The King in Yellow.............................................................................................................................................1

"Along the shore the cloud waves breaks, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen ........................................

Strange is the night where black stars rise, And strange moons circle through the skies, But stranger still is ..................................

Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flap the tatters of the King, Must die unheard in ....................................

Song of my soul, my voice is dead, Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in ...................................

Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que la n�tre ... Voil� toute la differ�nce.

TOWARD THE END of the year 1920 the Government of the United States had practically completed the

programme, adopted during the last months of President Winthrop's administration. The country was

apparently tranquil. Everybody knows how the Tariff and Labor questions were settled. The war with

Germany, incident on that country's seizure of the Samoan Islands, had left no visible scars upon the republic,

and the temporary occupation of Norfolk by the invading army had been forgotten in the joy over repeated

naval victories and the subsequent ridiculous plight of General Von Gartenlaube's forces in the State of New

Jersey. The Cuban and Hawaiian investments had paid one hundred per cent. and the territory of Samoa was

well worth its cost as a coaling station. The country was in a superb state of defence. Every coast city had

been supplied with land fortifications; the army under the parental eye of the General Staff, organized

according to the Prussian system, had been increased to 300,000 men with a territorial reserve of a million;

and six magnificent squadrons of cruisers and battleships patrolled the six stations of the navigable seas,

leaving a steam reserve amply fitted to control home waters. The gentlemen from the West had at least been

constrained to acknowledge that a college for the training of diplomats was as necessary as law schools are

for the training of barristers. Consequently we were no longer represented abroad by incompetent patriots.

The nation was prosperous. Chicago, for a moment paralyzed after a second great fire, had risen from it ruins,

white and imperial, and more beautiful than the white city which had been built for its plaything in 1893.

Everywhere good architecture was replacing bad and even in New York, a sudden craving for decency had

swept away a great portion of the existing horrors. Streets had been widened, properly paved and lighted,

trees had been planted, squares laid out, elevated structures demolished and underground roads built to

replace them. The new government buildings and barracks were fine bits of architecture, and the long system

of stone quays which completely surrounded the island had been turned into parks which proved a godsend to

the population. The subsidizing of the state theatre and state opera brought its own reward. The United States

National Academy of Design was much like European institutions of the same kind. Nobody envied the

Secretary of Fine Arts, either his cabinet position or his portfolio. The Secretary of Forestry and Game

Preservation had a much easier time, thanks to the new system of National Mounted Police. We had profited

well by the latest treaties with France and England; the exclusion of foreign born Jews as a measure of nation

selfpreservation, the settlement of the new independent negro state of Suanee, the checking of immigration,

the new laws concerning naturalization, and the gradual centralization of power in the executive all

contributed to national calm and prosperity. When the Government solved the Indian problem and squadrons

of Indian cavalry scouts in native costume were substituted for the pitiable organizations tacked on to the tail

of skeletonized regiments by a former Secretary of War, the nation drew a long sigh of relief. When, after the

colossal Congress of Religions, bigotry and intolerance were laid in their graves and kindness and charity

began to draw warring sects together, many thought the millennium had arrived, at least in the new world,

But selfpreservation is the first law, and the United States had to look on in helpless sorrow as Germany,

Italy, Spain and Belgium writhed in the throes of Anarchy, while Russia, watching from the Caucasus,

In the city of New York the summer of 1899 was signalized by the dismantling of the Elevated Railroads.

The summer of 1900 will live in the memories of New York people for many a cycle; the Dodge Statue was

removed in that year. In the following winter began that agitation for the repeal of the laws prohibiting

suicide which bore its final fruit in the month of April, 1920, when the first Government Lethal Chamber was

I had walked down that day from Dr. Archer's house on Madison Avenue, where I had been as a mere

formality. Ever since that fall from my horse, four years before, I had been troubled at times with pains in the

back of my head and neck, but now for months they had been absent, and the doctor sent me away that day

saying there was nothing more to be cured in me. It was hardly worth his fee to be told that; I knew it myself.

Still I did not grudge him the money. What I minded was the mistake which he made at first. When they

picked me up from the pavement where I lay unconscious, and somebody had mercifully sent a bullet through

my horse's head, I was carried to Doctor Archer, and he, pronouncing my brain affected, placed me in his

private asylum where I was obliged to endure treatment for insanity. At last he decided that I was well, and I,

knowing that my mind had always been as sound as his, if not sounder, "paid my tuition" as he jokingly

called it, and left. I told him, smiling, that I would get even with him for his mistake, and he laughed heartily,

and asked me to call once in a while. I did so, hoping for a chance to even up accounts, but he gave me none,

The fall from my horse had fortunately left no evil results; on the contrary it had changed my whole character

for the better. From a lazy young man about town, I had become active, energetic, temperate, and above

alloh, above all elseambitious. There was only one thing which troubled me, I laughed at my own

During my convalescence I had bought and read for the first time, "The King in Yellow." I remember after

finishing the first act that it occurred to me that I had better stop. I started up and flung the book into the

fireplace; the volume struck the barred grate and fell open on the hearth in the firelight. If I had not caught

a glimpse of the opening words in the second act I should never have finished it, but as I stooped to pick it

up, my eyes became riveted to the open page, and with a cry of terror, or perhaps it was of joy so poignant

that I suffered in every nerve, I snatched the thing out of the coals and crept shaking to my bedroom, where I

read it and reread it, and wept and laughed and trembled with a horror which at times assails me yet. This is

the thing that troubles me, for I cannot forget Carcosa where black stars hand in the heavens; where the

shadows of men's thoughts lengthen in the afternoon, where the twin suns sink into the Lake of Hali; and my

mind will bear forever the memory of the Pallid Mask. I pray God will curse the writer, as the writer has

cursed the world with this beautiful, stupendous creation, terrible in its simplicity, irresistible in its trutha

world which now trembles before the King in Yellow. When the French Government seized the translated

copies which had just arrived in Paris, London, of course, became eager to read it. It is well known how the

book spread like infectious disease, from city to city, from continent to continent, barred here, confiscated

there, denounced by press and pulpit, censured even by the most advanced of literary anarchists. No definite

principles had been violated in those wicked pages, no doctrine promulgated, no convictions outraged. It

could not be judged by any known standard, yet, although it was acknowledged that the supreme note of art

had been struck in "The King in Yellow," all felt that human nature could not bear the strain, nor thrive on

words in which the essence of purest poison lurked. The very banality and innocence of the first act only

It was, I remember, the 13th day of April, 1920, that the first Government Lethal Chamber was established on

the south side of Washington Square, between Wooster Street and South Fifth Avenue. The block which had

formerly consisted of a lot of shabby old buildings, used as caf�s and restaurants for foreigners, had been

acquired by the Government in the winter to 1898. The French and Italian caf�s and restaurants were torn

down; the whole block was enclosed by a gilded iron railing, and converted into a lovely garden with lawns,

flowers and fountains. In the centre of the garden stood a small, white building, severely classical in

architecture, and surrounded by thickets of flowers. Six Ionic columns supported the roof, and the single door

was of bronze. A splendid marble group of "The Fates" stood before the door, the work of a young American

The inauguration ceremonies were in progress as I crossed University Place and entered the square. I

threaded my way through the silent throng of spectators, but was stopped at Fourth Street by a cordon of

police. A regiment of United States lancers were drawn up in a hollow square around the Lethal Chamber. On

a raised tribune facing Washington Park stood the Governor of New York, and behind him were grouped the

Mayor of New York and Brooklyn, the InspectorGeneral of Police, the Commandant of the state troops,

Colonel Livingston, military aid to the President of the United States, General Blount, commanding at

Governor's Island, MajorGeneral Hamilton, commanding the garrison of New York and Brooklyn, Admiral

Buffby of the fleet in the North River, Surgeon General Lanceford, the staff of the National Free Hospital,

senators Wyse and Franklin of New York, and the Commissioner of Public Works. The tribune was

The Governor was finishing his reply to the short speech of the SurgeonGeneral. I heard him say: "The laws

prohibiting suicide and providing punishment for any attempt at selfdestruction have been repealed. The

Government has seen fit to acknowledge the right of man to end an existence which may have become

intolerable to him, through physical suffering or mental despair. It is believed that the community will be

benefited by the removal of such people from their midst. Since the passage of this law, the number of

suicides in the United States has not increased. Now that the Government has determined to establish a Lethal

Chamber in every city, town and village in the country, it remains to be seen whether or not that class of

human creatures from whose desponding ranks new victims of selfdestruction fall daily will accept the

relief thus provided." He paused, and turned to the white Lethal Chamber. The silence in the street was

absolute. "There a painless death awaits him who can no longer bear the sorrows of this life. If death is

welcome let him seek it there." Then quickly turning to the military aid of the President's household, he said,

"I declare the Lethal Chamber open," and again facing the vast crowd he cried in a clear voice: "Citizens of

New York and of the United States of America, through me the Government declares the Lethal Chamber to

The solemn hush was broken by a sharp cry of command, the squadron of hussars filed after the Governor's

carriage, the lancers wheeled and formed along Fifth Avenue to wait for the commandant of the garrison, and

the mounted police followed them. I left the crowd to gape and stare at the white marble Death Chamber,

and, crossing South Fifth Avenue, walked along the western side of that thoroughfare to Bleecker Street.

I glanced into the doorway and saw Hawberk busy in his little shop at the end of the hall. He looked up at the

same moment, and catching sight of me cried in his deep, hearty voice, "Come in, Mr. Castaigne!"

Constance, his daughter, rose to meet me as I crossed the threshold, and help out her pretty hand, but I saw

the blush of disappointment on her cheeks, and knew that it was another Castaigne she had expected, my

Cousin Louis. I smiled at her confusion and complimented her on the banner which she was embroidering

from a colored plate. Old Hawberk sat riveting the worn greaves of some ancient suit of armor, and the ting!

ting! of his little hammer sounded pleasantly in the quaint shop. Presently he dropped his hammer, and fussed

about for a moment with a tiny wrench. The soft clash of the mail sent a thrill of pleasure through me. I loved

to hear the music of steel brushing against steel, the mellow shock of the mallet on thigh pieces, and the

jungle of chain armor. That was the only reason I went to see Hawberk. He had never interested me

personally, nor did Constance, except for the fact of her being in love with Louis. This did occupy my

attention, and sometimes even kept me awake at night. But I knew in my heart that all would come right, and

that I should arrange their future as I expected to arrange that of my kind doctor, John Archer. However, I

should never have troubled myself about visiting them just then, had it not been, as I say, that the music of

the tinkling hammer had for me this strong fascination. I would sit for hours, listening and listening, and

when a stray sunbeam struck the inlaid steel, the sensation it gave me was almost too keen to endure. My

eyes would become fixed, dilating with a pleasure that stretched every nerve almost to breaking, until some

movement of the old armorer cut off the ray of sunlight, then, still thrilling secretly, I leaned back and

listened again to the sound of the polishing rag, swish! swish! rubbing rust from the rivets.

Constance worked with the embroidery over her knees, now and then pausing to examine more closely the

Hawberk explained, that in addition to the treasures of armor in the Metropolitan Museum of which he had

been appointed armorer, he also had charge of several collections belonging to rich amateurs. This was the

missing greave of a famous suit which a client of his had traced to a little shop in Paris on the Quai d'Orsay.

He, Hawberk, had negotiated for and secured the greave, and now the suit was complete. He laid down his

hammer and read me the history of the suit, traced since 1450 from owner to owner until it was acquired by

Thomas Stainbridge. When his superb collection was sold, this client of Hawberk's bought the suit, and since

then the search for the missing greave had been pushed until it was, almost by accident, located in Paris.

"Did you continue the search so persistently without any certainty of the greave being still in existence?" I

Constance asked me if I had seen the ceremonies at the Lethal Chamber. She herself had noticed cavalry

passing up Broadway that morning, and had wished to see the inauguration, but her father wanted the banner

"Did you see your cousin, Mr. Castaigne, there?" she asked, with the slightest tremor of her soft eyelashes.

"No," I replied carelessly. "Louis' regiment is manoeuvreing out in Westchester County." I rose and picked

"Are you going upstairs to see the lunatic again?" laughed old Hawberk. If Hawberk knew how I loathe that

word "lunatic," he would never use it in my presence. It roused certain feelings within me which I do not care

"Poor fellow," said Constance, with a shake of her head, "it must be hard to live alone year after year, poor,

crippled and almost demented. It is very good of you, Mr. Castaigne, to visit him as often as you do."

"I think he is vicious," observed Hawberk, beginning again with his hammer. I listened to the golden tinkle

"No, he is not vicious, nor is he in the least demented. His mind is a wonder chamber, from which he can

I continued a little impatiently: "He knows history as not one else could know it. Nothing, however trivial,

escapes his search, and his memory is so absolute, so precise in details, that were it known in New York that

"Is it nonsense," I asked, managing to suppress what I felt, "is it nonsense when he says that the tassets and

cuissards of the enamelled suit of armor commonly known as the 'Prince's Emblazoned' can be found among

the mass of rusty theatrical properties, broken stoves and ragpicker's refuse in a garret in Pell Street?"

Hawberk's hammer fell to the ground, but he picked it up and asked, with a great deal of calm, how I knew

"I did not know until Mr. Wilde mentioned it to me the other day. He said they were in the garret of 998 Pell

"Nonsense," he cried, but I noticed his hand trembling under his leathern apron.

"Is this nonsense too?" I asked pleasantly, "is it nonsense when Mr. Wilde continually speaks of you as the

I did not finish, for Constance had started to her feet with terror written on every feature. Hawberk looked at

me and slowly smoothed his leathern apron. "That is impossible," he observed, "Mr. Wilde may know a great

"About armor, for instance, and the 'Prince's Emblazoned,'" I interposed, smiling.

"Yes," he continued, slowly, "about armor alsomay bebut he is wrong in regard to the Marquis of

Avonshire, who, as you know, killed his wife's traducer years ago, and went to Australia where he did not

"Mr. Wilde is wrong," murmured Constance. Her lips were blanched but her voice was sweet and calm.

