grown<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> more serious, and was given to long silences. She even -thought that it was an effort to him to be so much in her society, and -that he would perhaps prefer to be alone. This was a hard blow to -Martha, but she bore it without making a sign, and was glad of the -excuse which her work gave her to be much away from him. He also had -important business in Paris, and often worked for many hours at a time, -which, as Martha told herself, accounted for his rather careworn -expression. She even thought he was getting thin, and begged him not to -stay on because of her, as she would far rather give up her lessons and -join her mother than be a trouble and injury to him. This, however, he -would not listen to, and he even declared it his intention to stay in -Paris until after the opening of the Salon, now only a week or so off.</p> - -<p>Day after day went by, and although Sonia and Martha were together at -least one half of their conscious time, they seemed to have in some way -gone backward instead of forward in their intimacy. They still lunched -together daily, and had ample opportunity for talk; but there seemed now -a dearth of topics such as they had never been aware of before, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> -sense of distance had arisen which made it hard for Martha to realize -the familiarity and nearness which had marked their former intercourse.</p> - -<p>One afternoon, when the work had been going more than usually well, and -the model had been more than usually interesting, Sonia and Martha, -their easels side by side, had lingered in the atelier after every one -else had gone. It was very agreeable to be able to paint and talk -together, and the princess, whose carriage had been announced some time -before, gladly agreed to wait with Martha until hers should arrive.</p> - -<p>While they were talking, a knock was heard at the door, and as all rules -were relaxed at this hour, both women called out, “<i>Entrez!</i>”</p> - -<p>The door was opened, and around the corner of the old sail-cloth screen -the tall figure of Harold appeared. The day was raw and chilly, and he -wore a fur-lined coat with its large fur collar drawn close around his -throat, and carried his high hat and his stick in his hand.</p> - -<p>At sight of him Martha uttered a little exclamation of pleasure, and -gaily called to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> to come on. Sonia, in spite of the jerk at her -heart-strings and the rush of blood through all her veins, felt, taken -unprepared as she was, a sudden sense of strength and self-possession. -Her color deepened, and by a swift motion she drew herself erect; and as -she stood there in her old green skirt and red silk blouse, she looked -so workman-like and charming that, as Martha drew her brother forward -toward their easels, her heart quite glowed with pride in both her dear -companions. She always adored Harold in that coat, and Sonia in that -dress, and her sensitive organism seemed to be receiving impressions of -pleasure from the minds of each. Harold stood still, a little distance -off, and bowed, with a look that expressed some hesitation or -uncertainty. Looking past his sister and at her friend, he said:</p> - -<p>“Do you permit me to look at your work?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, if you care to,” said Sonia in a light and natural tone. “It’s a -mere daub of a study. One goes through a great deal of discouragement in -a place like this, and a great deal of one’s time is spent in acquiring -a knowledge of one’s ignorance. After that is quite mastered, things get -easier. I think I<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> may say that I have graduated in that branch of -study, and am now ready to go on to the more advanced ones.”</p> - -<p>Harold stood still, and looked at her picture. She was thinking how -natural it would be to ask him if he thought she had improved. He was -thinking how natural it would be to tell her that she had. Martha was -thinking how beautiful and full of charm they both were, and almost -wishing that the atelier could be filled with students to look at such -models.</p> - -<p>It occurred to her now that Harold remained silent unnecessarily long, -and she was afraid that he did not appreciate her friend’s work; so she -herself began to speak in voluble praise of it.</p> - -<p>Sonia felt a strong impulse to check her, and to explain to her that he -was always silent when he really liked a thing exceedingly, and that she -therefore felt delighted that he said nothing.</p> - -<p>Harold, however, forced himself to utter a few words of praise that -sounded very stiff and conventional, and a sort of bewildered look, -which Martha could not understand, came into his eyes. Sonia understood -it by its reflec<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span>tion in her own heart. She felt as if she were in some -strange, confusing dream, where the conditions around her were sad and -constrained, and yet which she felt she must hold on to and keep -conscious of, lest they should vanish and leave her utterly -empty-hearted, estranged, and desolate. While Martha exhibited her own -work, and proceeded to pick it to pieces in imitation of what Etienne -would say to-morrow, the man and woman standing behind her, so near that -they almost touched, were feeling, from this proximity, a force that -went to the very deeps of both their natures. Hardness, resentment, -wounded pride, regret—all these were parts of this force in each; but -there was in it, too, something stronger than any of them, something -that warned Sonia that she had better not trust herself, at the same -moment that Harold turned abruptly away, and said that he had an -engagement, and could not wait longer. He explained in a hurried, -confused speech, out of which it was hard to get any intelligent -meaning, that he had forgotten Martha’s need of the carriage, and had -kept it waiting somewhere for him, which was his excuse for coming to -the atelier to see if she had waited or was gone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> - -<p>Martha saw by his manner that something was wrong, and made haste to put -up her brushes, and follow him into the cloak-room, insisting that Sonia -should come also, as she objected to leaving her there alone.</p> - -<p>Sonia obediently did as she was told, but she felt as if she were -stumbling along half blindly, and had not the will-power to object or -protest.</p> - -<p>She put on her hat, and was reaching for her heavy cloak, when a strong, -brown hand, specked with two small dark moles just below the thumb, took -it down from the peg, and folded it around her.</p> - -<p>As she reached to draw to the collar, her hand touched his. If the sight -of that hand had been familiar to her, what was its touch? She felt -herself trembling, and her quick breaths almost suffocated her. She had -just power to control herself until she was in her carriage, and alone. -Then, falling back upon the cushions, her eyes closed, and she passed -into a state of semi-consciousness.</p> - -<p>She did not really faint, for she was all the time aware that the -necessity for self-control was for the moment gone, and that she could -rest, and cease to fight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span></p> - -<p>Long before the carriage stopped at her own door she had recovered, and -realized it all. She knew that, miserable as the last two years had -been, she had gradually been gaining strength, and recovering her power -for the struggle of life. She might have gone on, and met the future -bravely, if she had never seen this man again. Not now, however—not -after she had heard his voice, and met his eyes, and touched his hand. -This encounter had deprived her of her strength so absolutely that she -longed only for the safety to be found in flight.</p> - -<p>But how would that sudden flight appear to him? That was the question.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XIII" id="XIII"></a>XIII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Sonia</span> found herself, after that meeting, in a state of helpless -irresolution. She could take no action. She could not even make plans. -She could only drift. There was only one solace—work; and she was now -generally the last person at the atelier, staying there until the light -failed. She had got over all her timidity about being there after the -others. The old concierge was apt to put her head in now and then, to -nod to her, and give her a sense of protection; and sometimes she would -come in and chat with her, while she was doing such sketchy sort of -tidying up as an atelier admits of.</p> - -<p>A few days had gone by without her having seen or heard of Harold. -Martha seemed to divine that the princess wanted to talk only of her -work and her atelier interests, and had tacitly adapted herself to her -friend. They often worked together now, after regular hours,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> but Martha -generally found it necessary to go before her friend was ready.</p> - -<p>One afternoon Martha had left rather earlier than usual, in order to -keep an appointment with her brother, and Sonia was at work all alone, -save for the companionship of her little terrier Inkling—a tiny, -jet-black creature that wore a collar of little silver bells, which, -Sonia had amused Martha by saying, had caused some one to give him the -name of “Tinkling Inkling.” She did not often bring her pet to the -atelier, for fear he might be troublesome. This afternoon, however, she -knew that Etienne would not be there; and when the little fellow, -palpitating with eagerness, had looked at her beseechingly from the seat -of the carriage where she had just shut him in, she had suddenly snapped -her fingers and twisted her lips into a sound of encouragement, and he -had leaped out of the carriage window, and followed her with an air of -perfect understanding that this unusual privilege made a demand on him -to be on his best behavior.</p> - -<p>He had been propriety itself all the afternoon, and Sonia had seen and -appreciated his heroic self-control in not barking at the model, whom he -had looked at with inveterate disap<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span>proval, only expressed by one little -whispered growl. The class of society to which the model belonged were -Inkling’s natural enemies; and whether, in spite of nudeness, he -recognized this man as a member of that class, or whether the nudeness -itself outraged his sense of propriety, certain it was that, during all -the hours in which his mistress was painting, Inkling lay at her feet, -with his eyes fixed unwinkingly upon his enemy, ready to take advantage -of the first excuse to fly at him.</p> - -<p>No such occasion had arisen, however; and now the model was gone, and -Inkling, off duty at last, was enjoying the reaction of a sound nap at -his mistress’s feet.</p> - -<p>The room was so profoundly still that Sonia was startled by a rap at the -door, gently though it was given. Even Inkling did not wake at it. She -looked up from her easel, expecting to see her footman come to announce -the carriage, or some workman delivering supplies for the atelier, and -saw, instead, Harold Keene standing only a few feet from her. She knew -that the swing-door had closed behind him, and that they were alone -together. Her heart shook, and for a moment she could not speak. He came -forward a little, and said in French:<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I beg your pardon, princess. I came for my sister to fill an -engagement. Is she not here?”</p> - -<p>“She has just gone,” answered Sonia, also in French. “She expected to -meet you at the apartment.”</p> - -<p>“I have just been there. Not finding her, I came on here. I suppose I -passed her on the way.”</p> - -<p>Inkling had opened his eyes at the sound of voices, but, seeing that the -model-throne was empty and his enemy gone, he had not troubled himself -further. As Harold ceased speaking, a look of sudden interest came over -the dog, and he got up, his little bells a-tinkle, and trotted across to -where Harold stood.</p> - -<p>No sooner had he looked at him than he uttered a gruff bark of surprise, -and no sooner had he snuffed once at the legs of his trousers than he -grew frantic with excitement. He barked and yelped, and jumped up on him -with such evidences of wild delight that no man with a kind heart in his -bosom could have refused some recognition of such a welcome.</p> - -<p>Harold stooped and patted him, speaking to him in English.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span></p> - -<p>Somehow, to have him treat a dog like that, and to address her in cold -formality, in a foreign language, by a pompous title which did not -belong to her, seemed to Sonia wilfully cruel.</p> - -<p>Inkling, still frantic with delight, left Harold, and rushed over to -her, yelping and barking, and shaking his tail violently, looking up in -her face with eloquent insistency. Then he ran back to Harold, and again -back to her, with fluttering agitation.