"Let us agree, if you please, that in this one circumstance Mr. Wilde is wrong," I said.

I climbed the three dilapidated flights of stairs, which I had so often climbed before, and knocked at a small

When he had doublelocked the door and pushed a heavy chest against it, he came and sat down beside me,

peering up into my face with his little lightcolored eyes. Half a dozen new scratches covered his nose and

cheeks, and the silver wires which supported his artificial ears had become displaced. I thought I had never

seen him so hideously fascinating. He had no ears. The artificial ones, which now stood out at an angle from

the fine wire, were his one weakness. They were made of wax and painted a shell pink, but the rest of his face

was yellow. He might better have revelled in the luxury of some artificial fingers for his left hand, which was

absolutely fingerless, but it seemed to cause him no inconvenience, and he was satisfied with his wax ears.

He was very small, scarcely higher than a child of ten, but his arms were magnificently developed, and his

thighs as thick as an athlete's. Still, the most remarkable thing about Mr. Wilde was that a man of his

marvellous intelligence and knowledge should have such a head. It was flat and pointed, like the heads of

many of those unfortunates whom people imprison in asylums for the weakminded. Many called him insane

I do not deny that he was eccentric; the mania he had for keeping that cat and teasing her until she flew at his

face like a demon, was certainly eccentric. I never could understand why he kept the creature, nor what

pleasure he found in shutting himself up in his room with the surly, vicious beast. I remember once, glancing

up from the manuscript I was studying by the light of some tallow dips, and seeing Mr. Wilde squatting

motionless on his high chair, his eyes fairly blazing with excitement, while the cat, which had risen from her

place before the stove, came creeping across the floor right at him. Before I could move she flattened her

belly to the ground, crouched, trembled, and sprang into his face. Howling and foaming they rolled over and

over on the floor, scratching and clawing, until the cat screamed and fled under the cabinet, and Mr. Wilde

turned over on his back, his limbs contracting and curling up like the legs of a dying spider. He was eccentric.

Mr. Wilde had climbed into his high chair, and, after studying my face, picked up a dog'seared ledger and

"Henry B. Matthews," he read, "bookkeeper with Whysot Whysot and Company, dealers in church

ornaments. Called April 3d. Reputation damaged on the racetrack. Known as a welcher. Reputation to be

repaired by August 1st. Retainer Five Dollars." He turned the page and ran his fingerless knuckles down the

"P. Greene Dusenberry, Minister of the Gospel, Fairbeach, New Jersey. Reputation damaged in the Bowery.

"Mrs. C. Hamilton Chester, of Chester Park, New York City. Called April 7th. Reputation damaged at

"NoteC. Hamilton Chester, Captain U.S.S. 'Avalanche,' ordered home from South Seas Squadron October

His colorless eyes sought mine. "I only wanted to demonstrate that I was correct. You said it was impossible

to succeed as a Repairer of Reputations; that even if I did succeed in certain cases it would cost me more than

I would gain by it. Today I have five hundred men in my employ, who are poorly paid, but who pursue the

work with an enthusiasm which possibly may be born of fear. These men enter every shade and grade of

society; some even are pillars of the most exclusive social temples; others are the prop and pride of the

financial world; still others, hold undisputed sway among the 'Fancy and the Talent.' I choose them at my

leisure from those who reply to my advertisements. It is easy enough, they are all cowards. I could treble the

number in twenty days if I wished. So you see, those who have in their keeping the reputations of their

He rubbed his thumb over his cropped ears, and adjusted the wax substitutes. "I think not," he murmured

thoughtfully, "I seldom have to apply the whip, and then only once. Besides they like their wages."

His face for a moment was awful to look upon. His eyes dwindled to a pair of green sparks.

"I invite them to come and have a little chat with me," he said in a soft voice.

A knock at the door interrupted him, and his face resumed its amiable expression.

"Impossible," began the other, but was silenced by a sort of bark from Mr. Wilde.

He drummed on the ledger with his fingerless hand adding: "I pay him very badly, but he thinks it a good

The cat, which had entered the room as he spoke, hesitated, looked up at him and snarled. He climbed down

from the chair and squatting on the floor, took the creature into his arms and caressed her. The cat ceased

snarling and presently began a loud purring which seemed to increase in timber as he stroked her.

"Where are the notes?" I asked. He pointed to the table, and for the hundredth time I picked up the bundle of

One by one I studied the wellworn pages, worn only by my own handling, and although I knew all by heart,

from the beginning, "When from Carcosa, the Hyades, Hastur, and Aldebaran," to "Castaigne, Louis de

Calvados, born December 19th, 1877," I read it with an eager rapt attention, pausing to repeat parts of it

aloud, and dwelling especially on "Hildred de Calvados, first in succession," etc., etc.

"Speaking of your legitimate ambition," he said, "how do Constance and Louis get along?"

The cat on his knee suddenly turned and struck at his eyes, and he flung her off and climbed on to the chair

"And Doctor Archer! But that's a matter you can settle any time you wish," he added.

"Yes," I replied, "Doctor Archer can wait, but it is time I saw my cousin Louis."

"It is time," he repeated. Then he took another ledger from the table and ran over the leaves rapidly.

"We are now in communication with ten thousand men," he muttered. "We can count on one hundred

thousand within the first twentyeight hours, and in fortyeight hours the state will rise en masse. The

country follows the state, and the portion that will not, I mean California and the Northwest, might better

"The ambition of C�sar and of Napoleon pales before that which could not rest until it had seized the minds

Mr. Wilde sat rubbing his ears with his crippled hand. "Perhaps Constance does not love him," he suggested.

I started to reply, but a sudden burst of military music from the street below drowned my voice. The twentieth

dragoon regiment, formerly in garrison at Mount St. Vincent, was returning from the manoeuvres in

Westchester County, to its new barracks on East Washington Square. It was my cousin's regiment. They were

a fine lot of fellows, in their paleblue, tightfitting jackets, jaunty busbys and white riding breeches with the

double yellow stripe, into which their limbs seemed molded. Every other squadron was armed with lances,

from the metal points of which fluttered yellow and white pennons. The band passed, playing the regimental

march, then came the colonel and staff, the horses crowding and trampling, while their heads bobbed in

unison, and the pennons fluttered from their lance points. The troopers, who rode with the beautiful English

seat, looked brown as berries from their bloodless campaign among the farms of Westchester, and the music

of their sabres against the stirrups, and the jingle of spurs and carbines was delightful to me. I saw Louis

riding with his squadron. He was as handsome an officer as I have ever seen. Mr. Wilde, who had mounted a

chair by the window, saw him too, but said nothing. Louis turned and looked straight at Hawberk's shop as he

passed, and I could see the flush on his brown cheeks. I think Constance must have been at the window.

When the troopers had clattered by, and the last pennons vanished into South 5th Avenue, Mr. Wilde

He unlocked the door and I picked up my hat and stick and stepped into the corridor. The stairs were dark.

Groping about, I set my foot on something soft, which snarled and spit, and I aimed a murderous blow at the

cat, but my cane shivered to splinters against the balustrade, and the beast scurried back into Mr. Wilde's

Passing Hawberk's door again I saw him still at work on the armor, but I did not stop, and stepping out into

Bleecker Street, I followed it to Wooster, skirted the grounds of the Lethal Chamber, and crossing

Washington Park went straight to my rooms in the Benedick. Here I lunched comfortably, read the Herald

and the Meteor, and finally went to the steel safe in my bedroom and set the time combination. The three and

threequarter minutes which it is necessary to wait, while the time lock is opening, are to me golden

moments. From the instant I set the combinations to the moment when I grasp the knobs and swing back the

solid steel doors, I live in an ecstasy of expectation. Those moments must be like moments passed in

Paradise. I know what I am to find at the end of the time limit. I know what the massive safe holds secure for

me, for me alone, and the exquisite pleasure of waiting is hardly enhanced when the safe opens and I lift,

from its velvet crown, a diadem of purest gold, blazing with diamonds. I do this every day, and yet the joy of

waiting and at last touching again the diadem, only seems to increase as the days pass. It is a diadem fit for a

King among kings, an Emperor among emperors. The King in Yellow might scorn it, but it shall be worn by

I held it in my arms until the alarm on the safe rang harshly, and then tenderly, proudly, I replaced it and shut

the steel doors. I walked slowly back into my study, which faces Washington Square, and leaned on the

windowsill. The afternoon sun poured into my windows, and a gentle breeze stirred the branches of the elms

and maples in the park, now covered with buds and tender foliage. A flock of pigeons circled about the tower

of the Memorial Church; sometimes alighting on the purple tiled roof, sometimes wheeling downward to the

lotos fountain in front of the marble arch. The gardeners were busy with the flower beds around the fountain,

and the freshlyturned earth smelled sweet and spicy. A lawn mower, drawn by a fat white horse, clinked

across the green sward, and watering carts poured showers of spray over the asphalt drives. Around the statue

of Peter Stuyvesant, which in 1897 had replaced the monstrosity supposed to represent Garibaldi, children

played in the spring sunshine, and nurse girls wheeled elaborate babycarriages with a reckless disregard for

the pastyfaced occupants, which could probably be explained by the presence of half a dozen trim dragoon

troopers languidly lolling on the benches. Through the trees, the Washington Memorial Arch glistened like

silver in the sunshine, and beyond, on the eastern extremity of the square the gray stone barracks of the

dragoons, and the white granite artillery stables were alive with color and motion.

I looked at the Lethal Chamber on the corner of the square opposite. A few curious people still lingered about

the gilded iron railing, but inside the grounds the paths were deserted. I watched the fountains ripple and

sparkle; the sparrows had already found this new bathing nook, and the basins were crowded with the

dustyfeathered little things. Two or three peacocks picked their way across the lawns, and a drabcolored

pigeon sat so motionless on the arm of one of the Fates, that it seemed to be a part of the sculptured stone.

As I was turning carelessly away, a slight commotion in the group of curious loiters around the gates attracted

my attention. A young man had entered, and was advancing with nervous strides along the gravel path which

leads to the bronze doors of the Lethal Chamber. He paused a moment before the Fates, and as he raised his

head to those three mysterious faces, the pigeon rose from its sculptured perch, circled about for a few

moments and flew to the east. The young man pressed his hands to his face, and then with an undefinable

gesture sprang up the marble steps, the bronze doors closed behind him, and half an hour later the loiterers

slouched away, and the frightened pigeon returned to its perch in the arms of Fate.

I put on my hat and went out into the park for a little walk before dinner. As I crossed the central driveway a

group of officers passed, and one of them called out, "Hello, Hildred," and came back to shake hands with

me. It was my Cousin Louis, who stood smiling and tapping his spurred heels with his ridingwhip.

"Just back from Westchester," he said; "been doing the bucolic; milk and curds, you know, dairymaids in

sunbonnets, who say 'haeow' and 'I don't think' when you tell them they are pretty. I'm nearly dead for a

"There is none," I replied pleasantly. "I saw you regiment coming in this morning."

"Oh, hell!" he began impatiently, "that man is stark mad! I don't understand why you"

"Really, old chap," he said, "I don't mean to run down a man you like, but for the life of me I can't see what

the deuce you find in common with Mr. Wilde. He's not wellbred, to put it generously; he's hideously

deformed; his head is the head of a criminally insane person. You know yourself he's been in an asylum"

Louis looked startled and confused for a moment, but recovered and slapped me heartily on the shoulder.

I disliked his laugh because I knew it was forced, but I nodded gaily and asked him where he was going.

"We had intended to sample a Brunswick cocktail, but to tell you the truth I was anxious for an excuse to go

We found Hawberk, neatly attired in a fresh spring suit, standing at the door of his shop and sniffing the air.

"I had just decided to take Constance for a little stroll before dinner," he replied to the impetuous volley of

questions from Louis. "We thought of walking on the park terrace along the North River."

At that moment Constance appeared and grew pale and rosy by turns as Louis bent over her small gloved

fingers. I tried to excuse myself, alleging an engagement uptown, but Louis and Constance would not listen,

and I saw I was expected to remain and engage old Hawberk's attention. After all it would be just as well if I

kept my eye on Louis, I thought, and when they hailed a Spring Street horsecar, I got in after them and took

The beautiful line of parks and granite terraces overlooking the wharves along the North River, which were

built in 1910 and finished in the autumn of 1917, had become one of the most popular promenades in the

metropolis. They extended from the battery to 190th Street, overlooking the noble river and affording a fine

view of the Jersey shore and the Highlands opposite. Caf�s and restaurants were scattered here and there

among the trees, and twice a week military bands from the garrison played in the kiosques on the parapets.

We sat down in the sunshine on the bench at the foot of the equestrian statue of General Sheridan. Constance

tipped her sunshade to shield her eyes, and she and Louis began to murmuring conversation which was

impossible to catch. Old Hawberk, leaning on his ivoryheaded cane, lighted an excellent cigar, the mate to

which I politely refused, and smiled at vacancy. The sun hung low above the Staten Island woods, and the

bay was dyed with golden hues reflected from the sunwarmed sails of the shipping in the harbor.

Brigs, schooners, yachts, clumsy ferryboats, their decks swarming with people, railroad transports carrying

lines of brown, blue and white freight cars, stately sound steamers, declass� tramp steamers, coasters,

dredgers, scows, and everywhere pervading the entire bay impudent little tugs puffing and whistling

officiously; these were the crafts which churned the sunlit waters as far as the eye could reach. In calm

contrast to the hurry of sailing vessel and steamer a silent fleet of white warships lay motionless in

Then Louis told us what the vessels were, pointing out each by its relative position to the old Red Fort on

"That little cigarshaped thing is a torpedo boat," he explained; "there are four more lying close together.

They are the 'Tarpon,' the 'Falcon,' and 'Sea Fox' and the 'Octopus.' The gunboats just above are the

'Princeton,' the 'Champlain,' the 'Still Water' and the 'Erie.' Next to them lie the cruiser "Farragut' and 'Los

Angeles,' and above them the battleships 'California' and 'Dakota,' and the 'Washington' which is the

flagship. Those two squattylooking chunks of metal which are anchored there off Castle William are the

doubleturreted monitors 'Terrible' and 'Magnificent'; behind them lies the ram, 'Osceola.'"

Constance looked at him with deep approval in her beautiful eyes. "What loads of things you know for a

Presently, Louis rose with a nod to us and offered his arm to Constance, and they strolled away along the

"Mr. Wilde was right," he said. "I have found the missing tassets and left cuissard of the 'Prince's

"I want to give him the credit of this most important discovery," continued Hawberk. "And I intend it shall be

"He won't thank you for that," I answered sharply; "please say nothing about it."

"It is valued at five hundred, but the owner of the 'Prince's Emblazoned' will give two thousand dollars to the

"He doesn't want it! He refuses it!" I answered angrily. "What do you know about Mr. Wilde? He doesn't

need the money. He is richor will bericher than any living man except myself. What will we care for

He looked at me narrowly, much as Doctor Archer used to, and I knew he thought I was mentally unsound.

Perhaps it was fortunate for him that he did not use the word lunatic just them.

"No," I replied to his unspoken thought, "I am not mentally weak; my mind is as healthy as Mr. Wilde's. I do

not care to explain just yet what I have on hand, but it is an investment which will pay more than mere gold,

silver and precious stones. It will secure the happiness and prosperity of a continentyes, a hemisphere!"

"And eventually," I continued more quietly, "it will secure the happiness of the whole world."

He looked at me in silence for a while and then said very gently, "Why don't you give up your books and

studies, Mr. Castaigne, and take a tramp among the mountains somewhere or other? You used to be fond of

"I don't care for fishing any more," I answered, without a shade of annoyance in my voice.

"You used to be fond of everything," he continued; "athletics, yachting, shooting, riding"

I thought this nonsense had gone far enough, so I turned the conversation back to Mr. Wilde; but he was

"Mr. Wilde," he repeated, "do you know what he did this afternoon? He came downstairs and nailed a sign

Louis and Constance came strolling by and stopped to ask if we would join them. Hawberk looked at his

watch. At the same moment a puff of smoke shot from the casements of Castle William, and the boom of the

sunset gun rolled across the water and was reechoed from the Highlands opposite. The flag came running

down from the flagpole, the bugles sounded on the white decks of the warships, and the first electric light

As I turned into the city with Hawberk I heard Constance murmur something to Louis which I did not

understand; but Louis whispered "My darling," in reply; and again, walking ahead with Hawberk through the

square I heard a murmur of "sweetheart," and "my own Constance," and I knew the time had nearly arrived

One morning early in May I stood before the steel safe in my bedroom, trying on the golden jewelled crown.

The diamonds flashed fire as I turned to the mirror, and the heavy beaten gold burned like a halo about my

head. I remembered Camilla's agonized scream and the awful words echoing through the dim streets of

Carcosa. They were the last in the first act, and I dared not think of what followed dared not, even in the

spring sunshine, there in my own room, surrounded with familiar objects, reassured by the bustle from the

street and the voices of the servants in the hallway outside. For those poisoned words had dropped slowly

into my head, as deathsweat drops upon a bedsheet and is absorbed. Trembling, I put the diadem from my

head and wiped my forehead, but I thought of Hastur and of my own rightful ambition, and I remembered

Mr. Wilde as I had last left him, his face all torn and bloody from the claws of that devil's creature, and what

he saidah, what he said! The alarm bell in the safe began to whirr harshly, and I knew my time was up; but

I would not heed it, and replacing the flashing circlet upon my head I turned defiantly to the mirror. I stood

for a long time absorbed in the changing expression of my own eyes. The mirror reflected a face which was

like my own, but whiter, and so thin that I hardly recognized it. And all the time I kept repeating between

clenched teeth, "The day has come! the day has come!" while the alarm in the safe whirred and clamored, and

the diamonds sparkled and flamed above my brow. I heard a door open but did not heed it. It was only when I

saw two faces in the mirror;it was only when another face rose over my shoulder, and two other eyes me

mine. I wheeled like a flash and seized a long knife from my dressingtable, and my cousin sprang back very

pale, crying: "Hildred! for God's sake!' then as my hand fell, he said: "It is I, Louis, don't you know me?" I

stood silent. I could not have spoken for my life. He walked up to me and took the knife from my hand.

"Come, come, old fellow," he cried, "take off that brass crown and toddle into the study. Are you going to a

I was glad he thought the crown was made of brass and paste, yet I didn't like him any better for thinking so. I

let him take it from my hand, knowing it was best to humor him. He tossed the splendid diadem in the air,

I did not answer, but took the circlet from his hands, and placing it in the safe shut the massive steel door..

The alarm ceased its infernal din at once. He watched me curiously, but did not seem to notice the sudden

ceasing of the alarm. He did, however, speak of the safe as a biscuit box. Fearing lest he might examine the

combination I led the way into my study. Louis threw himself on the sofa and flicked at flies with his eternal

ridingwhip. He wore his fatigue uniform with the braided jacket and jaunty cap, and I noticed that his

"Jumping mud creeks in Jersey," he said. "I haven't had time to change yet; I was rather in a hurry to see you.

Haven't you got a glass of something? I'm dead tired; been in the saddle twentyfour hours."

"Damned bad stuff," he observed. "I'll give you an address where they sell brandy that is brandy."

"It's good enough for my needs," I said indifferently. "I use it to rub my chest with." He stared and flicked at

"See here, old fellow," he began, "I've got something to suggest to you. It's four years now that you've shut

yourself up here like an owl, never going anywhere, never taking any healthy exercise, never doing a damn

He glanced along the row of shelves. "Napoleon, Napoleon, Napoleon!" he read. "For heaven's sake, have

"I wish they were bound in gold," I said. "But wait, yes, there is another book, The King in Yellow." I looked

I saw he regretted his speech as soon as he had uttered it. There is only one word which I loathe more than I

do lunatic and that word is crazy. But I controlled myself and asked him why he thought "The King in

"Oh, I don't know," he said, hastily, "I only remember the excitement it created and the denunciations from

pulpit and press. I believe the author shot himself after bringing forth this monstrosity, didn't he?"

"Yes," he replied, "of 'truths' which send men frantic and blast their lives. I don't care if the thing is, as they

say, the very supreme essence of art. It's a crime to have written it, and I for one shall never open its pages."

"How did you know?" he cried, astonished. "I didn't know it myself until that evening last April, when we

"It was to have been next September, but an hour ago a dispatch came ordering our regiment to the Presidio,

San Francisco. We leave at noon tomorrow. Tomorrow," he repeated. "Just think, Hildred, tomorrow I

shall be the happiest fellow that ever drew breath in this jolly world, for Constance will go with me."

I offered him my hand in congratulation, and he seized and shook it like the goodnatured fool he wasor

"I am going to get my squadron as a wedding present," he rattled on. "Captain and Mrs. Louis Castaigne, eh,

Then he told me where it was to be and who were to be there, and made me promise to come and be best

man. I set my teeth and listened to his boyish chatter without showing what I felt, but

I was getting to the limit of my endurance, and when he jumped up, and, switching his spurs till they jingled,

"What in the name of" he began, but checked himself and laughingly assented. I watched him go down the

stairs and hurry away, his sabre banging at every stride. He turned into Bleecker Street, and I knew he was

going to see Constance. I gave him ten minutes to disappear and then followed in his footsteps, taking with

me the jewelled crown and the silken robe embroidered with the Yellow Sign. When I turned into Bleecker

I saw old Hawberk moving about in his shop and imagined I heard Constance's voice in the parlor; but I

avoided them both and hurried up the trembling stairways to Mr. Wilde's apartment. I knocked, and entered

without ceremony. Mr. Wilde lay groaning on the floor, his face covered with blood, his clothes torn to

shreds. Drops of blood were scattered about over the carpet, which had also been ripped and frayed in the

"It's the cursed cat," he said, ceasing his groans, and turning his colorless eyes to me; "she attacked me while

This was too much, so I went into the kitchen and seizing a hatchet from the pantry, started to find the

infernal beast and settle her then and there. My search was fruitless, and after a while I gave it up and came

back to find Mr. Wilde squatting on his high chair by the table. He had washed his face and changed his

clothes. The great furrows which the cat's claws had ploughed up in his face he had filled with collodion, and

a rag hid the wound on his throat. I told him I should kill the cat when I came across her, but he only shook

his head and turned to the open ledger before him. He read name after name of the people who had come to

It was useless to argue with him, so I took down the manuscript entitled Imperial Dynasty of America, for the

last time I should ever take it down in Mr. Wilde's study. I read through, thrilling and trembling with

pleasure. When I finished Mr. Wilde took the manuscript and, turning to the dark passage which leads from

his study to his bedchamber, called out in a loud voice, "Vance." Then for the first time, I noticed a man

crouching there in the shadow. How I had overlooked him during my search for the cat, I cannot imagine.

The figure rose and crept toward us, and I shall never forget the face that he raised to mine, as the light from

"Vance, this is Mr. Castaigne," said Mr. Wilde. Before he had finished speaking, the man threw himself on

the ground before the table, crying and gasping, "Oh, God! Oh, my God! Help me! Forgive meOh, Mr.

Castaigne, keep that man away. You cannot, you cannot mean it! You are differentsave me! I am broken

downI was in a madhouse and nowwhen all was coming rightwhen I had forgotten the Kingthe

His voice died in a choking rattle, for Mr. Wilde had leapt on his and his right hand encircled the man's

throat. When Vance fell in a heap on the floor, Mr. Wilde clambered nimbly into his chair again, and rubbing

his mangled ears with the stump of his hand, turned to me and asked me for the ledger. I reached it down

from the shelf and he opened it. After a moment's searching among the beautifully written pages, he coughed

"Vance," he read aloud, "Osgood Oswald Vance." At the sound of his voice, the man on the floor raised his

head and turned a convulsed face to Mr. Wilde. His eyes were injected with blood, his lips tumefied. "Called

April 28th," continued Mr. Wilde. "Occupation, cashier in the Seaforth National Bank; has served a term of

forgery at Sing Sing, from whence he was transferred to the Asylum for the Criminal Insane. Pardoned by the

Governor of New York, and discharged from the Asylum, January 19, 1918. Reputation damaged at

Sheepshead Bay. Rumors that he lives beyond his income. Reputation to be repaired at once. Retainer $1,500.

"NoteHas embezzled sums amounting to $30,000 since March 20th, 1919, excellent family, and secured

"Get up, Vance," said Mr. Wilde in a gentle voice. Vance rose as if hypnotized. "He will do as we suggest

now," observed Mr. Wilde, and opening the manuscript, he read the entire history of the Imperial Dynasty of

America. Then in a kind and soothing murmur he ran over the important points with Vance, who stood like

one stunned. His eyes were so blank and vacant that I imagined he had become halfwitted, and remarked it

to Mr. Wilde who replied that it was of no consequence anyway. Very patiently we pointed out to Vance

what his share in the affair would be, and he seemed to understand after a while. Mr. Wilde explained the

manuscript, using several volumes on Heraldry, to substantiate the result of his researches. He mentioned the

establishment of the Dynasty in Carcosa, the lakes which connected Hastur, Aldebaran and the mystery of the

Hyades. He spoke of Cassilda and Camilla, and sounded the cloudy depths of Demhe, and the Lake of Hali.

"The scolloped tatters of the King in Yellow must hide Yhtill forever," he muttered, but I do not believe

Vance heard him. Then by degrees he led Vance along the ramifications of the Imperial family, to Uoht and

Thale, from Naotalba and Phantom of Truth, to Aldones, and then tossing aside his manuscripts and notes, he

began the wonderful story of the Last King. Fascinated and thrilled I watched him. He threw up his head, his

long arms were stretched out in a magnificent gesture of pride and power, and his eyes blazed deep in their

sockets like two emeralds. Vance listened stupefied. As for me, when at last Mr. Wilde had finished, and

Controlling myself with a superhuman effort, I explained to Vance why I alone was worthy of the crown and

why my cousin must be exiled or die. I made him understand that my cousin must never marry, even after

renouncing all his claims, and how that least of all he should marry the daughter of the Marquis of Avonshire

and bring England into the question. I showed him a list of thousands of names which Mr. Wilde had drawn

up; every man whose name was there had received the Yellow Sign which no living human dared disregard.

The city, the state, the whole land, were ready to rise and tremble before the Pallid Mask.

The time had come, the people should know the son of Hastur, and the whole world bow to the Black Stars

Vance leaned on the table, his head buried in his hands. Mr. Wilde drew a rough sketch on the margin of

yesterday's Herald with a bit of lead pencil. It was a plan of Hawberk's rooms. Then he wrote out the order

and affixed the seal, and shaking like a palsied man I signed my first writ of execution with my name

Mr. Wilde clambered to the floor and unlocking the cabinet, took a long square box from the first shelf. This

he brought to the table and opened. A new knife lay in the tissue paper inside and I picked it up and handed it

to Vance, along with the order and the plan of Hawberk's apartment. Then Mr. Wilde told Vance he could go;

I sat for a while watching the daylight fade behind the square tower of the Judson Memorial Church, and

finally, gathering up the manuscript and notes, took my hat and started for the door.