</p> - -<p>Sonia’s spirit did not falter, however, and her voice was firm and -steady as she said in English:</p> - -<p>“Why do you speak to Inkling in English, and to me in French?”</p> - -<p>“Because Inkling and I are old friends, who have a common language, -while the Princess Mannernorff is a stranger and a foreigner.”</p> - -<p>“It seems very childish to keep up that farce.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it was your wish.”</p> - -<p>“And you despise me, probably, for the deception I have practised in -passing myself off for the Princess Mannernorff! I did not do it -deliberately,” she said, with an almost childlike air of contrition and -confession. “It has<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> hurt me all along to be deceiving Martha; but some -one told her I was a Russian princess, and as my mother had been one -before her marriage, and my aunt, with whom I live, is the Princess -Mannernorff, I let the false impression remain, and even took advantage -of it. It was wrong, I know; but I did want to hold on to Martha’s -friendship a little longer. However,” she said, her face and voice -hardening, “it is simply a question of time; and a few weeks sooner or -later, what does it matter?”</p> - -<p>“Why is it a question of time?” said Harold. “Why should you not keep -that friendship always, if you care for it? Martha shall know nothing -from me.”</p> - -<p>There was a moment’s silence. Then Sonia said:</p> - -<p>“I thought it possible that you might disapprove of our friendship.”</p> - -<p>“Why should I? It is a thing absolutely between Martha and yourself.”</p> - -<p>“She would cast me off immediately if she knew the truth, and any moment -an accident may reveal it to her.”</p> - -<p>“Such an accident is most unlikely. It could, as things are now, come -about only through me, and I shall be on my guard.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>How confident and strong he was! It roused all the pride in her. The -sense of weakness which had overcome her at their last meeting, and -which for a moment had threatened her in this one, was utterly gone.</p> - -<p>“Besides,” went on Harold, quickly, “I believe you are wholly wrong in -thinking that she would give you up if, by chance, she should discover -what you have so carefully guarded from her. I see no reason why she -should.”</p> - -<p>He had spoken in English, since she had criticized his using French, and -Inkling seemed at least partly satisfied, as he stood midway between the -two, with his front legs wide apart, as if to keep his body firm, while -his tail wriggled wildly, and his head turned from one to the other with -a quickness which was enough to make him dizzy. He was alertly aware of -them, but they had both forgotten him, in the keen absorption in each -other which underlay their outward composure.</p> - -<p>“Have you, then, told her nothing?” said Sonia, in answer to his last -words.</p> - -<p>“Only the simple fact.”</p> - -<p>“What fact?” she said, looking him in the face with a certain hardness -and defiance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span></p> - -<p>“That the woman whom I had loved no longer loved me; that she had -repudiated my name and every connection with me, and had asked for a -divorce, which I was taking all possible steps to give her as soon as it -could be done.”</p> - -<p>“And do you think that Martha, feeling as she does, would continue the -acquaintance of a woman who had cast off her brother with no stronger -reason than that?”</p> - -<p>“It was sufficient for me. There could not be a stronger reason for -divorce than absence of love on either side.”</p> - -<p>“The world does not agree with you,” she said.</p> - -<p>“Yet I fancy Martha would. If it came to remarriage on either side, her -verdict would perhaps be condemnation; but I think she would consider -separation a higher thing than a loveless marriage.”</p> - -<p>Somehow, there was a spirit in these words that touched her heart. Her -voice, for the first time, was a little unsteady as she said:</p> - -<p>“You do believe that, at least! You do feel that I could never think of -another marriage!”</p> - -<p>“I have always felt it. Indeed, I may say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span> I have known it. I know that -you see the inevitableness of all this as clearly as I do. I have often -wished, for your sake, that I had never seen you, to put this blight -upon your life.”</p> - -<p>“And have not I also blighted yours? Do you suppose that I never think -of that?”</p> - -<p>“It need not trouble you, if you do. In my case there was a -compensation, and a sufficient one. In your case there is none.”</p> - -<p>She knew what he meant; that his love for her, and that happy month of -marriage, had been enough to pay him for having afterward lost her; and -she knew that he held the fact that she had never really loved him to -have barred her from any compensation at all. Why did she so resent his -assuming this? Had she not told him, in language of such emphatic -decision that it rang even now in her ears, that she had found out that -she had made a great mistake, and that she had never loved him? He had -simply taken her at her word.</p> - -<p>She wilfully ignored the true meaning of his last words, as she went on:</p> - -<p>“It is a mistake to think that my life has no compensations. My work, -whether it ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> amounts to anything or not, is a great compensation. -The friendship of Martha is another. You are very good to wish not to -take that from me; but the present sham conditions cannot be kept up -after we separate. Fortune has favored us almost miraculously as it is. -She heard that there was a Russian princess studying here, and some one -mistakenly pointed me out for her. I had already seen her name on her -canvases, and knowing that your mother and sisters were in Paris, of -course I knew exactly who she was. Independent of this, her face and -manner had strongly attracted me, so I saw no reason why we might not be -friends, provided I could keep from her who I was. As soon as I saw that -she believed me to be the princess, the fact that my aunt was a Russian -and had Russian servants opened the way to my carrying on the idea; and -so far there has been no trouble. My little Russian name for Sophia -helped me, too. If she had known me as Sophia or Sophie, she would -probably have recoiled from me, even if she had had no suspicion as to -my identity.”</p> - -<p>“I beg you not to have that thought,” said Harold. “If the time ever -comes when the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> truth must be declared to Martha, let me be the one to -tell her; and I promise you there shall be no recoil—no lessening of -her friendship for you.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Sonia, coldly. “You were always a generous man.”</p> - -<p>Her tone smote discordantly upon Harold. It seemed a sort of compulsory -tribute to him, which he had no fancy for from her.</p> - -<p>“I am thinking of Martha, too,” he said. “She is very lonely in her -life, and rarely goes out to any one, in spite of her ardent nature. -This friendship with you is very valuable to her, and I am anxious that -nothing shall disturb it.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for correcting me,” returned the other, quickly; “though I -did not really suppose that it was for my sake that you were willing to -take so much trouble.”</p> - -<p>She knew that this speech was silly, petulant, and unworthy of her, but -she wished him to understand that she asked and expected nothing of him. -He could not be so cool and steady during this interview unless he had -ceased to care for her. She quite realized that he had, and she wished -him to know that she accepted it as a matter of course.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span></p> - -<p>Inkling, meantime, had grown very uneasy. He felt that things were not -going well, and he now began to show symptoms of distress, instead of -the wild delight of the moment before. He ran whimpering from one to the -other; and when they took no notice of him, he sprang upon the lap of -his mistress, and, uttering the most expressive plaints and beseechings, -tried to lick her face. Sonia, in a fit of irritation very -characteristic of her, gave him a hard little slap, which sent him out -of her lap, whining, and running to Harold for pity. He was not really -hurt; and she felt cross with the clever little brute for posing as a -victim so successfully.</p> - -<p>“Don’t touch him!” she cried imperatively to Harold. “He’s only -pretending to get your pity. You sha’n’t pat him or speak to him. If you -do, I’ll be very angry.”</p> - -<p>The effect which these words had upon Harold would have surprised her, -could she have known it. They were so like her, so absolutely herself, -that they brought back the past with a rush; and it seemed such a hollow -pretense to suppose that they were separated, and compelled to be as -strangers to each other, that he came nearer to losing his head than he -had done yet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span></p> - -<p>Ignoring Inkling’s fawnings and plaints, he said suddenly:</p> - -<p>“I am forgetting that Martha is waiting for me”; and then, changing his -tone, and speaking in French, he added:</p> - -<p>“May I take you to your carriage, princess?”</p> - -<p>She answered him in French, as prompt and easy as himself. She thanked -him for his offer, but declined it, saying that her servant would let -her know when her carriage arrived. She added that she was not ready to -leave the atelier yet, as she had lost time, which she must now make up.</p> - -<p>He bowed in silence, turned, and walked away. Inkling made a weak effort -to follow him, but was scared into a sudden and humiliated return by the -imperious command of his mistress. The little creature looked so -ridiculously distressed, as he sat on his haunches near her, with his -ears dropped and his tail nerveless and still beneath him, that Sonia’s -irritation deepened as she put up her brushes and paints; and when she -had washed her hands and was emptying the basin, she yielded to a sudden -impulse and dashed half the meager supply of water over him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span></p> - -<p>“There, you little idiot!” she said crossly. “That’s for your ridiculous -nonsense in trying to make out that I care one pin for him, or anything -about him. I’ll very soon convince <i>him</i> that I don’t; and if ever <i>you</i> -dare to act in such a way again, I’ll sell you to the concierge on the -spot!”</p> - -<p>Inkling gave every indication of a complete understanding of this -threat, which had the effect of bringing him at once to a state of cowed -dejection.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XIV" id="XIV"></a>XIV</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Sonia</span> said nothing to Martha of that meeting and conversation at the -atelier; and as Martha made no reference to it, she understood that -Harold also had been silent on the subject.</p> - -<p>A few days went by, which were fraught with agitation to the pupils at -Etienne’s, as they were the last days of April, and two or three of the -atelier students were to exhibit in the Salon. Sonia’s picture had been -entered under a fictitious name, rather against her master’s wishes; but -he had found it impossible to move her on this point. She had made both -Etienne and Martha promise her most solemnly to tell no one which was -her picture; and so she looked forward to the great exhibition with a -pleasure which had no disturbing element in it.</p> - -<p>This pleasure had, however, grown paler recently, as her hold on all -outward things,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> slight as she had thought it before, had grown weaker. -She had felt a real emotion when told that her picture had been admitted -by the jury, and an intense anxiety as to how it would be hung. In -contrast to this was the languid interest which she experienced when she -found that it was on the line.</p> - -<p>Martha and she had gone to the <i>Vernissage</i> on the thirtieth of April, -and had stood before the picture together; but it was Martha who had -flushed and fluttered with delight at the remarks upon it which they had -overheard. Sonia herself seemed to have lost interest in it.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the <i>Vernissage</i> Harold had gone to London, to be -absent until the next day, when he was to take Martha to the formal -opening of the Salon.</p> - -<p>There was, therefore, no reason why Sonia should not accept her friend’s -invitation to dine and spend the evening. When she saw what pleasure her -acceptance gave the girl, her heart suddenly smote her with the -reflection that she did very little to reward such ardent love, and she -impetuously offered to spend the night also, saying that she had not -done such a thing since her school-days.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span></p> - -<p>Martha was overjoyed; and when Sonia duly arrived, prepared to spend the -night, the two women made a great effort to get the amount of enjoyment -which they felt ought to be for each in their <i>tête-à-tête</i> dinner and -evening together. Their talk, however, seemed rather desultory and -unproductive, and both of them felt that their endeavors to return to -their former attitude of free and natural mutual confidence were -strangely unavailing.