Mr. Wilde watched me in silence. When I had stepped into the hall I looked back. Mr. Wilde's small eyes

were still fixed on me. Behind him, the shadows gathered in the fading light. Then I closed to door behind me

I had eaten nothing since breakfast, but I was not hungry. A wretched halfstarved creature, who stood

looking across the street at the Lethal Chamber, noticed me and came up to tell me a tale of misery. I gave

him money, I don't know why, and he went away without thanking me. An hour later another outcast

approached and whined his story. I had a blank bit of paper in my pocket, on which was traced the Yellow

Sign and I handed it to him. He looked at it stupidly for a moment, and then with an uncertain glance at me,

The electric lights were sparkling among the trees, and the new moon shone in the sky above the Lethal

Chamber. It was tiresome waiting in the square; I wandered from the Marble Arch to the artillery stables, and

back again to the lotos fountain. The flowers and grass exhaled a fragrance which troubled me. The jet of the

fountain played in the moonlight, and the musical splash of falling drops reminded me of the tinkle of

chained mail in Hawberk's shop. But it was not so fascinating, and the dull sparkle of the moonlight on the

water brought no such sensations of exquisite pleasure, as when the sunshine played over the polished steel of

a corselet on Hawberk's knee. I watched the bats darting and turning above the water plants in the fountain

basin, but their rapid, jerky flight set my nerves on edge, and I went away again to walk aimlessly to and fro

The artillery stables were dark, but in the cavalry barracks the officer's windows were brilliantly lighted, and

the sallyport was constantly filled with troopers in fatigues, carrying straw and harness and baskets filled with

Twice the mounted sentry at the gates was changed, while I wandered up and down the asphalt walk. I looked

at my watch. It was nearly time. The lights in the barracks went out one by one, the barred gate was closed,

and every minute or two an officer passed in through the side wicket, leaving a rattle of accoutrements and a

jungle of spurs on the night air. The square had become very silent. The last homeless loiterer had been

driven away by the graycoated park policemen, the car tracks along Wooster Street were deserted, and the

only sound which broke the stillness was the stamping of the sentry's horse and the ring of his sabre against

the saddle pommel. In the barracks, the officer's quarters were still lighted, and military servants passed the

repassed before the bay windows. Twelve o'clock sounded from the new spire of St. Francis Xavier, and at

the last stroke of the sadtoned bell a figure passed through the wicket beside the portcullis, returned the

salute of the sentry, and crossing the street entered the square and advanced toward the Benedick apartment

He rattled on about his wedding and the graces of Constance, and their future prospects, calling my attention

to his captain's shoulderstraps, and the triple gold arabesque on his sleeve and fatigue cap. I believe I

listened as much to the music of his spurs and sabre as I did to his boyish babble, and at last we stood under

the elms on the Fourth Street corner of the square opposite the Lethal Chamber. They he laughed and asked

me what I wanted with him. I motioned him to a seat on a bench under the electric light, and sat down beside

him. He looked at me curiously, with that same searching glance which I hate and fear so in doctors. I felt the

insult of his look, but he did not know it, and I carefully concealed my feelings.

I drew from my pocket the manuscript and notes of the Imperial Dynasty of America, and looking him in the

"I will tell you. On your word as a soldier, promise me to read this manuscript from beginning to end, without

asking me a question. Promise me to read these notes in the same way, and promise me to listen to what I

He began to read, raising his eyebrows with a puzzled whimsical air, which made me tremble with

suppressed anger. As he advanced his eyebrows contracted, and his lips seemed to form the word, "rubbish."

Then he looked slightly bored, but apparently for my sake read, with an attempt at interest, which presently

ceased to be to be an effort. He started when in the closely written pages he came to his own name, and when

he came to mine he lowered the paper, and looked sharply at me for a moment. But he kept his word, and

resumed his reading, and I let the halfformed question die on his lips unanswered. When he came to the end

and read the signature of Mr. Wilde, he folded the paper carefully and returned it to me. I handed him the

notes, and he settled back, pushing his fatigue cap up to his forehead, with a boyish gesture, which I

remembered so well in school. I watched his face as he read, and when he finished I took the notes with the

manuscript, and placed them in my pocket. Then I unfolded a scroll marked with the Yellow Sign. He saw

the sign, but he did not seem to recognize it, and I called his attention to it somewhat sharply.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Louis, in that flattering voice, which Doctor Archer used to employ with me, and

I kept my rage down and answered as steadily as possible, "Listen, you have engaged your word?"

"Dr. Archer, having by some means become possessed of the secret of the Imperial Succession, attempted to

deprive me of my right, alleging that because of a fall from my horse four years ago, I have become mentally

deficient. He presumed to place me under restraint in his own house in hopes of either driving me insane or

poisoning me. I have not forgotten it. I visited him last night and the interview was final."

Louis turned quite pale, but did not move. I resumed triumphantly, "There are yet three people to be

interviewed in the interests of Mr. Wilde and myself. They are my cousin Louis, Mr. Hawberk, and his

Louis sprang to his feet and I arose also, and flung the paper marked with the Yellow Sign to the ground.

"Oh, I don't need that to tell you what I have to say," I cried with a laugh of triumph. "You must renounce the

Louis looked at me with a startled air, but recovering himself said kindly, "Of course I renounce thewhat is

"Of course," he answered, "I renounce it. Come, old chap, I'll walk back to your rooms with you."

"Don't try any of your doctor's tricks on me," I cried, trembling with fury. "Don't act as if you think I am

"No," I shouted, "you must listen. You cannot marry, I forbid it. Do you hear? I forbid it. You shall renounce

He tried to calm me but I was roused at last, and drawing my long knife barred his way.

Then I told him how they would find Dr. Archer in the cellar with his throat open, and I laughed in his face

"Ah, you are the King," I cried, "but I shall be King. Who are you to keep me from Empire over all the

Louis stood white and rigid before me. Suddenly a man came running up Fourth Street, entering the gate of

the Lethal Temple, traversed the path to the bronze doors at full speed, and plunged into the death chamber

with the cry of one demented, and I laughed until I wept tears, for I had recognized Vance, and knew that

"Go," I cried to Louis, "you have ceased to be a menace. You will never marry Constance now, and if you

marry any one else in your exile, I will visit you as I did my doctor last night. Mr. Wilde takes charge of you

tomorrow." Then I turned and darted into South Fifth Avenue, and with a cry of terror Louis dropped his

belt and sabre and followed me like the wind. I heard him close behind me at the corner of Bleecker Street,

and I dashed into the doorway under Hawberk's sign. He cried, "Halt, or I fire!" but when he saw that I flew

up the stairs leaving Hawberk's shop below, he left me, and I heard him hammering and shouting at their door

Mr. Wilde's door was open, and I entered crying, "It is done, it is done! Let the nations rise and look upon

their King!" but I could not find Mr. Wilde, so I went to the cabinet and took the splendid diadem from its

case. Then I drew on the white silk robe, embroidered with the yellow sign, and placed the crown upon my

head. At last I was King, King by my right in Hastur, King because I knew the mystery of the Hyades, and

my mind had sounded the depths of the Lake of Hali. I was King! The first gray pencillings of dawn would

raise a tempest which would shake two hemispheres. Then as I stood, my every never pitched to the highest

tension, faint with the joy, and splendor of my thought, without, in the dark passage, a man groaned.

I seized the tallow dip and sprang to the door. The cat passed me like a demon, and the tallow dip went out,

but my long knife flew swifter then she, and I heard her screech, and I knew my knife had found her. For a

moment I listened to her tumbling and thumping about in the darkness, and then when her frenzy ceased, I

lighted a lamp and raised it over my head. Mr. Wilde lay on the floor with his throat torn open. At first I

thought he was dead, but as I looked, a green sparkle came into his sunken eyes, his mutilated hand trembled,

and then a spasm stretched his mouth from ear to ear. For a moment my terror and despair gave place to hope,

but as I bent over him his eyeballs rolled clean around in his head, and he died. Then while I stood, transfixed

with rage and despair, seeing my crown, my empire, every hope and every ambition, my very life, lying

prostrate there with the dead master, they came, seized me from behind, and bound me until my veins stood

out like cords, and my voice failed with the paroxysms of my frenzied screams. But I still raged, bleeding and

infuriated among them, and more than one policeman felt my sharp teeth. Then when I could no longer move

they came nearer; I saw old Hawberk, and behind him my cousin Louis' ghastly face, and farther away, in the

"Ah! I see it now!" I shrieked. "You have seized the throne and the empire. Woe! woe to you who are

[EDITOR'S NOTE. Mr. Castaigne died yesterday in the Asylum for Criminal Insane.]

ALTHOUGH I KNEW nothing of chemistry, I listened fascinated. He picked up an Easter lily which

Genevi�ve had brought that morning from Notre Dame and dropped it into the basin. Instantly the liquid lost

its crystalline clearness. For a second the lily was enveloped in a milkwhite foam, which disappeared,

leaving the fluid opalescent. Changing tints of orange and crimson played over the surface, and then what

seemed to be a ray of pure sunlight struck through from the bottom where the lily was resting. At the same

instant he plunged his hand into the basin and drew out the flower. "There is no danger," he explained, "if

He held the lily toward me and I took it in my hand. It had turned to stone, to the purest marble.

The marble was white as snow, but in its depths the veins of the lily were tinged with palest azure, and a faint

"Don't ask me the reason of that," he smiled, noticing my wonder. "I have no idea why the veins and heart are

tinted, but they always are. Yesterday I tried one of Genevi�ve's gold fishthere it is."

The fist looked as if sculptured in marble. But if you held it to the light the stone was beautifully veined with

a faint blue, and from somewhere within came a rosy light like the tint which slumbers in an opal. I looked

"There is one thing I'm curious about," I said, "and that is where the ray of sunlight comes from."

"It looked like a sunbeam true enough," he said. "I don't know, it always comes when I immerse any living

thing. Perhaps," he continued smiling, "perhaps it is the vital spark of the creature escaping to the source from

I saw he was mocking and threatened him with a mahlstick, but he only laughed and changed the subject.

"I saw her going to early mass," I said, "and she looked as fresh and sweet as that lilybefore you destroyed it."

We sat in the corner of a studio near his unfinished group of "The Fates." He leaned back on the sofa, twirling

"By the way," he said, "I have finished pointing up that old academic Ariadne and I suppose it will have to go

to the Salon. It's all I have ready this year, but after the success the 'Madonna' brought me, I feel ashamed to

The "Madonna," an exquisite marble for which Genevi�ve had sat, had been the sensation of last year's Salon.

I looked at the Ariadne. It was a magnificent piece of technical work, but I agreed with Boris that the world

would expect something better of him than that. Still it was impossible now to think of finishing in time for

the Salon, that splendid terrible group half shrouded in the marble behind me. "The Fates" would have to

We were proud of Boris Yvain. We claimed him and he claimed us on the strength of his having been born in

America, although his father was French and his mother was Russian. Every one in the Beaux Arts called him

Boris. And yet there were only two of us whom he addressed in the same familiar way: Jack Scott and

Perhaps my being in love with Genevi�ve had something to do with his affection for me. Not that it had ever

been acknowledged between us. But after all was settled, and she had told me with tears in her eyes that it

was Boris whom she loved, I went over to his house and congratulated him. The perfect cordiality of that

interview did not deceive either of us, I always believed, although to one at least it was a great comfort. I do

Genevi�ve was lovely. The Madonnalike purity of her face might have been inspired by the Sanctus in

Gounod's Mass. But I was always glad when she changed that mood for what we called her "April

Manoeuvres." She was often as variable as an April day. In the morning grave, dignified and sweet, at noon

laughing, capricious, at evening whatever one least expected. I preferred her so rather than in that

Madonnalike tranquility which stirred the depths of my heart. I was dreaming of Genevi�ve when he spoke

"I shall make no use of it, you know, beyond satisfying my own curiosity so far as may be and the secret will

"It would be rather a blow to sculpture, would it not? We painters lose more than we ever gain by

"This new vicious discovery would corrupt the world of art. No, I shall never confide the secret to any one,"

It would be hard to find any one less informed about such phenomena than myself; but of course I had heard

of mineral springs so saturated with silica that the leaves and twigs which fell into them were turned to stone

after a time. I dimly comprehend the process, how the silica replaced the vegetable matter, atom by atom, and

the result was a duplicate of the object in stone. This I confess had never interested me greatly, and as for the

ancient fossils thus produced, they disgusted me. Boris, it appeared, feeling curiosity instead of repugnance,

had investigated the subject, and had accidentally stumbled on a solution which, attacking the immersed

object with a ferocity unheard of, in a second did the work of years. This was all I could make of the strange

"I am almost frightened when I think what I have found. Scientists would go mad over the discovery. It was

so simple too; it discovered itself. When I think of that formula, and that new element precipitated in metallic

"Oh, I haven't thought of naming it, and I don't believe I ever shall. There are enough precious metals now in

"No, better;but see here, Alec!" he laughed, starting up. "You and I have all we need in this world. Ah!

how sinister and covetous you look already!" I laughed too, and told him I was devoured by the desire for

gold, and we had better talk of something else; so when Genevi�ve came in shortly after, we had turned our

Genevi�ve was dressed in silvery gray from head to foot. The light glinted along the soft curve of her fair hair

as she turned her cheek to Boris; then she saw me and returned my greeting. She had never before failed to

blow me a kiss from the tips of her white fingers, and I promptly complained of the omission. She smiled and

held out her hand which dropped almost before it had touched mine; then she said, looking at Boris, "You

must ask Alec to stay for luncheon." This also was something new. She had always asked me herself until

"And you said yes, I hope," she turned to me with a charming conventional smile. I might have been an

acquaintance of the day before yesterday. I made her a low bow. "J'avais bien l'honneur, madame," but

refused to take up our usual bantering tone she murmured a hospitable commonplace and disappeared. Boris

While we were discussing the advisability of my departure Genevi�ve reappeared in the doorway without her

bonnet. She was wonderfully beautiful, but her color was too deep and her lovely eyes were too bright. She

"Luncheon is ready. Was I cross, Alec? I thought I had a headache but I haven't. Come here, Boris"; and she

slipped her other arm through his. "Alec knows that after you there is no one in the world whom I like as well

"Are you ready?" chanted Boris. "Aye ready," and arm in arm we raced into the diningroom scandalizing

the servants. After all we were not so much to blame; Genevi�ve was eighteen, Boris was twentythree and I

Some work that I was doing about this time on the decorations for Genevi�ve's boudoir kept me constantly at

the quaint little hotel in the rue SainteC�cile. Boris and I in those days labored hard but as we pleased,

which was fitfully, and we all three, with Jack Scott, idled a great deal together.

One quiet afternoon I had been wandering alone over the house examining curios, prying into odd corners,

bringing out sweetmeats and cigars from strange hidingplaces, and at last I stopped in the bathingroom.

The room was built of rosecolored marble excepting the floor which was tessellated in rose and gray. In the

center was a square pool sunken below the surface of the floor; steps led down to it, sculptured pillars

supported a frescoed ceiling. A delicious marble Cupid appeared to have just alighted on his pedestal at the

upper end of the room. The whole interior was Boris' work and mine. Boris, in his working clothes of white

canvas, scraped the traces of clay and red modelling wax from his handsome hands, and coquetted over his

"I see you," he insisted, "don't try to look the other way and pretend not to see me. You know who made you,

It was always my role to interpret Cupid's sentiments in these conversations, and when my turn came I

responded in such a manner that Boris seized my arm and dragged he toward the pool, declaring he would

duck me. Next instant he dropped my arm and turned pale. "Good God!" he said, "I forgot the pool is full of

I shivered a little, and drily advised him to remember better where he had stored the precious liquid.

"In Heaven's name why do you keep a small lake of that grewsome stuff here of all places?" I asked.

"Ah! that came too close for jesting; but I do want to watch the action of that solution on a more highly

organized living body; there is that big white rabbit," he said, following me into the studio.

Jack Scott, wearing a paintstained jacket, came wandering in, appropriated al the Oriental sweetmeats he

could lay his hands on, looting the cigarette case, and finally he and Boris disappeared together to visit the

Luxembourg gallery, where a new silver bronze by Rodin and a landscape of Moneta's were claiming the

exclusive attention of artistic France. I went back to the studio, and resumed my work. It was a Renaissance

screen, which Boris wanted me to paint for Genevi�ve's boudoir. But the small boy who was unwillingly

dawdling through a series of poses for it, today refused all bribes to be good. He never rested an instant in

the same position, and inside five minutes, I had as many different outlines of the little beggar.

Of course I dismissed him for the day, and of course I paid him for the full time, that being the way we spoil

After the young imp had gone, I made a few perfunctory daubs at my work, but was so thoroughly out of

humor, that it took me the rest of the afternoon to undo the damage I had done, so at last I scraped my palette,

stuck my brushes in a bowl of black soap, and strolled into the smokingroom. I really believe that, excepting

Genevi�ve's apartments, no room in the house was so free from the perfume of tobacco as this one. It was a

queer chaos of odds and ends hung with threadbare tapestry. A sweettoned old spinet in good repair stood

by the window. There were stands of weapons, some old and dull, others bright and modern, festoons of

Indian and Turkish armor over the mantel, two or three good pictures, and a piperack. It was here that we

used to come for new sensations in smoking. I doubt if any type of pipe ever existed which was not

represented in that rack. When we has selected one, we immediately carried it somewhere else and smoked it;

for the place was, on the whole, more gloomy and less inviting than any in the house. But this afternoon, the

twilight was very soothing, the rugs and skins on the floor looked brown and soft and drowsy; the big couch

was piled with cushions, I found my pipe and curled up there for an unaccustomed smoke in the

smokingroom. I had chosen one with a long flexible stem, and lighting it fell to dreaming. After a while it

I awoke to the saddest music I had ever heard. The room was quite dark, I had no idea what time it was. A ray

of moonlight silvered one edge of the old spinet, and the polished wood seemed to exhale the sounds as

perfume floats above a box of sandal wood. Some one rose in the darkness, and come away weeping quietly,

She dropped at my voice, and I had time to curse myself while I made a light and tried to raise her from the

floor. She shrank away with a murmur of pain. She was very quiet, and asked for Boris. I carried her to the

divan, and went to look for him, but he was not in the house, and the servants were gone to bed. Perplexed

and anxious, I hurried back to Genevi�ve. She lay where I had left her, looking very white.

"I know," she answered faintly, "Boris has gone to Ept with Mr. Scott. I did not remember when I sent you

"But he can't get back in that case before tomorrow afternoon, andare you hurt? Did I frighten you into

"Boris thought you had gone home before dinner. Do please excuse us for letting you stay here all this time."

"I have had a long nap," I laughed, "so sound that I did not know whether I was still asleep or not when I

found myself staring at a figure that was moving toward me, and called out your name. Have you been trying

I would tell a thousand more lies worse than that one to see the look of relief that came into her face. She

smiled adorably and said in her natural voice: "Alec, I tripped on that wolf's head, and I think my ankle is

At noon next day when I called, I found Boris walking restlessly about his studio.

"Genevi�ve is asleep just now," he told me, "the sprain is nothing, but why should she have such a high

"I should say so, and has actually been a little lightheaded at intervals all night. The idea, gay little

Genevi�ve, without a care in the world,and she keeps saying her heart's broken, and she wants to die."

Boris leaned against the door of his studio, looking down, his hands in his pockets, his kind, keen eyes

clouded, a new line of trouble drawn "over the moth's good mark, that made the smile." The maid had orders

to summon him the instant Genevi�ve opened her eyes. We waited and waited, and Boris growing restless

wandered about fussing with modelling wax and red clay. Suddenly he started for the next room. "Come and

"You are not prepared to call it life, I suppose," he answered. As he spoke he plucked a solitary gold fish

squirming and twisting out of its globe. "We'll send this one after the otherwherever that is," he said. There

was feverish excitement in his voice. A dull weight of fever lay on my limbs and on my brain as I followed

him to the fair crystal pool with its pinktinted sides; and he dropped the creature in. Falling, its scales

flashed with a hot orange gleam in its angry twistings and contortions; the moment it struck the liquid it

became rigid and sank heavily to the bottom. Then came the milky foam, the splendid hues radiating on the

surface and then the shaft of pure serene light broke though from seemingly infinite depths. Boris plunged in

his hand and drew out an exquisite marble thing, blueveined, rose tinted and glistening with opalescent

"Child's play," he muttered, and looked wearily, longingly at me, as if I could answer such questions. But

Jack Scott came in and entered into the "game" as he called it with ardor. Nothing would do but to try the

experiment on the white rabbit then and there. I hated to see the life go out of a warm, living creature and I

declined to be present. Picking up a book at random I sat down in the studio to read. Alas, I had found "The

King in Yellow." After a few moments which seemed ages, I was putting it away with a nervous shudder,

when Boris and Jack came in bringing their marble rabbit. At the same time the bell rang above and a cry

came from the sick room. Boris was gone like a flash, and the next moment he called "Jack, run for the

I went and stood at her door. A frightened maid came out in haste and ran away to fetch some remedy.

Genevi�ve, sitting bolt upright, with crimson cheeks and glittering eyes, babbled incessantly and resisted

Boris' gentle restraint. He called me to help. At my first touch she sighed and sank back, closing her eyes, and

thenstraight into Boris' face, poor fevercrazed girl, and told her secret. At that some instant, our three

lives turned into new channels; the bond that had held us so long together snapped forever and a new bond

was forged in its place, for she had spoken my name, and as the fever tortured her, her heart poured out its

load of hidden sorrow. Amazed and dumb I bowed my head, while my face burned like a live coal, and the

blood surged in my ears, stupefying me with its clamor. Incapable of movement, incapable of speech, I

listened to her feverish words in an agony of shame and sorrow. I could not silence her, I could not look at

Boris. Then I felt an arm upon my shoulder, and Boris turned a bloodless face to mine.

"It is not your fault, Alec, don't grieve so if she loves you" but he could not finish; and as the doctor stepped

swiftly into the room saying"Ah, the fever!" I seized Jack Scott and hurried him t the street saying, "Boris

would rather be alone." We crossed the street to our own apartments and that night, seeing I was going to be

ill too, he went for the doctor again. The last thing I recollect with any distinctness was hearing Jack say, "For

Heaven's sake, doctor, what ails him, to wear a face like that?" and I thought of "The King in Yellow" and the

I was very ill, for the strain of two years which I had endured since that fatal may morning when Genevi�ve

murmured, "I love you, but I think I love Boris best" told on me at last. I had never imagined that it could

become more than I could endure. Outwardly tranquil, I had deceived myself. Although the inward battle

raged night after night, and I, lying alone in my room, cursed myself for rebellious thoughts unloyal to Boris

and unworthy of Genevi�ve, the morning always brought relief, and I returned to Genevi�ve and to my dear

Never a word or deed or thought while with them, had I betrayed my sorrow even to myself.

The mask of selfdeception was not longer a mask for me, it was a part of me. Night lifted it, laying bare the

stifled truth below; but there was no one to see except myself, and when day broke the mask fell back again

of its own accord. These thoughts passed through my troubled mind as I lay sick, but they were hopelessly

entangled with visions of white creatures, heavy as stone, crawling about in Boris' basin,of the wolf's head

on the rug, foaming and snapping at Genevi�ve, who lay smiling beside it. I thought, too, of The King in

Yellow wrapt in the fantastic colors of his tattered mantle, and that bitter cry of Cassilda, "Not upon us, oh

King, not upon us!" Feverishly I struggled to put it from me, but I saw the lake of Hali, thin and blank,

without a ripple or wind to stir it, and I saw the towers of Carcosa behind the moon. Aldebaran, The Hyades,

Alar, Hastur, glided through the cloud rifts which fluttered and flapped as they passed like scalloped tatters of

The King in Yellow. Among all these, one sane thought persisted. It never wavered, no matter what else was

going on in my disordered mind, that my chief reason for existing was to meet some requirement of Boris and

Genevi�ve. What this obligation was, its nature was never clear; sometimes it seemed to be protection,

sometimes support through a great crisis. Whatever it seemed to be for the time, its weight rested only on me,

and I was never so ill or so weak that I did not respond with my whole soul. there were always crowds of

faces about me, mostly strange, but a few I recognized, Boris among them. Afterward they told me that this

could not have been, but I know that once at least he bent over me. It was only a touch, a faint echo of his

voice, then the clouds settled back on my senses, and I lost him, but he did stand there and bend over me once

At last, one morning I awoke to find the sunlight falling across my bed, and Jack Scott reading beside me. I

had not strength enough to speak aloud, neither could I think, much less remember, but I could smile feebly,

as Jack's eye met mine, and when he jumped up and asked eagerly if I wanted anything, I could whisper,

"Yes, Boris." Jack moved to the head of my bed, and leaned down to arrange my pillow: I did not see his

face, but he answered heartily, "You must wait, Alec, you are too weak to see even Boris."

I waited and I grew strong; in a few days I was able to see whom I would, but meanwhile I had thought and

remembered. From the moment when all the past grew clear again in my mind, I never doubted what I should

do when the time came, and I felt sure that Boris would have resolved upon the same course so far as he was

concerned; as for what pertained to me alone, I knew he would see that also as I did. I no longer asked for any

one. I never inquired why no message came from them; why during the week I lay there, waiting and growing

stronger, I never heard their name spoken. Preoccupied with my own searching for the right way, and with

my feeble but determined fight against despair, I simply acquiesced in Jack's reticence, taking for granted that

he was afraid to speak of them, lest I should turn unruly and insist on seeing them. Meanwhile I said over and

over to myself, how it would be when life began again for us all. We would take up our relations exactly as

they were before Genevi�ve fell ill. Boris and I would look into each other's eyes and there would be neither

rancor nor cowardice nor mistrust in that glance. I would be with them again for a little while in the dear

intimacy of their home, and then, without pretext or explanation, I would disappear from their lives forever.

Boris would know, Genevi�vethe only comfort was that she would never know. It seemed, as I thought it

over, that I had found the meaning of that sense of obligation which had persisted all through my delirium,

and the only possible answer to it. So, then I was quite ready, I beckoned Jack to me one day, and said, "Jack,

When at last he made me understand that they were both dead, I fell into such a wild rage as to throw all my

little convalescent strength to atoms. I raved and cursed myself into a relapse, from which I crawled froth

some weeks afterward a boy of twentyone who believed that his youth was gone forever. I seemed to be

past the capability of further suffering, and one day when Jack handed me a latter and the keys to Boris'

house, I took them without a tremor and asked him to tell me all. It was cruel of me to ask him, but there was

no help for it, and he leaned wearily on his thin hands, to reopen the wound which could never entirely heal.

"Alec, unless you have a clue that I know nothing about, you will not be able to explain any more than I what

has happened. I suspect that you wold rather not hear these details, but you must learn them, else I would

spare them the relation. God knows I wish I could be spared the telling. I shall use few words.

"That day when I left you in the doctor's care and came back to Boris, I found him working on the 'Fates.'

Genevi�ve, he said, was sleeping under the influence of drugs. She had been quite out of her mind, he said.

He kept working, not talking any more, and I watched him. Before long, I saw that the third figure of the

groupthe one looking straight ahead, out over the world bore his face; not as you ever saw it, but as it

looked then and to the end. This is one thing for which I should like to find an explanation, but I never shall.

"Well, he worked and I watched him in silence, and we went on that way until near midnight. Then we heard

a door open and shut sharply, and a swift rush in the next room. Boris sprang through the doorway and I

followed; but we where too late. She lay at the bottom of the pool, her hands across her breast. Then Boris

shot himself through the heart." Jack stopped speaking, drops of sweat stood under his eyes, and his thin

cheeks twitched. "I carried Boris to his room, and turning on all the water, washed the marble clean of every

drop. When at length I dared descend the steps, I found her lying there as white as snow. At last, when I had

decided what was best to do, I went into the laboratory, and first emptied the solution in the basin into the

wastepipe; then I poured the contents of every jar and bottle after it. There was wood in the fireplace, so I

built a fire, and breaking the locks of Boris' cabinet I burnt every paper, notebook and letter that I found

there. With a mallet form the studio I smashed to pieces all the empty bottles, then loading them into a coal

scuttle, I carried them to the cellar and threw them over the redhot bed of the furnace. Six times I made the

journey, and at last, not a vestige remained of anything which might again aid in seeking for the formula

which Boris had found. Then at last I dared call the doctor. He is a good man, and together we struggled to

keep if from the public. Without him I never could have succeeded. At last we got the servants paid and sent

away into the country, where old Rosier keeps them quiet with stories of Boris' and Genevi�ve's travels in

distant lands, from whence they will not return for years. We buried Boris in the little cemetery of S�vres.