</p> - -<p>After a rather dull discussion of Paris apartment-houses, and their -advantages and disadvantages, Martha proposed to show her guest over -this one; and Sonia went with her into all the rooms, with a civil -effort to seem interested, until she came to one on the threshold of -which Martha said:</p> - -<p>“This is the girls’ room, which Harold has now. It is just next to -mama’s, which is the one you have. The governess has a room on the other -side of the salon, in order to protect me. They tell such frightful -stories about the crimes and murders in these Paris apartments that I -used to be quite timid, though I’ve got over it now.”</p> - -<p>Sonia, while she appeared to be listening to her companion, was in -reality so inwardly<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span> shaken by certain influences received in this room -that she felt as if her mind were staggering. On the dressing-table just -in front of her were several toilet articles in old German silver which -it seemed to her that she had seen and touched but yesterday. A -clothes-brush with fantastic decorations of women’s figures, entwined -with fish and garlands of roses, had a large dent in it, of which she -knew the whole history. She could even have told why one of the three -bottles in the leather-case was without a stopper, and what had become -of the smallest pair of scissors, the place of which in the -dressing-case was empty. On a table near by was a leather portfolio with -the letters “H. R. K.” on one corner in a silver monogram.</p> - -<p>While Martha moved about the room and talked, Sonia’s eyes searched -eagerly among the familiar objects for certain others which she would -have given the world to see. Her search was in vain, however. There was -not one thing of his own in sight which had not been a possession of his -bachelor days. This was quite evident, and of course was entirely as it -should be.</p> - -<p>When they returned to the salon, Martha,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span> observing that her friend -looked tired, proposed that they should go to bed early—an idea -received with evident favor. They were quite safe in the protection of -the man-servant, who had been brought with the family from America. -Harold had given him orders to sleep for the night in the antechamber, -and Martha had one of the maids in the room back of hers. When she asked -her guest if she felt at all timid, and saw the smile of amused denial -that answered her, she went with her to her room, lingered a few moments -to see that all was comfortable about her, then kissed and embraced her -friend, and said good night.</p> - -<p>Left alone, Sonia stood an instant silent in her place; then, with -movements of swift decision, she locked the door by which Martha had -gone out, and, crossing the room to another door, softly turned the -handle. She had her bedroom candle in her hand, and as the door yielded -and opened, she passed into the room beyond it, and stood still once -more, as if possessed by that presence from out the past.</p> - -<p>The lights in this room had been put out, and all the doors and windows -closed. She knew that she was safe in her solitude, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> need no longer -struggle with the feelings which crowded her heart.</p> - -<p>She went to the dressing-table, and took up the old clothes-brush, and -put her lips to the dent which she herself had made there once, by using -the brush as a hammer. Then silently dashing away the heavy tears that -rolled from her eyes, she looked closely at the grotesque figures of -women and fish, and recalled such amusing things which had been said -about them that she began to laugh, even while more tears were -gathering, and straining her throat with pain. The nervous little laugh -died away as she pressed the brush again to her lips. Then she lifted, -one by one, all the familiar objects that lay before her, and looked at -them, while her tears fell like rain.</p> - -<p>Presently she took up the portfolio from the table near by, and turned -over the thick sheets of blotting-paper within. She could see plainly -the inverted and almost illegible, but characteristic, impression of a -woman’s writing. In some places this was lost in very different -characters, but in others it was distinctly recognizable. She walked to -the dressing-table with it, and held it before the mirror, and read -distinctly in one place the words, “Yours al<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span>ways, Sophie,” and in -another, “Yours faithfully, Sophia Keene.” Her heart trembled. She had -no idea to whom she had so signed herself, but she wondered passionately -if Harold had ever tried this experiment, and seen those signatures from -the faithless woman who had been his wife.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she put the book back on the table, and fell on her knees -before it, laying her face upon its pages, and sobbing upon them until -they were saturated with her tears; for, underneath her own handwriting, -she had seen, reflected in the glass, writing which seemed almost as -familiar, in which she had deciphered the words, “Your loving husband.”</p> - -<p>She had destroyed every word of that handwriting which she had ever -possessed, and thousands of times her heart had hungered to see it in -these very words. It was upon this spot that her lips were laid now, -while they whispered out, in inarticulate sobs and gasps, words of -heartbroken pain.</p> - -<p>She had told him that she did not love him, and had demanded a divorce -from him. She must never contradict those words, or try to undo that -act. She knew that she was weak,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> but she knew that she had courage -enough to stand to this resolution. He should never know how, slowly at -first, and afterward with increasing force and swiftness, the knowledge -of her mistake had come to her. For a while she had fought it off with -furious denial. She had argued and talked with herself, and recalled -past feelings of resentment, anger, and desperate antagonism, to prove -to herself that she had been right in vowing that she did not love him; -but in the end nothing had availed. Long before their paths had met -again she had known that she was wrong; that she had made a hideous -mistake of her life; and that, with all the force, fire, energy, and -passion of her heart, she loved the man whom she had repudiated. But, -even with this knowledge, she might have borne it, she might have lived -and died without making a sign, if only she had not seen him again!</p> - -<p>Now, however, that she had seen him, heard him, felt the atmosphere of -his presence about her, felt his thoughts of her surrounding her, and -felt through all her pulses his touch upon her hand, what was she to do? -How was she to stumble on, and pretend to fight, when a mere look from -his eyes made her sword-arm nerveless?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span></p> - -<p>Oh, she <i>must</i> give way this once, she felt, and shed a few of those -millions of pent-up tears! Now that she was here in the very room that -he had slept in yesterday, and would come back to to-morrow, she must -let the spirit of love and grief within her have its way. Perhaps some -remnant of it might linger after she was gone, and speak to his heart -from hers.</p> - -<p>As her mind formed this idea, she sprang to her feet. Was she losing -control of herself? Was her mind weakening or deserting her? How had she -so forgotten herself as to have this thought, which was in its nature a -wish? She knew that in her proper senses she would choose to die a death -of torture rather than that he should have one suspicion of her feeling -for him. No, no! She passionately recanted that moment’s impulsive wish -as she took her candle, and, more tranquil now, went over and stood by -his bed.</p> - -<p>It was not swathed in a great cretonne cover, as French beds are apt to -be, but was made in the American fashion, with smooth white coverlet and -fair linen sheets. Still holding the candle in her hand, she sank on her -knees beside this bed, and closed her eyes, and moved<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span> her lips in -prayer. Her long hair was hanging in a thick mass down her back. The -white gown that she wore was almost as plain as a religious habit, and -she looked, with her taper burning in front of her, like a nun before a -shrine.</p> - -<p>She felt a certain power of renunciation come into her, and a strength -to do what right and duty demanded. She rose from her knees, and bent -over the bed, and for a moment laid her cheek against the cool white -pillow. Oh, might God be very good to him, she prayed! Might He make up -to him for all the pain and grief and woe that she had caused him; and -some time in heaven might he come to know how wholly and completely she -had loved him!</p> - -<p>She felt a sense of inward calm and strength as she turned from the bed, -crossed the room, and entered her own apartment, closing and locking the -door behind her.</p> - -<p>This peace was on her still as she presently went to bed, and fell -almost immediately into a dreamless sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XV" id="XV"></a>XV</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Sonia</span> was awakened early by sounds in the room next her own, and as she -opened her eyes with perfect recollection of all that had passed the -night before, she wondered if it could possibly be that Harold had -returned. It might be only the maid opening and airing the room; but -whatever it was, she could not sleep again, and she began to devise a -plan for getting away early, so that she might avoid the possibility of -meeting Harold. She got out of bed, parted the curtains, and opened the -casement of the low French window. The early sunshine had washed -everything with its faint golden glow, and the little new-born leaves -that covered the trees in the <i>place</i> with a foliage of feathery green, -paler than ever in its transparence against the sun, made a delicate -filmy screen, through which she looked down on an exquisite moving -picture.</p> - -<p>The doors of the beautiful, great Madeleine<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> were open wide, and through -them was pouring a long white rivulet that seemed to have its source in -the little covered doorway in the side of the basement of the great -building, and flowed thence in an even stream around the corner, and up -the great steps of the building, passing between its central pillars, -and so into the interior of the church. This stream was composed of what -seemed an unending number of little girls dressed for their first -communion. They were all in spotless white, with thin, transparent veils -reaching to the hems of their gowns, white wreaths upon their heads, -white stockings, shoes, and gloves, and each of them carried a tall -white taper, to be presently lighted in the church. Stationed like -sentinels along the line were gray-clad, white-bonneted sisters of -charity, who directed the children’s movements as they walked with an -awed stateliness out of the little door, up to the corner and around it, -and then through the gate and up the steps, and were lost to sight -beyond the wide church-door.</p> - -<p>Sonia could see the very expressions of their faces as they would look -up for direction to the sisters as they passed, lifting their meek and -timid glances with an air of solemnity<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> which in some instances -struggled with a sense of pride in their unwonted paraphernalia. -Somehow, the sight of so much ignorance, trust, and innocence, and the -thought that each one of them possessed a woman’s heart, with all its -capacity for suffering, for hoping, for loving, for regretting, -absolutely overcame her. How ignorant they were of what lay before them! -How fearlessly their little feet were entering upon the long journey of -life, so blind to the pains and bitterness of its way! It seemed -heartrendingly cruel to her, to think how they must suffer from the mere -fact that each one of them was a woman-child. O God, that women had to -suffer so!—that even love, the one delight, should bring in its wake -such pain! She could see none of the joy ahead of these sweet children; -she thought only of what her own heart suffered now—the regret, the -longing, the unfathomable sadness, the blight, the disappointment, the -despair! The passionate pain of her heart broke forth in violent sobbing -as she stood between the parted curtains, fascinated by the lovely -sight, but scarcely able to see it for her tears.</p> - -<p>“O God, have pity on them—have pity on them!” she sobbed aloud; and -then, while her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span> whole frame shook with her violent weeping, she -suddenly became aware of the stealing on of a new influence. What was -it? Nothing so definite as sight or sound, but something subtly powerful -in its significance to her. It was the pungent odor of a certain kind of -cigar which had once made part of the familiar atmosphere of her life. -It dominated her now, as if by a spell. She was instantly calmed, and, -as if by magic, swept back into the thrilling past. Then, suddenly, -penetrating this familiar atmosphere, there came a familiar sound—no -articulate utterance, but just a sound in the throat, which seemed -somehow meant to challenge attention. She would have known that voice in -the most distant and unlikely spot of earth; and now it became quite -plain to her that Harold had returned, and was watching the scene -opposite from his open window, scarcely a yard away.</p> - -<p>He must have heard her words and sobs! He must have understood them, he -was so well practised in reading her heart. It had been an open book to -him once, though now it must be forever locked and sealed.</p> - -<p>Her hands had fallen from the curtains, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> she had moved backward. -There had seemed to come into her strength and support from the mere -sound of that voice. There was nothing new in this. Often, often had she -felt it before. And once it had been in her power to summon this support -at will, in any hour of grief or trial. That power was gone now, never -to come again; but for this once this supreme and availing help had been -afforded her. She felt within her the power to be strong, to collect -herself, and to form and execute plans of getting away from this place -of temptation and danger.</p> - -<p>She fell on her knees. Her soul uttered a prayer of mingled thanksgiving -and entreaty. As she raised her eyes she could see through the slightly -parted folds of the curtains the pointed arch that topped the Madeleine. -Carved in enduring stone, that generations to come might see and gather -comfort from it, was the gracious figure of Jesus, spreading out his -arms of welcome to the poor Magdalen, who knelt in supplication at his -feet. At his side was a glorious, great angel, who, with drawn sword, -stood over the woman, and thrust back with his other hand the evil -creatures who in vain besieged her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> On the right hand of Christ another -angel, with wings at rest, held a great horn of triumph, and behind him -were women crowned and garlanded, with little children clinging to them. -Farther still was a woman on a bed of illness, over whom another angel -of mercy had spread its wings as she came to Christ to have her body -healed.</p> - -<p>The center of it all was the beneficent figure of the human Saviour; and -Sonia, looking down from this immutable image carved in stone to the -flowing, changing, passing stream of young human creatures beneath, felt -calmed and comforted. So they could keep their childish faith, there was -a refuge for them, and she saw them now without any prompting to tears.</p> - -<p>She got up from her knees, bathed her face, smoothed her hair before the -mirror, and then, after darkening the room a little, rang for the maid, -and asked for her coffee.</p> - -<p>By the time it came she was almost dressed, and she instructed the -servants very carefully not to disturb her young mistress, but to call a -cab for her at once,—as she found it necessary to go home early,—and -to tell Martha, when the latter awoke, that she was very well,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> but was -obliged to be at home at a certain hour.</p> - -<p>Her plan worked perfectly, and on her way to the cab she saw no one -except the American maid, who went down with her. In passing through the -antechamber she noticed a man’s covert-coat, stick, and hat, together -with some crushed newspapers, thrown on a sofa. But she had not needed -this to convince her of the fact that Harold had returned, and had been -in his room, watching, as she had watched, the stream of little girls -beginning their celebration of the month of Mary by taking their first -communion.</p> - -<p>The first of May being also what is known as “Labor Day,” it was a -strange contrast to the unworldliness and other-worldliness of these -little <i>religieuses</i> to see the alert military forces now beginning to -fill the streets, in anticipation of possible insurrection and danger, -of which there was strong menace that year.</p> - -<p>Gendarmes in groups of six and eight, and sometimes even more, dotted -the streets in all directions, and the mounted guard was out in full -force. Sonia, looking from her cab window, heard repeated orders given -to small groups of citizens to disperse. Even two men<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> were not -permitted to stand and talk together, and she was conscious of a certain -amusement at seeing two groups of gendarmes combine forces to separate -these little knots of two and three. Occasionally there was some -resistance, and she saw several arrests made, which frightened her. She -felt lonely and unprotected, driving through the streets of Paris with -an unknown cabman at that early hour, when there was even a possibility -of such a horror as an insurrection of the French lower orders.</p> - -<p>It came over her with piercing power how Harold would once have felt -about her being in such a position, and how strange, how inexplicable, -how unnatural, it was that it could be nothing to him now—that, even if -he knew it, he would feel bound to accept it passively; for nothing, she -was certain, could induce him to exercise the semblance of a right over -her.</p> - -<p>She got out of the cab at her own door, safe in body, but more excited -and confused in mind than she had ever been in her life—and perhaps, in -this moment, more wretched also.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XVI" id="XVI"></a>XVI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">Harold’s</span> condition of mind and feeling on that morning of the first of -May was so complicated and perplexed that he felt for the first time in -his life utterly unable to see his way. He was accustomed to having -things, no matter how difficult, look definite to him. He had not -hesitated in deciding on his sudden marriage with Sophia Rutledge, nor -had he felt the least hesitation as to his course a month later, when -she demanded a divorce from him. His path had been clear and open before -him, and he had taken it unflinchingly. He felt the same ability to do, -and the same courage to endure, now, if he could only see his way. He -knew himself too well to suppose that, after having been married to this -woman, he could ever love another, and he had quite decided to accept -his life and to put the thought of happiness out of it. In making this -decision he had had the strongest<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> possible conviction of the truth of -his wife’s declaration that she did not love him, and it was this which -had made submission to her decision the only possible course for him. -She was such a strong and resolute woman that he had imagined her, after -the stern ordeal of the first few months of separation, going resolutely -on, with her life adjusted to its new conditions; and although he was -certain that her marriage, separation, and the coming divorce would make -too deep marks in her womanly consciousness for her ever to think of -marrying again, he quite believed that she was the calm and self-poised -woman for which he knew nature had intended her.</p> - -<p>It was therefore a great surprise to him, on meeting her again, to see -such marked indications of indecision, nervousness, and lack of control. -He felt that she often said and did what she had meant not to say and -do, and he was aware that she was a prey to variableness, fluctuation, -and caprice. What did it mean? This was the question which he set -himself to consider with all the concentration of his mind. He did not -know—what was the truth—that these new qualities in her existed only -with regard to himself, and that to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> her aunt, her acquaintances, her -servants, and all who came in contact with her, she was more than ever -decided, self-collected, and even self-willed. If he could have known -that, it would have let in light upon a subject and situation which -seemed to him impenetrably dark. Every time that he had seen her she had -left upon his mind a different impression. Sometimes he wondered if she -could be ill, to account for such a change; and sometimes he told -himself that it was an unpardonable demand upon her nervous endurance -for him to come into her presence. Still, when he reflected, he had -never thrust himself upon her, and on the only occasion when their -meeting had not been accidental, it had been her deliberate doing. What -must he conclude from this?</p> - -<p>It would be conceit only which could make him think, after that, that -she either feared or disliked to meet him. He certainly had no right to -suppose that she sought or wished it. He must, therefore, conclude that -she was quite indifferent to him, and wished him to accept that view of -the case.</p> - -<p>He tried hard to do this, but there was something in her manner and in -his own con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span>sciousness which positively prevented his holding to this -idea. It was not that she appeared to him to be unhappy, but she did -seem disturbed, restless and fitful. After his interview with her in the -atelier, he felt that she had so definitely conveyed to him her wishes -in the case that now he had only to follow them and to keep out of her -way, so far as it rested with him to do so.</p> - -<p>On this course he fully resolved; but her beauty, her voice, her -movements, haunted him by day and night. He knew that he was as -absolutely under her spell as he had ever been. He knew that a point -might come when his self-control would be powerfully threatened, and -then there would be nothing for it but to flee. He was not afraid of the -consequences to himself which might lie in this betrayal of his past. He -was thinking of her, and of the increased trouble which it would bring -into her life if she should come to realize how he still loved her. This -was a quite unnecessary trial for her, and one which he was resolved she -should not have.</p> - -<p>He had not known of any plan of Martha’s for having her friend spend the -night of his absence with her, so it took him completely<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> by surprise -when he returned at an earlier hour than he had expected, and, inquiring -of the man servant if all was well, was told that the Princess -Mannernorff had dined and spent the night with his sister. He -ascertained what room she was occupying, and when the servant, who -carried his bag, went into his own room ahead of him, he reproved the -man rather severely for opening the window with such a noise. Then -immediately he sent the servant away.</p> - -<p>He had seen, from below, the beginning of the little procession going -into the Madeleine; and as he stood half unconsciously watching it, -possessed by the thought that the woman who had once been his adored and -adoring wife was asleep in the next room to him, he heard the window of -that room open, and he knew that she was awake, and standing very near. -He heard her draw the curtains back by the cords and rings above. He -even heard the little effort in her breathing caused by the strong pull. -Each of them, he knew, was looking at the same sight—the beautiful, -moving panorama, seen through the flecks of sun-washed, young green -leaves; but while she was thinking of those trustful and unconscious -children, his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> thoughts were wholly of her. His heart was filled with -longings so intense and masterful as to crowd out everything else. Then, -in a flash, his humor changed; for there came to him her stifled sobs, -and her calls on God to pity them—those sweet, unknowing little ones, -born to be suffering women. With his old swift comprehension of her, he -knew why this sight had touched her so, and he realized what he had only -dimly felt before, that she was a miserable woman, wearily walking a -<i>via dolorosa</i>.</p> - -<p>He did not ask to know what it might be. He longed only to help and -comfort her. He could not speak, but at least he could let her know that -he was near; and then it was that he had made the sound which Sonia had -heard.</p> - -<p>That sound was followed by silence. Was she perhaps indignant, he asked -himself, that he should dare to make this demand upon her attention? She -would have a right to be; for he could make no pretense that he had not -deliberately intended to do this. Yet she was alone there, sad and -troubled, and he was close at hand, with a heart that ached to comfort -her. He could not have rested, feeling that she was unaware of his -knowledge of her presence, and no matter what consequences to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> himself -the act might carry, he deliberately said to her in that sound: “I am -here, and I know that you are there.”