The doctor is a good creature and knows when to pity a man who can bear no more. He gave his certificate of

Then lifting his head from his hands, he said, "Open the letter, Alec; it is for us both."

I tore it open. It was Boris' will dated a year before. He left everything to Genevi�ve, and in case of her dying

childless, I was to take control of the house in the Rue SainteC�cile, and Jack Scott, the management at Ept.

On our deaths the property reverted to his mother's family in Russia, with the exception of the sculptured

The page blurred under our eyes, and Jack got up and walked to the window. Presently he returned and sat

down again. I dreaded to hear what he was going to say, but he spoke with the same simplicity and

"Genevi�ve lies before the Madonna in the marble room. The Madonna bends tenderly above her, and

Genevi�ve smiles back into that calm face that never would have been except for her."

His voice broke, but he grasped my hand, saying, "Courage, Alec." Next morning he left for Ept to fulfil his

The same evening I took the keys and went into the house I had known so well. Everything was in order, but

the silence was terrible. though I went twice to the door of the marble room, I cold not force myself to enter.

It was beyond my strength. I went into the smokingroom and sat down before the spinet. A small lace

handkerchief lay on the keys, and I turned away, choking. It was plain I could not stay, so I locked every

door, every window, and the three front and back gates, and went away. Next morning Alcide packed my

valise, and leaving him in charge of my apartments I took the Orient express for Constantinople. During the

two years that I wandered through the East, at first, in our letters, we never mentioned Genevi�ve or Boris,

but gradually their names crept in. I recollect particularly a passage in one of Jack's letters replying to one of

"What you tell me of seeing Boris bending over you while you lay ill, and feeling his touch on your face, and

hearing his voice of course troubles me. This that you describe must have happened a fortnight after he died. I

say to myself that you were dreaming, that it was part of your delirium, but the explanation does not satisfy

Toward the end of the second year a letter came from Jack to me in India so unlike any thing that I had ever

known of him that I decided to return at once to Paris. He wrote, "I am well and sell all my pictures as artists

do, who have no need of money. I have not a care of my own, but I am more restless than if I had. I am

unable to shake off a strange anxiety about you. It is not apprehension, it is rather a breathless expectancy, of

what God knows. I can only say it is wearing me out. Nights I dream always of you and Boris. I can never

recall anything afterward, but I wake in the morning with my heart beating, and all day the excitement

increases until I fall asleep at night to recall the same experience. I am quite exhausted by it, and have

determined to break up this morbid condition. I must see you. Shall I go to Bombay or will you come to

When we met I thought he had changed very little; I, he insisted looked in splendid health. It was good to

hear his voice again, and as we sat and chatted about what life still held for us, we felt that it was pleasant to

We stayed in Paris together a week, and then I went for a week to Ept with him, but first of all we went to the

"Shall we place the 'Fates' in the little grove above him?" Jack asked and I answered, "I think only the

But Jack was none the better for my homecoming. the dreams of which he could not retain even the least

definite outline continued, and he said that at times the sense of breathless expectancy was suffocating.

"You see I do you harm and not good," I said. "Try a change without me." So he started alone for a ramble

among the Channel Islands and I went back to Paris. I had not yet entered Boris' house, now mine, since my

return, but I knew it must be done. It had been kept in order by Jack; there were servants there, so I gave up

my own apartment and went there to live. Instead of the agitation I had feared, I found myself able to paint

there tranquilly. I visited all the roomsall but one. I could not bring myself to enter the marble room where

Genevi�ve lay, and yet I felt the longing growing daily to look upon her face, to kneel beside her.

One April afternoon, I lay dreaming in the smokingroom, just as I had lain two years before, and

mechanically I looked among the tawny Eastern rugs for the wolf's head, and I thought of my dream where I

saw Genevi�ve lying beside it. The helmets still hung against the threadbare tapestry, among them the old

Spanish morion which I remembered Genevi�ve had once put on when we were amusing ourselves with the

ancient bits of mail. I turned my eyes to the spinet; every yellow key seemed eloquent of her caressing hand,

and I rose, drawn by the strength of my life's passion to the sealed door of the marble room. The heavy doors

swung inward under my trembling hands. Sunlight poured through the window, tipping with gold the wings

of Cupid, and lingering like a nimbus over the brows of the Madonna. Her tender face bent in compassion

over a marble form so exquisitely pure that I knelt and signed myself. Genevi�ve lay in the shadow of the

Madonna, and yet, through her white arms, I saw the pale azure vein, the beneath her softly clasped hands the

folds of her dress were tinged with rose, as if from some faint warm light within her breast.

Bending with a breaking heart I touched the marble drapery with my lips, then crept back into the silent

A maid come and brought me a letter, and I sat down in the little conservatory to read it; but as I was about to

She stammered something about a white rabbit that had been caught in the house and asked what should be

done with it. I told her to let it loose in the walled garden behind the house and opened my letter. It was from

Jack, but so incoherent that I thought he must have lost his reason. It was nothing but a series of prayers to

my not to leave the house until he could get back; he could not tell my why, there were the dreams, he

saidhe could explain nothing, but he was sure that I must not leave the house in the Rue SainteC�cile.

As I finished reading I raised by eyes and saw the same maidservant standing in the doorway holding a

glass dish in which two gold fish were swimming: "Put them back into the tank and tell me what you mean

With a half suppressed whimper she emptied water and fish into an aquarium at the end of the conservatory,

and turning to me asked my permission to leave my service. She said people were playing tricks on her,

evidently with a design of getting her into trouble; the marble rabbit had been stolen and a live one had been

brought into the house; the two beautiful marble fish were gone and she had just found those common live

things flopping on the diningroom floor. I reassured her and sent her away saying I would look about

myself. I went into the studio; there was nothing there but my canvasses and some casts, except the marble of

the Easter Lily. I saw it on a table across the room. Then I strode angrily over to it. But the flower I lifted

Then suddenly I comprehended and sprang through the hallway to the marble room. The doors flew open,

the sunlight streamed into my face and through it, in a heavenly glory, the Madonna smiled, as Genevi�ve

IN THE CHURCH of St. Barnab� vespers were over; the clergy left the altar; the little choirboys flocked

across the chancel and settled in the stalls. A Suisse in rich uniform marched down the south aisle, sounding

his staff at every fourth step on the stone pavement; behind him came that eloquent preacher and good man,

My chair was near the chancel rail. I now turned toward the west end of the church. The other people

between the altar and the pulpit turned too. There was a little scraping and rustling while the congregation

seated itself again; the preacher mounted the pulpit stairs, and the organ voluntary ceased.

I had always found the organplaying at St. Barnab� highly interesting. Learned and scientific, it was too

much for my small knowledge, but expressing a vivid if cold intelligence. Moreover, it possessed the French

quality of taste. Taste reigned supreme, selfcontrolled, dignified, and reticent.

Today, however, from the first chord I had felt a change for the worse, a sinister change. During vespers it

had been chiefly the chancel organ which supported the beautiful choir, but now and again, quite randomly as

it seemed, from the west gallery where the great organ stands, a heavy hand had struck across the church, at

the serene peace of those clear voices. It was something more than harsh and dissonant, and it betrayed no

lack of skill. As it recurred again and again, it set me thinking of what my architect's books say about the

custom in early times to consecrate the choir as soon as it was built, and that the nave, being finished

sometimes half a century later, often did not get any blessing at all: I wondered idly if that had been the case

as St. Barnab�, and whether something not usually supposed to be at home in a Christian church, might have

entered undetected, and taken possession of the west gallery. I had read of such things happening too, but not

Then I remembered that St. Barnab� was not much more than a hundred years old, and smiled at the

incongruous association of medi�val superstitions with a cheerful little piece of eighteenth century rococo.

But now vespers were over, and there should have followed a few quiet chords, fit to accompany meditations,

while we waited for the sermon. Instead of that, the discord at the lower end of the church broke out with the

I belong to those children of an older and simpler generation, who do not love to seek for psychological

subtleties in art; and I have ever refused to find in music anything more than melody and harmony, but I felt

that in the labyrinth of sounds now issuing from that instrument there was something being hunted. Up and

down the pedals chased him, while the manuals blared approval. Poor devil! whoever he was, there seemed

My nervous annoyance changed to anger. Who was doing this? How dare he play like that in the midst of

divine service? I glanced at the people near me: not one appeared to be in the least disturbed. The placid

brows of the kneeling nuns, still turned toward the altar, lost none of their devout abstraction, under the pale

shadow of their white headdress. The fashionable lady beside me was looking expectantly at Monseigneur

But now, at last, the preacher had made the sign of the cross, and commanded silence. I turned to him gladly.

Thus far I had not found the rest I had counted on, when I entered St. Barnab� that afternoon.

I was worn out by three nights of physical suffering and mental trouble: the last had been the worst, and it

was an exhausted body, and a mind benumbed and yet acutely sensitive, which I had brought to my favorite

"The sun ariseth; they gather themselves together and lay them down in their dens." Monseigneur C

delivered his text in a calm voice, glancing quietly over the congregation. My eyes turned, I knew not why,

toward the lower end of the church. The organist was coming from behind the pipes, and passing along the

gallery on his way out, I saw him disappear by a small door that leads to some stairs which descend directly

to the street. He was a slender man, and his face was as white as his coat was black. "Good riddance!" I

thought, "with your wicked music! I hope your assistant will play the closing voluntary."

With a feeling of relief, with a deep, calm feeling of relief, I turned back to the mild face in the pulpit, and

"My children," said the preacher, "one truth the human soul finds hardest of all to learn; that it has nothing to

"Curious doctrine!" I thought, "for a Catholic priest. Let us see how he will reconcile that with the Fathers."

"Nothing can really harm the soul," he went on, in his coolest clearest tones, "because"

But I never heard the rest; my eye left his face, I knew not for what reason, and sought the lower end of the

church. The same man was coming out from behind the organ, and was passing along the gallery the same

way. But there had not been time for him to return, and if he had returned, I must have seen him. I felt a faint

chill, and my heart sank; and yet, his going and coming were no affair of mine. I looked at him: I could not

look away from his black figure and his white face. When he was exactly opposite me, he turned and sent

across the church, straight into my eyes, a look of hate, intense and deadly: I have never seen any other like

it; would to God I might never see it again! Then he disappeared by the same door through which I had

I sat and tried to collect my thoughts. My first sensation was like that of a very young child badly hurt, when

To suddenly find myself the object of such hatred was exquisitely painful: and this man was an utter stranger.

Why should he hate me so? Me, whom he had never seen before? For the moment all other sensation was

merged in this one pang: even fear was subordinate to grief, and for that moment I never doubted; but in the

As I have said, St. Barnab� is a modern church. It is small and well lighted; one sees all over it almost at a

glance. The organ gallery gets a strong white light from a row of long windows in the clerestory, which

The pulpit being in the middle of the church, it followed that, when I was turned toward it, whatever moved

at the west end could not fail to attract my eye. When the organist passed it was no wonder the I saw him: I

had simply miscalculated the interval between his first and his second passing. He had come in that last time

by the other sidedoor. As for the look which had so upset me, there had been no such thing, and I was a

I looked about. This was a likely place to harbor supernatural horrors! That clearcut, reasonable face of

Monseigneur C, his collected manner, and easy, graceful gestures, were they not just a little

discouraging to the notion of a gruesome mystery? I glanced above his head, and almost laughed. That

flyaway lady, supporting one corner of the pulpit canopy, which looked like a fringed damask tablecloth in

a high wind, at the first attempt of a basilisk to pose up there in the organ lost, she would point her gold

trumpet at him, and puff him out of existence! I laughed to myself over this conceit, which, at the time, I

though very amusing, and sat and chaffed myself and everything else, for the old harpy outside the railing,

who had made me pay ten centimes for my chair, before she would let me in (she was more like a basilisk, I

told myself, than was my organist with the an�mic complexion): from that grim old dame, to, yes, alas! to

Monseigneur C, himself. For all devoutness had fled. I had never yet done such a thing in my life, but

"The skirts of St. Paul has reached," Having preached us those six Lent lectures, More unctuous than ever he

It was not use to sit there any longer: I must get out of doors and shake myself free form this hateful mood. I

A spring sun was shining on the rue St. Honor�, as I ran down the church steps. On one corner stood a barrow

full of yellow jonquils, pale violets from the Riviera, dark Russian violets, and white Roman hyacinths in a

golden cloud of mimosa. The street was full of Sunday pleasure seekers. I swung my cane and laughed with

the rest. Some one overtook and passed me. He never turned, but there was the same deadly malignity in his

white profile that there had been in his eyes. I watched him as long as I could see him. His lithe back

expressed the same menace; every step that carried him away from me seemed to bear him on some errand

I was creeping along, my feet almost refusing to move. There began to dawn in me a sense of responsibility

for something long forgotten. It began to seem as if I deserved that which he threatened: it reached along way

backa long, long way back. It had lain dormant all these years: it was there though, and presently it would

rise and confront me. But I would try to escape; and I stumbled as best I could in the rue de Rivoli, across the

Place de la Concorde and on to the Quai. I looked with sick eyes upon the sun, shining through the white

foam of the fountain, pouring over the backs of the dusky bronze rivergods, on the faraway Arc, a

structure of amethyst mist, on the countless vistas of gray stems and bare branches faintly green. Then I saw

I left the river side, plunged blindly across to the Champs Elys�es and turned toward the Arc. The setting sun

was sending its rays along the green sward of the Rondpoint: in the full glow he sat on a bench, children and

young mothers all about him. He was nothing but a Sunday lounger, like the others, like myself. I said the

words almost aloud, and all the while I gazed on the malignant hatred of his face. But he was not looking at

me. I crept past and dragged my leaden feet up the Avenue. I knew that every time I met him brought him

nearer t the accomplishment of his purpose and my fate. And still I tried to save myself.