</p> - -<p>If she had made a sign in answer, he would have thanked God on his -knees; but she had withdrawn from the window in silence, and he had felt -only that she was gone.</p> - -<p>An hour later, when the servant brought his coffee and the morning -papers, he brought also the information that the princess had gone off -alone some time before in a cab.</p> - -<p>Harold felt, at hearing this, a perfect fury of anger and indignation. -With the possibility of a riot in view, and the knowledge that ladies -had been warned not to venture unprotected on the streets, it made his -blood boil to think she—the delicate woman-spirit and woman-body that -he knew so well—should have gone forth alone from under the very roof -with him; and that even if he had known of it, he would have had no -right to interfere. The legal right, of course, he had; but that fact -only made it the more impossible for him to assert upon her any claim. -Not all the laws that were ever made could have bound or loosed him so -indomitably as did her wish and will. The fact that it was still within -his power to assert a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> legal claim upon her constituted in itself the -strongest possible demand upon a man of his nature to leave her as free -as air from any bondage or emancipation which could exist by any right -but that of love. If she had loved him, he would have asserted his power -and right to control and influence her. As she did not love him, there -was no creature living who was so free from him as she—this woman whom -once he had held in as binding fetters as ever love had forged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XVII" id="XVII"></a>XVII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">On</span> reaching home, Sonia went immediately to her room, and sent word to -her aunt that she was feeling ill, and desired not to be disturbed. Her -maid brought her a message of condolence in reply, and she knew that she -was now safe in her solitude for the remainder of the day.</p> - -<p>She undressed quickly, threw on a loose dressing-gown, unfastened the -thick coil of her hair, and then, telling her maid not to come to the -room until she should ring, she threw herself at full length on the -lounge, and lay there with her eyes closed, profoundly still. She had -caused the blinds to be shut and the curtains drawn. The beautiful -spring sunshine flooded everything without, but about her all was gloom -and darkness. She could hear the whir of innumerable wheels and the -click of horses’ feet on the smooth pavement outside, and she knew that -the streets were alive and abloom with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> smartly dressed men and women in -open carriages, driving between the long lines of flowering -horse-chestnuts down the beautiful Champs Elysées to the Palais de -l’Industrie.</p> - -<p>Long ago she had ordered a charming costume for this occasion, selected -with much care and thought; and it had come home more than a realization -of her expectations. She had fancied that she would have pleasure in -joining a party of friends, and perhaps lingering about the neighborhood -of her own picture to hear any comments that might be made upon it. She -had not allowed herself to hope that it would be on the line; but there -it was this moment, as she knew; and the pretty gown and bonnet and -parasol, all so painstakingly selected, were neatly put away, and she -was lying nerveless in this lonely room.</p> - -<p>She lay on her back, with her arms, from which the sleeves fell, thrown -over her head, and her face turned to one side, so that her cheek rested -against the smooth flesh of one inner arm. The folds of her scant gown -lay thin and pliant over her long, slim figure, and the pointed toes of -her little gray <i>mules</i> showed at the end of the lounge where her feet -were crossed one over the other. To-day<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> she had given up the long, long -struggle for self-control and strength. She abandoned herself absolutely -to the dark, unbroken grief which she felt to be her only natural and -honest life. She did not even long for happiness to-day: she longed only -for the peace of death—the nothingness of the grave. Oh, to be taken -so, without the need to stir or move, and lowered into a cool, deep, -still grave,—breath, consciousness, hope, regret, memory, -individuality, all, all gone,—and earth and grass and flowers over her! -That instinct of weak self-pity, to which the strongest of us yield now -and then, overcame the lethargy of her mood, and the springs of tears -were touched. Two large drops rose and forced their way between her -close-shut lids.</p> - -<p>“O, what have I done, what have I done, to have to suffer so?” she -whispered—“to have to give up all, all joy, and take only pain and -misery and regret for all my life! It was only a mistake. It was no sin -or crime that I committed when I sent him away, and said that I did not -love him. It was only an awful, fatal, terrible mistake. I have feared -so for a long, long time; but, oh! I know it now! I want him back—I -want<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span> him back! I want his love, and his patience, and his care. I want -him for my friend, and my protector, and my husband. And though I want -him so, I am farther away from him than if I had never seen him. When -this hideous divorce is got, and our beautiful marriage has been undone, -any other woman in the world might hope to win his love. I shall be the -one free woman on earth to whom that hope would be shame and outrage and -humiliation. O my God, help me, help me! Show me what to do. Give me -back at least my pride, that I may not have to suffer his contempt. O -God Almighty, if his love for me is quite, quite dead, in mercy let my -love for him die too! Oh, no—no—no! My God, I take it back! I do not -ask it. I do not want to stop this agony of pain that comes from loving -him. O God of pity and compassion, give me now a little help, and show -me what to do. Kill me now—strike me dead, O God—rather than let me do -anything to cause him to despise me!”</p> - -<p>She buried her face in her hands, and went on, speaking between her -fingers in thick, sobbing whispers.</p> - -<p>“God did not hold me back before from<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span> cutting my own throat,” she said; -“and yet I prayed to him with all my soul, as I am praying now! Perhaps -I was too self-willed, and wanted my own way too much, and so he would -not hear me. Oh, I <i>want</i> to do his will—I want to let him choose for -me; but, oh, far more than that I want my love, my darling, my husband! -We have been joined together by God, and he has not put us asunder, nor -has man put us asunder. Neither did he do it! It was I,—I myself,—out -of my weak selfishness and self-will, because I wanted to make -everything conform to me—because I wished him to love me by a rule and -ideal of my own—to treat me according to my fancy—to make every -sacrifice of himself and his nature and thoughts and feelings to me, and -I was willing to consider him in nothing! But oh, my God, I have been -shown my wickedness and selfishness! The scorching light of truth has -come, and now I see it all. If I could have him back! If I could wipe -out the past, and be once more in my wedding-dress and veil, and give -him my vows again, O God, thou knowest whether I could keep them now or -not! It cannot be, it cannot be! He pities me and would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span> kind to me, -but he does not love me any longer. O God Almighty,” she cried aloud, -writhing her body from the lounge, and getting on her knees, with her -hands and her face lifted upward, “take me and work in me, and give -light to my blinded eyes! Give me the strength to do what is right—to -give him up—to stop thinking of him! I cannot bear this tearing -struggle any more. I can fight no longer. I beg thee only, only for -this—that I may somehow grope and stumble through this time without the -loss of the one thing that is left to me—my woman’s pride!”</p> - -<p>She fell forward, with her face buried in the lounge, and great sobs -shaking her body. Gradually these subsided; but long after they had -ceased she knelt there with her face concealed, alone in the silence and -darkness.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p><span class="smcap">At</span> the same moment, only a little distance off, the sunlight was pouring -down in floods upon the palms, the stuffs, the pictures, the statues, -and the crowd of fashionable men and women who thronged the great -exhibition of the spring Salon.</p> - -<p>Voices of men and women rose melodiously, whether in praise or blame. -Lorgnettes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> were raised, hands clasped in delight, and shoulders -shrugged in disapproval. Fans were waved in delicate, gloved hands, -whose every movement stirred the air in waves of sweet perfume from -flowers, or delicate odors wafted from women’s gowns. Smartly dressed -men and women stood about in groups, and now and then a hum arose as -some great man, decorated with orders, and smiling with confident good -humor, passed along, bowing to right and left, and receiving -compliments—too familiar to be anything but gently stimulating—on the -beauty of his latest pictures.</p> - -<p>There were groups, larger or smaller, before many of the canvases; and -in one of these groups, standing a little apart from the rest, were -Harold and Martha Keene.</p> - -<p>The picture before which they had paused was a rather small canvas on -which was painted a woman leaning with her elbows on a table, and her -chin resting in her hands, which met at the wrists, and then closed upon -the cheeks at either side. The little table before her was perfectly -bare. There was a striking absence of detail. The one thing which was -accentuated by careful and distinct painting was a plain gold ring on -the third<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> finger of the left hand. The loose drapery which wrapped the -shoulders, leaving bare the throat and arms, was simply blocked in with -creamy white paint and heavy shadows. The hair was gathered in a thick -coil at the top of the head. There was beauty in its coloring, and merit -also in the flesh-tints of the face and throat; but the power of the -picture was in the eyes, which looked directly at one. The brows above -them were smooth, definite, and uncontracted. The lines of the face were -youthful and round. The lips were firm and self-controlled. All the -expression was left to the eyes, which, large, honest, courageous, and -truthful, met those of the gazer, and gave their message—the message of -despair.</p> - -<p>“It is called in the catalogue simply ‘A Study,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> said a man standing -close to Harold Keene; “and certainly there is no need to name it. The -artist’s name is given as ‘G. Larrien.’ Does any one happen to know it?”</p> - -<p>No one did, and the group of people soon passed on; but Harold stayed -and looked. Martha, who stood at his elbow, was palpitating with -excitement. She knew the picture and the artist, but she was determined -not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span> betray, even by a look, the secret which she had promised her -friend to keep. She saw that Harold studied the picture with intent -interest, and she schooled her face to express nothing, in case he -should look at her. She was watching him closely, and she thought that -his color changed a little, but he gave no other sign of feeling. He did -not look toward her. Indeed, there was neither question nor curiosity in -his eyes, but a look of conviction and, she thought, a look of pain.</p> - -<p>A man and woman had paused beside them now, and stood gazing at the -picture.</p> - -<p>“It’s quite a remarkable thing,” said the man; “and it appears to be by -a new exhibitor. I do not know the name. It certainly tells its story.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said his companion; “I believe that it is only through marriage -that despair comes to a woman. If one painted that look in a man’s eyes, -one would have to invent some better explanation of it than a -wedding-ring.”</p> - -<p>Harold glanced toward the speakers, and then began to move away, without -looking again at the picture. Martha waited to hear what he would say; -but as to this particular picture, he said nothing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span></p> - -<p>Why was it that she felt a sudden certainty that he knew who had painted -it? It seemed absurd to suppose that he could, and yet she had a -conviction about it impossible to shake off.</p> - -<p>The picture, as Martha knew, had been the hasty work of a few days, and -had been painted at home. When Sonia had brought it to show to Etienne, -he had been so surprised and delighted at it that he had insisted upon -substituting it for the careful and painstaking piece of work which she -had done in the atelier on purpose for the exhibition. It was evident -that he recognized some rare quality in this picture, and that others -had now recognized it also. Martha, looking back, saw that another group -had formed in front of it, and that animated comment was in progress.</p> - -<p>It came over Martha now—a thing she had not thought of before—that in -spite of the different contour and coloring of the whole face, there was -a certain vague resemblance to Sonia in it. It was not the eyes -themselves, for they were blue in the picture; but there was something -in the shape and setting of them which suggested Sonia. She wondered if -the lovely princess could have been aware of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span> herself, for she had -shown a strong reluctance to exhibit this picture, and had required of -Etienne and herself a very strict promise of secrecy about it, saying -that it had been seen by them only. Martha, who knew that her friend was -unhappy, and that her sorrow had come to her through her marriage, felt -in her heart that Sonia had painted this picture from the look of her -own eyes in a mirror when off her usual guard. She wondered if by chance -Harold had had the same idea.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XVIII" id="XVIII"></a>XVIII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> next morning Martha drove to the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, and -found her friend in bed, suffering from a headache which had been so -severe that she had had a doctor. She had passed a sleepless night, and -it distressed Martha much to see how really ill her beautiful princess -looked. There were dark rings around the lovely eyes, and the sweet -mouth, which the girl so loved, had a pathetic droop which showed that -tears were not far off.</p> - -<p>Martha tried to cheer her up, by telling her how much her picture had -been noticed, and repeating some of the comments which she had -overheard.</p> - -<p>It was strange how little all this was to Sonia. Her pulses did not -quicken, by one beat, until suddenly Martha said that Harold had been -fascinated by it, had lingered before it and gone back to it, and that -somehow she<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> could not help thinking that he suspected that she had -painted it.</p> - -<p>“How could he? It is impossible!” Sonia cried, a faint flush rising to -her face.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I suppose it must be,” Martha conceded; “and yet there was -something special about the picture to him; and after he had seen it, he -certainly took no further interest in looking yours up, which, in the -beginning, he had told me he was going to do.”</p> - -<p>“Martha, you must never let him know it! I trust you for that. I shall -never own the picture as long as I live; and I have the solemn pledge of -both you and Etienne not to betray me. You know it was against my will -that I consented to exhibit it, and I could not endure to have it known -that a melodramatic thing like that (for that is what it will be called) -had been painted and exhibited by me. Did your brother laugh at it? Tell -me the truth. If he laughed at it, I wish to know it.”</p> - -<p>She had raised herself in the bed, and sat upright, looking at Martha -with commanding eyes.</p> - -<p>“Laugh at it, Sonia? Could any one laugh at that picture—least of all -Harold? It is one of the most deadly things that I ever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> looked at. No; -he did not laugh. Indeed, I think it took from him all power of being -amused for the rest of the day. I only say this to prove that the -impression which your picture made was a serious one. He said nothing -about it, but I know he was impressed by it.”</p> - -<p>The princess fell back on her pillows, with a face so flushed and eyes -so brilliant that Martha feared that she must be in a fever, and blamed -herself for having talked to her on a subject so exciting as the Salon. -In a few moments she rose to go. Her friend, although she declared that -the visit had done her no harm, did not try to keep her, for a sudden -and excited fancy had seized her.</p> - -<p>No sooner was Martha gone than she rose quickly, rang for her maid, and -began to dress, regardless of the fact that her head felt light, and her -limbs were trembling. She put on a long cloak and a large black hat; -and, ordering her carriage, had herself driven to the Palais de -l’Industrie.</p> - -<p>A feverish desire to see the picture again had laid hold upon her. She -wanted to look at it after knowing that Harold had done so, and to judge -how much she had betrayed of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><a name="fig_18" id="fig_18"></a> -<img src="images/i_196.jpg" height="550" alt="[Image unavailable.]" /> -<br /> -<p class="caption">“SHE PUT ON A LONG CLOAK.”</p> -</div> - -<p class="nind">what her own heart had felt, and her own eyes had expressed, when she -had painted that picture before her mirror, trusting in the complete -disguise of the decided changes in features and coloring which she had -made. She had painted the expression as faithfully as she could, knowing -that no one who had never seen her completely off guard would recognize -it. She felt now that if she should discover that there was a trace of -possible identification in either features or expression, she could not -endure it. Harold would think, and would have a right to think, that she -had made capital out of her most sacred shame and sorrow; and he was the -sort of man to whom that idea would be monstrous. She knew that she -never could have painted it if she had had the least idea of exhibiting -it; but when it was done, and she had shown it to Etienne to get his -criticism on the technique, and he had been so plainly delighted with -it, and urged her not to carry it any farther, but to exhibit it as it -was, she had agreed to it for three reasons. One was to please her -master, who was not very easily pleased; another was because she knew -she could keep it secret by telling no one except<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> the two people who -already knew; and the third and decisive one was that it was a way -suddenly opened to her of giving her message to the world impersonally. -She felt a sort of exultation in the thought that in this way she could -say: “Look in my face, and see. This is marriage!”</p> - -<p>When Sonia got out of her carriage she dismissed it with the maid, and -mounted the steps with a look of greater firmness and resolution than -she really felt, for physically she was ill and weak. She knew, however, -that she might meet with acquaintances here, and might attract the -attention of strangers by being quite alone, and therefore she realized -the necessity of calmness in her outward manner. Her face was partly hid -by a veil, and she had managed to avoid the gaze of one or two people -whom she had recognized as she made her way quickly to the room in which -she knew that her picture was hung.</p> - -<p>In spite of her preoccupation, it quickened her pulses a little to see -that there was a small group of people in front of it, evidently talking -about it. As she stood behind these, and looked full at the face on the -canvas, which was looking full at her, a sudden sense of con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span>scious -power, the knowledge that she had created a thing of intrinsic -character, came over her, and she could hardly realize that it was she -who had done it.</p> - -<p>There was certainly no trace of her feature and coloring in this -picture, and yet she shrank back, and had an impulse to conceal herself, -for what she saw before her was undoubtedly the picture of her soul. Her -heart fluttered, and she felt herself beginning to tremble. Was she -going to faint here, alone? A wild sense of helplessness seized her, and -at the same moment she was conscious of a certain familiarity in the -outline of a shoulder and arm between her and the picture. She glanced -quickly up at the head of this man, and saw that it was Harold. A little -sound—scarcely more than a stifled breath—escaped her, and he turned -suddenly, just in time to go to her and take her arm in his steady, -reassuring grasp, which seemed to nerve her soul as well as her body to -make a desperate effort for self-control.</p> - -<p>“You are ill. You should not have ventured out alone,” he said. (Oh, the -strong, protecting voice; the firm, availing touch!) Then he led her to -a seat, with some quiet<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> words that seemed to put new power into her to -endure and to resist.</p> - -<p>“I must go home,” she said, rising as she felt her strength return. “I -have been ill. I did not know how weak I was.”</p> - -<p>“I will take you to your carriage,” he said; and without seeming to -recognize the possibility of resistance, he drew her arm in his, and led -her from the room and down the steps.</p> - -<p>It came to her, suddenly, that her carriage was not there.</p> - -<p>“I sent the carriage away,” she said. “I thought I would stay awhile, -and see the pictures.”</p> - -<p>He signaled to a waiting cab, and as it drew up to the sidewalk, and he -put her in, he said quietly, but with resolution:</p> - -<p>“I cannot let you go alone in this cab, ill and faint as you are. I beg -your pardon, princess; but I must go with you”; and he gave the number -to the cabman, and got in beside her.</p> - -<p>That word <i>Princess</i> stung her pride, and gave her a sudden feeling of -strength. She knew that he meant to convey by its use the idea that it -was only as a matter of formal courtesy that he felt bound to care for -and protect<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> her now. She drew herself upright, with a slight bend of -the head in acknowledgment of his civility.</p> - -<p>For a few moments they drove along in silence, utterly alone together. -Harold wondered if the thoughts of other days and hours were in her -mind. At the same instant she was wondering the same thing about him. -She had forgotten that he had just spoken of her with formality, and -called her princess. Apparently he had forgotten it, too; for he now -said in a low tone and with suddenness:</p> - -<p>“Your picture is remarkable. You have told your story well.”</p> - -<p>She felt that denial would be useless. Since he had found her standing -there before it, she was certain that he knew the truth as well as she -did.</p> - -<p>“I never meant that it should be known that I painted it,” she said. -“You must know that.”</p> - -<p>“Why should it not be known?” he said. “If a woman has looked on what -those eyes have seen, surely she is called upon to give her warning. If -that is what marriage meant to you, God pity you! God be thanked that -you are out of it!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>At his words there rushed across her mind the memory of a thousand acts -and thoughts and words of tenderness, of love, of strong protection, of -help in need and comfort in distress, which this man beside her had -given her. How could she tell him, though, that the ground of the -despair which she had painted had been the renunciation of these—the -thought that she had had a vision of what the love of man and woman -could be in a wedded life, and had been shut out from it? Where were now -the reasons that had seemed so powerful and sufficient for the course -which she had taken? Why was it that, try as she might, she could get no -sense of support and satisfaction from recalling these? Was it because -she felt them to be the foolish qualms of an ignorant girl, who was -prepared to fight against any and all conditions of life which did not -answer to her whim? O God, the hideous possibilities of error and of -wrong that were about one! How confident of right one might be in doing -an act of weakness and of shame!</p> - -<p>She could not answer his last words. She felt herself suddenly so -possessed of the sense of his nearness that she could neither collect<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> -nor control her thoughts. Her eyes were lowered, and she could not see -his face; but the very sight of his strong brown hand lying ungloved -upon his knee, the very bend of that knee and fold of the gray trousers, -seemed as familiar to her as her own body.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she seemed to feel that he was hers, and that she was his, -whether they chose to recognize the fact or not; that God had joined -them, and no man, not even themselves, had power to put them asunder.</p> - -<p>Harold, meantime, was wondering at her silence. Why was it that, after -her old defiant fashion, she had had no answer ready for his bitterly -felt and spoken words? That picture had stung his soul, and he would -have died sooner than have owned to himself even a wish to have her -back.</p> - -<p>In spite of this, he could not forget that they were alone together, and -that she was ill and weak, and needed pity. He wondered suddenly if he -had been cruel in what he had said to her, and had put too great a tax -upon her strength.