The last rays of the sunset were pouring through the great Arc. I passed under it, and met him face to face. I

had left him far down the Champs Elys�es, and yet he came in with a stream of people who were returning

for the Bois de Boulogne. He came so close that he brushed me. His slender frame felt iron inside its loose

black covering. He showed not signs of haste, nor of fatigue, nor of any human feeling. His whole being

In anguish I watched him, where he went down the broad crowded Avenue, that was all flashing with wheels

He was soon lost to sight; then I turned and fled. Into the Bois, and far out beyond itI know not where I

went, but after a long while as it seemed to me, night had fallen, and I found myself sitting at a table before a

small caf�. I had wandered back into the Bois. It was hours now since I had seen him. Physical fatigue, and

mental suffering had left me no more power to think or feel. I was tired, so tired! I longed to hide away in my

I live in the Court of the Dragon, a narrow passage that leads from the rue de Rennes to the rue du Dragon.

It is an "Impasse;" traversable only for foot passengers. Over the entrance of the rue de Rennes is a balcony,

supported by an iron dragon. Within the court tall old houses rise on either side, and close the ends that give

on the two streets. Huge gates, swung back during the day into the walls of the deep archways, close this

court, after midnight, and one must enter then by ringing at certain small doors on the side. The sunken

pavement collects unsavory pools. Steep stairways pitch down to doors that open on the court. The ground

floors are occupied by shops of secondhand dealers, and by iron workers. All day long the place rings with

Unsavory as it is below, there is cheerfulness, and comfort, and hard, honest work above.

Five flights up are the ateliers of architects and painters, and the hidingplaces of middleaged students like

myself who want to live alone. When I first came here to live I was young, and not alone.

I had to walk awhile before any conveyance appeared, but at last, when I had almost reached the Arc de

From the Arc to the rue de Rennes is a drive of more than half an hour, especially when one is conveyed by a

There had been time I passed under the Dragon's wings, to meet my enemy over and over again, but I never

Before the wide gateway a small mob of children were playing. Our concierge and his wife walked about

among them with their black poodle, keeping order; some couples were waltzing on the sidewalk. I returned

All the inhabitants of the court had trooped out into the street. The place was quite deserted, lighted by a few

My apartment was at the top of the house, halfway down the court, reached by a staircase that descended

almost into the street, with only a bit of passageway intervening. I set my foot on the threshold of the open

door, the friendly, old ruinous stairs rose before me, leading up to rest and shelter. Looking back over my

right shoulder, I saw him, ten paces off. He must have entered the court with me.

He was coming straight on, neither slowly, nor swiftly, but straight on to me. And now he was looking at me.

For the first time since our eyes encountered across the church they met now again, and I knew that the time

Retreating backward, down the court, I faced him. I meant to escape by the entrance on the rue du Dragon.

It seemed ages while we were going, I retreating, he advancing, down the court in perfect silence; but at last I

felt the shadows of the archway, and the next step brought me within it. I had meant to turn here and spring

through into the street. But the shadow was not that of an archway; it was that of a vault. The great doors on

the rue du Dragon were closed. I felt this by the blackness which surrounded me, and at the same instant I

read it in his face. How his face gleamed in the darkness, drawing swiftly nearer! The deep vaults, the huge

closed doors, their cold iron clamps were all on his side. The thing which he had threatened had arrived: it

gathered and bore down on me from the fathomless shadows; the point from which it would strike was his

There was a scraping of chairs on the stone floor, and a rustling as the congregation rose. I could hear the

The kneeling nuns, roused from their devout abstraction, made their reverence and went away. The

fashionable lady, my neighbor, rose also, with graceful reserve. As she departed her glance just flitted over

Half dead, or so it seemed to me, yet intensely alive to every trifle, I sat among the leisurely moving crowd,

I had slept through the sermon. Had I slept through the sermon? I looked up and saw him passing along the

gallery to his place. Only his side I saw; the thin bent arm in its black covering looked like one of those

devilish, nameless instruments which lie in the disused torture chambers of medi�val castles.

But I had escaped him, though his eyes had said I should not. Had I escaped him? That which gave him the

power over me came back out of oblivion, where I had hope to keep it. For I knew him now. Death and the

awful abode of lost souls, whither my weakness long ago had sent himthey had changed him for every

other eye, but not for mine. I had recognized him almost from the first; I had never doubted what he was

come to do; and now I knew that while my body sat safe in the cheerful little church, he had been hunting my

I crept to the door; the organ broke out overhead with a blare. A dazzling light filled the church, blotting the

altar from my eyes. The people faded away, the arches, the vaulted roof vanished. I raised my seared eyes to

the fathomless glare, and I saw the black stars hanging in the heavens: and the wet winds from the Lake of

And now, far away, over leagues of tossing cloudwaves, I saw the moon dripping with spray; and beyond,

Death and the awful abode of lost souls, whither my weakness long ago had sent him, had changed him for

every other eye but mine. And now I heard his voice, rising, swelling, thundering through the flaring light,

and as I fell, the radiance increasing, increasing, poured over me in waves of flame. Then I sank into the

depths, and I heard the King in Yellow whispering to my soul: "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of

THERE ARE SO many things which are impossible to explain! Why should certain chords in music make

me think of the brown and golden tints of autumn foliage? Why should the Mass of Sainte C�cile send my

thoughts wandering among the caverns whose walls blaze with ragged masses of virgin silver? What was it in

the roar and turmoil of Broadway at six o'clock that flashed before my eyes the picture of a still Breton forest

where sunlight filtered through spring foliage and Sylvia bent, half curiously, half tenderly, over a small

When I first saw the watchman his back was toward me. I paid no more attention to him than I had to any

other man who lounged through Washington Square that morning, and when I shut my window and turned

back into the my studio I had forgotten him. Late in the afternoon, the day being warm, I raised the window

again and leaned out to get a sniff of air. A man was standing in the courtyard of the church, and I noticed

him again with as little interest as I had that morning. I looked across the square to where the fountain was

playing and then, with my mind filled with vague impressions of trees, asphalt drives, and the moving groups

of nursemaids and holidaymakers, I started to walk back to my easel. As I turned, my listless glance

included the man below in the churchyard. His face was toward me now, and with a perfectly involuntary

movement I bent to see it. At the same moment he raised his head and looked at me. Instantly I thought of a

coffinworm. Whatever it was about the man that repelled me I did not know, but the impression of a plump

white graveworm was so intense and nauseating that I must have shown it in my expression, for he turned

his puffy face away with a movement which made me think of a disturbed grub in a chestnut.

I went back to my easel and motioned the model to resume her pose. After working awhile I was satisfied that

I was spoiling what I had down as rapidly as possible, and I took up a palette knife and scraped the color out

again. The flesh tones were sallow and unhealthy, and I did not understand how I could have painted such

I looked at Tessie. She had not changed, and the clear flush of health dyed her neck and cheeks as I frowned.

"No, I've made a mess of this arm, and for the life of me I can't see how I came to paint such mud as that into

I told her she could rest while I applied rag and turpentine to the plague spot on my canvas, and she went off

I did not know whether it was something in the turpentine or a defect of the canvas, but the more I scrubbed

the more that gangrene defect seemed to spread. I worked like a beaver to get it out, and yet the disease

appeared to creep from limb to limb of the study before me. Alarmed I strove to arrest it, but now the color

on the breast changed and the whole figure seemed to absorb the infection as a sponge soaks up water.

Vigorously I plied palette knife, turpentine, and scraper, thinking all the time what a s�ance I should hold

with Duval who had sold me the canvas; but soon I noticed that it was not the canvas which was defective nor

yet the colors of Edward. "It must be the turpentine," I thought angrily, "or else my eyes have become so

blurred and confused by the afternoon light that I can't see straight." I called Tessie, the model. She came and

"What a horrible color it is now," she continued. "Do you think my flesh resembles green cheese?"

"No, I don't," I said angrily, "did you ever know me to paint like that before?"

She slipped on a Japanese robe and walked to the window. I scraped and rubbed until I was tired and finally

picked up my brushes and hurled them through the canvas with a forcible expression, the tone alone of which

Nevertheless she promptly began: "That's it! Swear and act silly and ruin your brushes! You have been three

weeks on that study, and now look! What's the good of ripping the canvas? What creatures artists are!"

I felt about as much ashamed as I usually did after such an outbreak, and I turned the ruined canvas to the

wall. Tessie helped me clean my brushes, and then danced away to dress. From the screen she regaled me

with bits of advice concerning whole or partial loss of temper, until, thinking, perhaps, I had been tormented

sufficiently, she came out to implore me to button her waist where she could not reach it on the shoulder.

"Everything went wrong from the time you came back from the window and talked about that horridlooking

"Yes, he probably bewitched the picture," I said, yawning. I looked at my watch.

"Yes," I replied, "I didn't mean to keep you so long." I leaned out of the window but recoiled with disgust, for

the young man with the pasty face stood below in the churchyard. Tessie saw my gesture of disapproval and

"I can't see his face, but he does look fat and soft. Someway or other," she continued, turning to look at me,

"he reminds me of a dream, an awful dream I once had. Or," she mused, looking down at her shapely shoes,

"Tessie! Tessie!" I protested, "don't you dare flatter by saying you dream about me!"

"Go ahead," I replied, lighting a cigarette. Tessie leaned back on the open windowsill and began very

"One night last winter I was lying in bed thinking about nothing at all in particular. I had been posing for you

and I was tired out, yet it seemed impossible for me to sleep. I heard the bells in the city ring ten, eleven, and

midnight. I must have fallen about midnight because I don't remember hearing the bells after that. It seemed

to me that I had scarcely closed my eyes when I dreamed that something impelled me to go to the window. I

rose, and raising the sash, leaned out. Twentyfifth Street was deserted as far as I could see. I began to be

afraid; everything outside seemed soso black and uncomfortable. Then the sound of wheels in the distance

came to my ears, and it seemed to me as though that was what I must wait for. Very slowly the wheels

approached, and, finally, I could make out a vehicle moving along the street. It came nearer and nearer, and

when it passed beneath my window I saw it was a hearse. Then, as I trembled with fear, the driver turned and

looked straight at me. When I awoke I was standing by the open window shivering with cold, but the

blackplumed hearse and the driver were gone. I dreamed this dream again in March last, and again awoke

beside the open window. Last night the dream came again. You remember how it was raining; when I awoke,

"Had you been eating Welsh rarebits, or lobster salad?" I began laughing, but the girl interrupted me with a

"Nonsense," I said, but Tessie's eyes were wide with terror. I want to the window and looked out. The man

was gone. "Come, Tessie," I urged, "don't be foolish. You have posed too long; you are nervous."

"Do you think I could forget that face?" she murmured. "Three times I saw the hearse pass below my

window, and every time the driver turned and looked up at me. Oh, his face was so white and and soft? It

I induced the girl to sit down and swallow a glass of Marsala. Then I sat down beside her, and tried to give

"Look here, Tessie," I said, "you go to the country for a week or two, and you'll have no more dreams about

hearses. You pose all day, and when night comes your nerves are upset. You can't keep this up. Then again,

instead of going to bed when your day's work is done, you run off to picnics at Sulzer's Park, or go to the

Eldorado or Coney Island, and when you come down here next morning you are fagged out. There was no

"As true as my name is Tessie Reardon, I swear to you, Mr. Scott, that the face of the man below in the

"Oh," I said, diplomatically, "if you really did, it might not be unlikely that the man below drove it. There is

Tessie rose, unrolled her scented handkerchief, and taking a bit of gum from a knot in the hem, placed it in

her mouth. Then drawing on her gloves she offered me her hand, with a frank "Goodnight, Mr. Scott," and

The next morning, Thomas, the bellboy, brought me the Herald and a bit of news. The church next door had

been sold. I thanked Heaven for it, not that being a Catholic I had any repugnance for the congregation next

door, but because my nerves were shattered by a blatant exhorter, whose every word echoed though the aisle

of the church as if it had been my own rooms, and who insisted on his r's with a nasal persistence which

revolted my every instinct. Then, too, there was a fiend in human shape, an organist, who reeled off some of

the grand old hymns with an interpretation of his own, and I longed for the blood of a creature who could

play the doxology with an amendment of minor chords which one hears only in a quarter of very young

undergraduates. I believe the minister was a good man, but when he bellowed: "And the Lorrrrd said unto

Moses, the Lorrrd is a man of war; the Lorrrd is his name. My wrath shall wax hot and I will kill you with the

sworrrd!" I wondered how many centuries of purgatory it would take to atone for such a sin.

"Nobody that I knows, sir. They do say the gent wot owns this 'ere 'Amilton flats was lookin' at it. 'E might be

a bildin' more studios." I walked to the window. The young man with the unhealthy face stood by the

churchyard gate, and at the mere sight of him the same overwhelming repugnance took possession of me.

Thomas sniffed. "That there worm, sir? 'E's nightwatchman of the church, sir. 'E makes me tired asittin' out

all night on them steps and lookin' at you insultin' like. I'd punched 'is 'ed, sir beg pardon, sir "

"One night a comin' 'ome with 'Arry, the other English boy, I sees 'im sittin' there on them steps. We 'ad

Molly and Jen with us, sir, the two girls on the tray service, an' 'e looks so insultin' at us that I up and sez:

'Wat you looking hat, you fat slug?'beg pardon, sir, but that's 'ow I sez, sir. Then 'e don't say nothin' and I

sez: 'Come out and I'll punch that puddin' 'ed.' Then I hopens the gate an' goes in, but 'e don't say nothin', only

looks insultin' like. Then I 'its 'im one, but, ugh! 'is 'ed was that cold and mushy it ud sicken you to touch 'im."

"Mr. Scott, sir, I ain't no coward an' I can't make it out at all why I run. I was in the 5th Lawncers, sir, bugler

"That's just what I want to know, sir. I grabbed Molly an' run, an' the rest was as frightened as I."