</p> - -<p>As this thought crossed his mind the cab stopped, and he became aware of -a din of sound, made by the tramping of men and horses, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> the blare -of brass instruments and the beating of drums. The cabman leaned down -and called to him, saying that the way had been crossed by a procession. -It would be some time passing. Was monsieur in a great hurry? Harold -answered no; and as he turned from the window he glanced toward the -woman at his side, and saw that she was leaning back weakly in her -corner, deadly pale. Her eyes met his, however, with a wide, direct, -unflinching look, and he saw that there was no danger of her fainting. -Consciousness, acute and powerful, was written in those eyes.</p> - -<p>Outside, the crowd pushed and jostled by, while the clatter of hoofs and -feet came more distinctly to the ears as the sound of the band moved off -in the distance. An instinct to protect that pallid face from being -gazed upon made him draw down the thick silk blinds. He did this, -explaining his motive to his companion in a few quick words. Then he -turned and looked at her, and in the suddenly created gloom their eyes -met.</p> - -<p>He was striving with all his might to keep the fire out of his; but -suddenly he became aware of the same effort on her part, as she closed -her lids an instant, and then, as if mas<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span>tered by a feeling stronger -than her will, opened them wide, and looked at him again.</p> - -<p>His heart leaped. His pulses throbbed. His cheeks flushed darkly. He -moved a little nearer to her, so that their faces were close, and still -her eyes met his with that wild, burning, concentrated gaze.</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake, what is it?” he said. But she did not move a muscle or -an eyelash. She only gave her eyes to his, as one would hold up the -printed page of a book to be read and understood.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” he said again, coming so near as to speak in the lowest -whisper, while his hands grasped hard the top of his stick, and his -breath came thick and fast.</p> - -<p>Her eyes still clung to his, but her lips were wordless.</p> - -<p>“I do not understand,” he said. “For God’s sake, speak! I do not want to -lose control of myself, but I cannot forget that you have been my wife.”</p> - -<p>These words, which moved him so that he shook visibly, made apparently -no impression upon her. Her breathing was so scant and so light as -scarcely to lift the lace upon her breast; and, near as he was to her, -he could not hear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> it. Was she, perhaps, unconscious? He might have -thought so, but for the deep, intense consciousness in the gaze that she -fixed upon him, and the flutter of her long-lashed lids as she shut and -opened them occasionally from the strain of that prolonged look.</p> - -<p>Outside, the drum throbbed distantly, like the beating of a great -excited heart. The thin call of a trumpet sounded keenly like a sigh of -pain. Nearer the tramp of men and horses could be heard. But all these -things only made them feel more absolutely alone together—this man and -this woman who had once been one in marriage! With his breast heaving -quickly with deep, uneven breaths, he suddenly uttered her name in a -thick whisper.</p> - -<p>Still she remained as she had been before, motionless and wordless, -while he read her eyes. He dropped his stick, and seized her hands in -both his own, which were cold and shaking.</p> - -<p>“Speak!” he said commandingly. “In God’s name, what do you mean, unless -it is that you love me still?”</p> - -<p>Her hands were quiet and nerveless in his grasp, and in another instant -he would have lost control and consciousness of what he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span> doing. But -at this very moment the cabman called to his horse and cracked his whip, -the carriage gave a lurch forward, and they rattled rapidly away.</p> - -<p>Recollecting himself, Harold dropped the hands which he had seized so -recklessly, and touched the springs of the curtains, which instantly -flew up, letting in the full light of day.</p> - -<p>The fresh air which came in seemed to calm his heated blood, and he was -master of himself again.</p> - -<p>When he turned to look at his companion, she was leaning back in exactly -the same position, only her heavy, richly fringed white lids were -dropped over her eyes.</p> - -<p>In this way she remained quite still until the carriage stopped before -the door of her apartment. Harold, who thought that she had now really -fainted, was about to summon help from the concierge, when she opened -her eyes with a look of entire self-possession in them, got out of the -cab without the aid of his offered hand, and, bowing her thanks, without -speaking walked past him into the house, with a look of cool dismissal -which made it impossible for him to follow.</p> - -<p>Puzzled, confused, bewildered almost to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> point of frenzy, he got -back into the cab, and ordered the driver to drive in the Bois until he -should tell him to turn.</p> - -<p>Sonia, during that same time, was shut within her room, thinking as -intensely as he. She had been able, by dint of enormous will-power, to -control herself in all other points while indulging herself in one. She -had said to herself during those crucial minutes in the cab, while she -consciously threw open the windows of her soul to this man in that clear -and unrestricted gaze, that she would neither speak nor stir, though the -effort should kill her. She found that she could best carry out this -resolve by relaxing her body utterly, while her will got every moment -tenser in its strain. She had said to herself over and over to what -seemed a thousand times: “Don’t move—don’t speak. Don’t move—don’t -speak”; and the very consciousness that she was equal to this effort -made her the more free in the abandonment with which she had let him -read her heart in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Now, as she threw her wraps aside, and paced up and down her room, a -feeling of delicious exultation possessed her, and the physical weakness -which she had lately felt was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> gone and forgotten. It had been a draught -of intoxicating joy simply to look at him with free and unbridled eyes. -Was he not her husband, who could not be, by any act of man, really -parted from her? What had she shown him but a woman’s feeling for her -wedded lover? Was she crazy, she wondered, that she could have done it -then, and could feel now no regret—only a wild delight—in having done -it? O God, O God, how long it was that she had shut herself off from -feeling, and how good it was to feel once more! She was alive in every -nerve and pulse, as she had not been for so long; and the throbbing of -life was sweet, sweet, sweet! Never mind about the future; she would -meet it boldly, and make up some excuse—that she had been ill or -unconscious in the cab—pretend that she had forgotten the whole -thing—do anything that was needed, as to that!—but the throbbing bliss -of that one half-hour, she exulted that she had been bold enough to make -her own.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="XIX" id="XIX"></a>XIX</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>cours</i> was closed at Etienne’s, but Sonia, who could not bear to -face the hours of idleness which each day must contain during the few -weeks which her aunt was still to spend in Paris, got permission to come -and work in the atelier during the afternoons. She was privileged to get -her own models as she required them, and Martha was to come also when -she had time and inclination.</p> - -<p>The day after her encounter with Harold at the Salon, Sonia, strong in -purpose and confident in will, went to the atelier with only Inkling to -protect her and keep her company, and set resolutely to work to do some -severe drawing.</p> - -<p>She had abundance of both time and space now, and she settled herself -with great care and deliberation, with the anatomical figures and -numerous copies of Ingres’ drawings full in view. She had not worked -very long, how<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span>ever, before her enthusiasm began to ebb, and she put -down her charcoal and went across to the model-throne, where she sat -down with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and fell to -thinking deeply. Inkling came and jumped up in her lap, but she pushed -him away with a roughness unusual to her, and he had to content himself -with curling up on her skirt. As she sat there, conscious of being quite -alone, she was as absolutely still as any of the customary holders of -this position; but the varied expressions which crossed and changed her -face would have made any class of students in the world despair of such -a model. Sometimes she would look quite happy for an instant, as if a -thought of joy had forced its way uppermost. Then again deep pain would -come into her face, and shadows of doubt, perplexity, and hopelessness.</p> - -<p>She sat so for a long time. Inkling had had a deep and peaceful sleep on -the soft folds of her gown, from which he was startled by a knock at the -door. His mistress sprang up suddenly, rolling him over, and he began to -bark furiously, while Sonia, with an attitude of studious absorption, -took her place at the easel, and seized her bit of charcoal. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> -thought it was probably only some boy on an errand, but she was also -acutely conscious of whom it might possibly be. So she was not entirely -unprepared for the sight of Harold appearing quickly around the edge of -the old sail-cloth screen.</p> - -<p>He bowed with a brevity and formality which seemed to imply that she -need fear no agitating disturbance from him; but instead of standing in -his place and stating the reason of his presence, he came forward.</p> - -<p>Inkling, wild with excitement, began a repetition of his frantic -performances of the former occasion; but his mistress, determined to -have nothing of that sort, promptly suppressed him, and he slunk away -and lay down with great meekness.</p> - -<p>Harold, seeming to take no cognizance of the dog, came nearer, and -waited until the absorbed figure before the easel should notice him. -Presently she did this by saying formally:</p> - -<p>“Martha is not here. She has not been here to-day.”</p> - -<p>“She is at home. I have just left her,” he answered.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought you had come to see her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“No; I have come to see you.”</p> - -<p>“To see me?” lifting her eyebrows in light surprise.</p> - -<p>“If you are at leisure.”</p> - -<p>“I am busy, as you see; but I can talk to you as I draw, if you don’t -mind.”</p> - -<p>“If you will allow me, I will wait until your drawing is done.”</p> - -<p>“That would take up too much of your time,” she said, laying down her -charcoal, and elaborately brushing off her fingers with her -handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“Not at all. I have nothing to do.”</p> - -<p>“I would rather speak to you first—whatever it is you have to say—and -go on with my work afterward. I dislike to draw with people looking on.”</p> - -<p>“In that case I will ask you to give me your attention at once. Will -you, perhaps take this seat?”</p> - -<p>He indicated an old wooden arm-chair; but she declined it with a quick -motion, and went over and took her old place on the model-throne, -lifting Inkling to her lap. Harold seated himself on a bench directly -facing her.</p> - -<p>“I am sorry if I am annoying you,” he said;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> “but I cannot take the -consequences of not speaking to you now.”</p> - -<p>“Consequences?” she said. “What consequences?”</p> - -<p>“Consequences to you and to me. I will ask you to be kind enough to look -at me while I explain them.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were fastened upon Inkling, and she kept them so, while she -began to twist his soft ears. There was a moment of intense stillness -throughout the room. Then the man, in a voice of deep concentration, -spoke her name.</p> - -<p>“Sophie,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Pray don’t call me by that name,” she answered quickly. “I have never -liked it, and I wish now to forget it.”</p> - -<p>“Sonia, then, if you prefer it. I want simply to make plain the fact -that I am speaking to <i>you</i>, the woman who bears that name, and not to -the princess, as you are supposed to be.”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” she said.</p> - -<p>He was silent. She kept her eyes fixed on the dog until she was afraid -that her stubbornness would look childish, or, worse even than that, -timid. Then she looked up.</p> - -<p>The next instant she wished that she had not,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> for the compelling look -that met her own did for a moment make her feel afraid. She summoned all -her force, however, and looked at him defiantly, her head raised, her -eyes steady.</p> - -<p>“I want you to explain to me what you meant yesterday,” he said.</p> - -<p>“What I meant yesterday? What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“What you meant yesterday, driving home in the cab.”</p> - -<p>“What I meant yesterday by driving home in the cab? I suppose my meaning -was the obvious one—that I was tired and ill, and that my own carriage -was not there.”</p> - -<p>The timidity which she had felt before grew now into positive terror, as -she felt the masterful force of this man’s power over her. So strong was -her sense of it that she felt absolutely reckless of what she said or -did, so long as she was able to resist him.</p> - -<p>“You will not move me, or change my intention—my <i>determination</i> to get -an answer to my question. Your evasion of it is childish as well as -useless.”</p> - -<p>“I will be childish if I choose. Who is to prevent me?” she said -defiantly.</p> - -<p>“I will. I have no intention of submitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> to any such childishness -now. You are a woman, and you are the only woman who exists for me. In -that character I mean to have your answer to my question.”</p> - -<p>His words made her heart throb quick, with a feeling outside of the -terror of self-betrayal by which she was possessed. She gave no outward -sign, however, as she looked down, and began once more to pull at -Inkling’s ears.</p> - -<p>Before she realized what he was doing, Harold had bent forward, and -lifting the dog from her lap, he set him on the floor, with a shove that -sent him half-way across the room. As the little creature ran off -frightened, Harold turned to the woman facing him, and forcibly took -both her hands in his.</p> - -<p>She jerked them from him with a powerful wrench, as she sprang to her -feet, retreating a few paces until she was stopped by some benches and -easels huddled together on that side of the room.</p> - -<p>“Don’t touch me!” she cried, in a voice of real terror.</p> - -<p>He let his hands drop to his sides, but he followed, and stood very -close to her, as he said:</p> - -<p>“You had better answer me, and let me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> have my way. I am not to be -turned now. This interview between us must be final, and I promise you -that after it you shall be safe from any persecution from me. Now, -however, the present moment is my own. I have you in my power—and that -power I intend to use!”</p> - -<p>“An honorable and manly thing to say!” she panted, her eyes blazing and -her lips curled. “Do you mean me to understand that you would use force -to make me comply with your wish?”</p> - -<p>“I mean just that,” he answered, bending over her with eyes that gave -her the feeling of a physical touch. “I will prevent your leaving this -room until you have honestly and fairly spoken to me, and have either -confirmed or denied what your eyes plainly said to me yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“You are cowardly and cruel!” she cried. “You are taking a mean -advantage of me! I was ill yesterday. I was half unconscious—”</p> - -<p>“You may have been ill,” he interrupted. “I know indeed that you were, -and that physical weakness may have led to self-betrayal; but you were -not unconscious. Far from it. You were never more acutely conscious in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> -your life than during those long moments when you looked at me with -love.”</p> - -<p>“I deny it!” she cried angrily.</p> - -<p>“Useless!” he answered. “It is not to be denied.”</p> - -<p>She tried to draw farther away, but the barricade of easels stopped her. -Then he himself stepped backward, and put some feet of space between -them.</p> - -<p>“I cannot bear to see you shrink from me,” he said. “You will have to -forgive a persistence that may seem to you brutal; but fate has put this -opportunity into my hands, and I’d be a fool not to use it.”</p> - -<p>“And what do you expect to get from it?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“An answer in plain words to this question, Do you, or do you not, love -me?”</p> - -<p>“I do not!” she cried hotly; but her breast was heaving so, her heart -was throbbing so, that she could scarcely catch her breath; and she felt -that not for all the world dared she look him in the face.</p> - -<p>“Your eyes yesterday contradicted your words of to-day,” he said. “I -will not be content until I have had both. So help me God, you are not -going to trifle with me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> now! I will make you look at me, and confirm -with your eyes the words you have just spoken, or I’ll have you for my -wife again!”</p> - -<p>He caught her in his arms, and drew her close against him. She opened -her mouth as if to scream, but he laid his palm upon it, not forgetting, -for all his strength, to touch her gently.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my darling, my precious one,” he said, “don’t call out for -protection from me, as if I were your enemy! Surely you know that I -would die by torture before I would hurt you—body or soul. But -something—a wicked pride, perhaps—is making you struggle against the -truth; and, for your sake as well as for my own, I must make a fight for -it. Look! I offer you the chance. If you can look me in the face, and -say with eyes and lips together, ‘Harold, I do not love you,’ then you -are as free as air. If you can do that, I will go, and never cross your -path again.”</p> - -<p>He had taken his hand from her mouth, for fear her panting breaths would -cease. He could feel the violent beating of her heart against his side. -An overwhelming tenderness and pity for her filled him, and his arm, -relaxing its stern pressure, drew her close,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> with an embrace whose only -constraint was that of love. Her ear was very close to him, and he spoke -to her in the lowest whispers.</p> - -<p>“Dear one,” he said, “what is it you are fighting against, if it be not -the coming back of love and joy?”</p> - -<p>He could not see her eyes. He did not wish to see them yet. This waiting -was bliss, because there was hope in it.</p> - -<p>She had ceased to struggle, and was quiet in his arms. They stood so, -many seconds, their hearts throbbing against each other, their cheeks -pressed. In the unspeakable sweetness of his nearness, Harold felt -against his face the moisture of a tear.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” he whispered. “You are crying! For God’s sake, tell me -why!”</p> - -<p>A gentle little head-shake answered him; but she made no motion to draw -herself away, and he, enraptured, held her close.</p> - -<p>“There is nothing—<i>nothing</i> that you cannot tell to me,” he said, still -in that whisper that thrilled the silence of the room. “Perhaps you do -not understand. Listen, and I will make it all plain. I loved you then. -I love you now. I have loved you through all the pain and silence in -between. Oh, dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span>est, never dream but that you are still my own—wholly -and unchangeably as I am yours—if only you love me!”</p> - -<p>She kept so still that he was puzzled. He made a motion to draw back his -head and look at her, but she put up her hand and pressed his cheek -still closer against hers. He passionately wished that she would speak; -but there was no sound except that fluttered breathing, no motion but -that little tremor which he felt against his side. She was weakening, -weakening, weakening—he was sure of this; but he was in such an -absolute terror of misunderstanding her mood that he dared not move or -speak.</p> - -<p>As they stood there so, he felt a sudden tightening of the pressure of -her arms. They strained him close against her. His heart leaped; but he -was not sure. There was something that alarmed him even in that clasp of -love.</p> - -<p>“Are you happy?” he whispered in the lowest murmur. But with a sudden -wrench she tore herself away from him, and when he tried to follow, -waved him back with a gesture which he could not disregard.</p> - -<p>“Happy!” she said in a voice that mocked<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span> the thought, as she wrung her -hands together, and then, for a moment, hid her face in the curve of one -tensely bended arm. “What have I to do with happiness?” she cried out, -flinging wide her arms, and looking upward, as if appealing to some -invisible presence rather than to him or to herself. “I had it given to -me once in boundless measure, and I played with it, and tossed it from -me. It was lightly and easily done, and now it cannot be undone.”</p> - -<p>Harold stood where her imperious gesture had stopped him, and looked at -her in consternation.</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” he said. “You will not try now to deny your love for -me! You have owned it in that close embrace which can mean nothing -but—”</p> - -<p>“Good-by!” she interrupted him. “It means inevitable parting. You must -go, or, if not, I must fly to some place where we cannot meet again.”</p> - -<p>“But, dearest, we cannot part. I have told you how I love you in plain -words. You have told me the same, without the need of words.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him,—a deep, inscrutable gaze,—and shook her head.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have had perfect love once,” she said, “and from you—the one man -whose love could ever have any meaning for me—love that included -perfect trust, perfect confidence, perfect respect. I refuse to take -from you a smaller thing. It is easier to give you up than to face that -thought.”</p> - -<p>“But Sonia! Darling! You have got that love! I tell you it is just the -same!”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“It cannot be,” she said. “You would feel that what had been once might -be again. You could never feel secure for even one moment. I could not -bear it. You must remember what I felt in that one embrace. Oh, Harold, -I <i>want</i> you to remember that! And now you must let me go.”</p> - -<p>“Go?” he said. “Where should you go, but here to me—to your right -place, your home, your husband?”</p> - -<p>At this last word she gave a sharp cry. She had been standing -unsupported, and now a sudden trembling seized her, and she half -tottered toward a chair. In an instant he was at her side, his arms -about her, fast and sure. It was too sweet, this strong and tender -holding up of her weak body. She let it be, but she was motionless and -wordless in his arms.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My own child,” he said, “there can be no question as to our future now. -It was all a mistake—the past! If we acknowledge it—”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the past, the past!” she said. “I can never get away from it. We -have lost two years. No matter if we had the whole future of time and -eternity, we could never get those back—and it was I that did it! It is -good of you to say that you forgive me; but I—oh, I never can forgive -myself! You never can believe in me again. I dare not ask or look for -it. I don’t deserve it. You would be wrong and foolish if you did.”</p> - -<p>“Then wrong and foolish I will be!” he said. “I will believe in you -again and again, forever! You have forgotten something, Sonia. There is -no question of judgment between you and me, because you are myself. Do -you not feel that that is so?”</p> - -<p>She did not answer, and he said again, in that compelling tone she knew -so well:</p> - -<p>“Do you not feel it so, my wife?”</p> - -<p>She raised to his, unswervingly, eyes that were clear as stars after -their recent tears. She unveiled her soul to him as daringly as she had -done yesterday, and the message that they gave him was the -same—abundant, free, unstinted love, without reserve or fear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<p>He drew her quickly closer, still holding her eyes with his.</p> - -<p>“Speak! Tell me!” he said.</p> - -<p>Then voice and look together spoke:</p> - -<p>“I love you, Harold—my husband!”</p> - -<p>He took the dear words from her lips with his.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Afterward</span>, when they were seated together on the model-throne, they were -startled by a timid little tinkling, and as they both with a sense of -compunction called to Inkling to come, and he sprang up between them -quivering with joy, and making frantic efforts to lick both their faces -at once, their laughs and struggles made such a commotion that they did -not hear the door open, admitting Martha.</p> - -<p>She half crossed the room, and then stood still, transfixed with -amazement, till they drew her down between them and told her everything.</p> - -<p> </p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">So</span> you are not a princess, after all!” said Martha.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes I am,” Sonia answered quickly. “I’m ‘The Happy Princess’—and -this is my Prince!”</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Princess Sonia, by Julia Magruder - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRINCESS SONIA *** - -***** This file should be named 62637-h.htm or 62637-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/6/3/62637/ - -Produced by D A Alexander, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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