Thomas refused to answer for a while, but now my curiosity was aroused about the repulsive young man

below and I pressed him. Three years' sojourn in America had not only modified Thomas' cockney dialect but

He hesitated. "Well, sir, it's God's truth that when I 'it 'im 'e grabbed me wrists, sir, and when I twisted 'is soft,

The utter loathing and horror of Thomas' face must have been reflected in my own for he added:

When Thomas had gone I went to the window. The man stood beside the churchrailing with both hands on

the gate, but I hastily retreated to my easel again, sickened and horrified, for I saw that the middle finger of

At nine o'clock Tessie appeared and vanished behind the screen with a merry "Goodmorning, Mr. Scott."

When she had reappeared and taken her pose upon the modelstand I started a new canvas much to her

delight. She remained silent as long as I was on the drawing, but as soon as the scrape of the charcoal ceased

"Oh, Maggie, you know, Mr. Whyte's model, and Pinkie McCormickwe call her Pinkie because she's got

"We saw Kelly and Baby Barnes the skirtdancer andand all the rest. I made a mash."

I felt constrained to give her some parental advice concerning mashing, which she took with a bright smile.

"Oh, I can take care of a strange mash," she said, examining her chewing gum, "but Ed is different. Lizzie is

Then she related how Ed had come back from the stocking mill in Lowell, Massachusetts, to find her and

Lizzie grown up, and what an accomplished young man he was, and how he thought nothing of squandering

half a dollar for icecream and oysters to celebrate his entry as clerk into the woollen department of Macy's.

Before she finished I began to paint and she resumed the pose, smiling and chattering like a sparrow. By noon

I thought so too, and ate my lunch with a satisfied feeling that all was going well. Tessie spread her lunch on

a drawing table opposite me and we drank our claret from the same bottle and lighted out cigarettes from the

same match. I was very much attached to Tessie. I had watched her shoot up into a slender but exquisitely

formed woman from a frail, awkward child. She had posed for me during the last three years, and among all

my models she was my favorite. It would have troubled me very much indeed has she become "tough" or

"fly," as the phrase goes, but I never noticed any deterioration of her manner, and felt at heart that she was all

right. She and I never discussed morals at all, and I had no intention of doing so, partly because I had none

myself, and partly because I knew she would do what she like in spite of me. Still I did hope she would steer

clear of complications, because I wished her well, and then also I had a selfish desire to retain the best model

I had. I knew that mashing, as she termed it, had no significance with girls like Tessie, and that such things in

America did not resemble in the least the same things in Paris. Yet, having lived with my eyes open, I also

knew that somebody would take Tessie away some day, in one manner or another, and though I professed to

myself that marriage was nonsense, I sincerely hoped that, in this case, there would be a priest at the end of

the vista. I am a Catholic. When I listen to high mass, when I sign myself, I feel that everything, including

myself, is more cheerful, and when I confess, it down me good. A man who lives as much alone as I do must

confess to somebody. Then, again, Sylvia was Catholic, and it was reason enough for me. But I was speaking

of Tessie, which is very different. Tessie also was Catholic and much more devout than I, so taking it all in

all, I had little fear for my pretty model until she should fall in love. But then I knew that fate alone would

decide her future for her, and I prayed inwardly that fate would keep her away from men like me and throw

Tessie sat blowing rings of smoke up to the ceiling and tinkling the ice in her tumbler.

"Do you know, Kid, that I also had a dream last night?" I observed. I sometimes call her "the Kid."

It was foolish and thoughtless of me to say this, but you know how little tact the average painter has.

"I must have fallen asleep about 10 o'clock," I continued, "and after a while I dreamt that I awoke. So plainly

did I hear the midnight bells, the wind in the treebranches, and the whistle of steamers from the bay, that

even now I can scarcely believe I was not awake. I seemed to be lying in a box which had a glass cover.

Dimly I saw the street lamps as I passed, for I must tell you, Tessie, the box in which I reclined appeared to

lie in a cushioned wagon which jolted me over the stony pavement. After a while I became impatient and

tried to move but the box was too narrow. My hands were crossed on my breast so I could not raise them to

help myself. I listened and then tried to call. My voice was gone. I could hear the trample of the horses

attached to the wagon and even the breathing of the driver. Then another sound broke upon my ears like the

raising of a window sash. I managed to turn my head a little, and found I could look, not only through the

glass cover of my box. but also through the glass panes in the sides of the covered vehicle. I saw houses,

empty and silent, with neither light nor life about any of them excepting one. In that house a window was

open on the first floor and a figure all in white stood looking down into the street. It was you."

"I could see your face," I resumed, "and it seemed to me to be very sorrowful. Then we passed on and turned

into a narrow black lane. Presently the horses stopped. I waited and waited, closing my eyes with fear and

impatience, but all was silent as the grave. After what seemed to me hours, I began to feel uncomfortable. A

sense that somebody was close to me made me unclose my eyes. Then I saw the white face of the

A sob from Tessie interrupted me. She was trembling like a leaf. I saw I had made an ass of myself and

"Why, Tess," I said, "I only told you this to show you what influence your story might have on another

person's dreams. You don't suppose I really lay in a coffin, do you? What are you trembling for? Don't you

see that your dream and my unreasonable dislike for that inoffensive watchman of the church simply set my

She laid her head between her arms and sobbed as if her heart would break. What a precious triple donkey I

had made of myself! But I was about to break my record. I went over and put my arm about her.

"Tessie dear, forgive me," I said; "I had no business to frighten you with such nonsense. You are too sensible

Her hand tightened on mine and her head fell upon my shoulder, but she still trembled and I petted her and

Her eyes opened with a slow languid movement and met mine, but their expression was so queer that I

"It's all humbug, Tessie, you surely are not afraid that any harm will come to you because of that."

At first I started to laugh, but when I understood her a shock passed through me and I sat like one turned to

stone. This was the crowning bit of idiocy I had committed. During the moment which elapsed between her

reply and my answer I thought of a thousand responses to that innocent confession. I could pass it by with a

laugh, I could misunderstand her and reassure her as to my health, I could simply point out that it was

impossible she could love me. But my reply was quicker than my thoughts, and I might think and think now

That evening I took my usual walk in Washington Park, pondering over the occurrences of the day. I was

thoroughly committed. There was no back out now, and I stared the future straight in the face. I was not

good, not even scrupulous, but I had no idea of deceiving either myself or Tessie. The one passion of my life

lay buried in the sunlit forests of Brittany. Was it buried forever? Hope cried "No!" For three years I had been

listening to the voice of Hope, and for three years I had waited for a footstep on my threshold. Had Sylvia

I said that I was not good. That is true, but still I was not exactly a comic opera villain. I had lead an

easygoing reckless life, taking what invited me of pleasure, deploring and sometimes bitterly regretting

consequences. In one thing alone, except my painting, was I serious, and that was something which lay

It was too late now for me to regret what had occurred during the day. Whatever it had been, pity, a sudden

tenderness for sorrow, or the more brutal instinct of gratified vanity, it was all the same now, and unless I

wished to bruise an innocent heart my path lay marked before me. The fire and strength, with all my

imagined experience in the world, left me no alternative but to respond or send her away. Whether because I

am so cowardly about giving pain to others, or whether it was that I have little of the gloomy Puritan in me, I

do not know, but I shrank from disclaiming responsibility for that thoughtless kiss, and in fact had no time to

do so before the gate of her heart opened and the flood poured forth. Others who habitually do their duty and

find a sullen satisfaction in making themselves and everybody else unhappy, might have withstood it. I did

not. I dared not. After the storm had abated I did tell her that she might better have loved Ed Burke and worn

a plain gold ring, but she would not hear of it, and I thought perhaps that as long as she had decided to love

somebody she could not marry, it had better be me. I, at least, could treat her with an intelligent affection, and

whenever she became tired of her infatuation she could go none the worse for it. For I was decided on that

point although I knew how hard it would be. I remembered the usual termination of Platonic liaisons and

thought how disgusted I had been whenever I heard of one. I knew I was undertaking a great deal for so

unscrupulous a man as I was, and I dreaded the future, but never for one moment did I doubt that she was

safe with me. Had it been anybody but Tessie I should not have bothered my head about scruples. For it did

not occur to me to sacrifice Tessie as I would have sacrificed a woman of the world. I looked the future

squarely in the face and saw the several probably endings to the affair. She would tire of the whole thing, or

become so unhappy that I should have either to marry her or go away. If I married her we would be unhappy.

I with a wife unsuited to me, and she with a husband unsuitable for any woman. For my past life could

scarcely entitle me to marry. If I went away she might either fall ill, recover, and marry some Eddie Burke, or

she might recklessly or deliberately go and do something foolish. On the other hand if she tired of me, then

her whole life would be before her with beautiful vistas of Eddie Burkes and marriage rings and twins and

Harlem flats and Heaven knows what. As I strolled along through the trees by the Washington Arch, I

decided that she should find a substantial friend in me anyway and the future could take care of itself. Then I

went into the house and put on my evening dress for the little faintly perfumed note on my dresser said,

"Have a cab at the stage door at eleven," and the note was signed "Edith Carmichel, Metropolitan Theater,

I took supper that night, or rather we took supper, Miss Carmichel and I, at Solari's and the dawn was just

beginning to gild the cross on the Memorial Church as I entered Washington Square after leaving Edith at the

Brunswick. There was not a soul in the park as I passed among the trees and took the walk which leads from

the Garibaldi statue to the Hamilton Apartment House, but as I passed the churchyard I saw a figure sitting on

the stone steps. In spite of myself a chill crept over me at the sight of the white puffy face, and I hastened to

pass. Then he said something which might have been addressed to me or might merely have been a mutter to

himself, but a sudden furious anger flamed up within me that such a creature should address me. For an

instant I felt like wheeling about and smashing my stick over his head, but I walked on, and entering the

Hamilton went to my apartment. For some time I tossed about the bed trying to get the sound of his voice out

of my ears, but could not. It filled my head, that muttering sound, like thick oily smoke from a fatrending

vat or an odor of noisome decay. And as I lay and tossed about, the voice in my ears seemed more distinct,

and I began to understand the words he had muttered. They came to me slowly as if I had forgotten them, and

I was furious. What did he mean by that? Then with a curse upon him and his I rolled over and went to sleep,

but when I awoke later I looked pale and haggard, for I had dreamed the dream of the night before and it

I dressed and went down into my studio. Tessie sat by the window, but as I came in she rose and put both

arms around my neck for an innocent kiss. She looked so sweet and dainty that I kissed her again and then sat

Tessie looked conscious, but did no answer. I began to hunt among the pile of canvases, saying, "Hurry up,

When at last I gave up the search among the other canvases and turned to look around the room for the

Then I understood. Here was a new complication. I had lost, of course, the best nude model I had ever seen. I

looked at Tessie. Her face was scarlet. Alas! Alas! We had eaten of the tree of knowledge, and Eden and

I suppose she noticed the disappointment on my face, for she said: "I will pose if you wish. The study is

"No," I said, "we will begin something new;" and I went into my wardrobe and picked out a Moorish costume

which fairly blazed with tinsel. It was a genuine costume, and Tessie retired to the screen with it enchanted.

When she came forth again I was astonished. Her long black hair was bound above her forehead with a circlet

of turquoises, and the ends curled about her glittering girdle. Her feet were encased in the embroidered

pointed slippers and the skirt of her costume, curiously wrought with arabesques in silver, fell to her ankles.

The deep metallic blue vest embroidered with silver and the short Mauresque jacket spangled and sewn with

turquoises became her wonderfully. She came up to me and held up her face smiling. I slipped my hand into

my pocket and drawing out a gild chain with a cross attached, dropped it over her head.

"Yours. Now go and pose." Then with a radiant smile she ran behind the screen and presently reappeared

"I had intended to give it to you when I went home tonight," she said, "but I can't wait now."

I opened the box. On the pink cotton inside lay a clasp of black onyx, on which was inlaid a curious symbol

or letter in gold. It was neither Arabic or Chinese, nor as I found afterwards did it belong to any human script.

I was annoyed, but I told her how much I should prize it, and promised to wear it always. She fastened in on

Then she told me how she found it one day while coming from the Aquarium in the Battery, how she had

advertised it and watched the papers, but at last gave up all hopes of finding the owner.

"That was last winter," she said, "the very day I had the first horrid dream about the hearse."

I remembered my dream of the previous night but said nothing, and presently my charcoal was flying over a

The day following was a disastrous one for me. While moving a framed canvas from one easel to another my

foot slipped on the polished floor and I fell heavily on both wrists. They were so badly sprained that it was

useless to attempt to hold a brush, and I was obliged to wander about the studio, glaring at unfinished

drawings and sketches until despair seized me and I sat down to smoke and twiddle my thumbs with rage.

The rain blew against the windows and rattled on the roof of the church, driving me into a nervous fit with its

interminable patter. Tessie sat sewing by the window, and every now and then raised her head and looked at

me with such innocent compassion that I began to feel ashamed of my irritation and looked about for

something to occupy me. I had read all the papers and all the books in the library, but for the sake of

something to do I went to the bookcases and shoved them open with my elbow. I knew every volume by its

color and examined them all, passing slowly around the library and whistling to keep up my spirits. I was

turning to go into the diningroom when my eye fell upon a book bound in yellow, standing in a corner of the

top shelf of the last bookcase. I did not remember it and from the floor could not decipher the pale lettering

on the back, so I went to the smokingroom and called Tessie. She came in from the studio and climbed up to

I was dumfounded. Who had placed it there? How came it in my rooms? I had long ago decided that I should

never open that book, and nothing on earth could have persuaded me to buy it. Fearful lest curiosity might

tempt me to open it, I had never even looked at it in bookstores. If I ever had any curiosity to read it, the

awful tragedy of young Castaigne, who I knew, prevented me from exploring its wicked pages. I had refused

to listen to any description of it, and indeed, nobody ever ventured to discuss the second part aloud, so I had

absolutely no knowledge of what those leaves might reveal. I stared at the poisonous yellow binding as I

Of course my admonition was enough to around her curiosity, and before I could prevent it she took the book

and, laughing, danced away into the studio with it. I called to her, but she slipped away with a tormenting

"Tessie!" I cried, entering the library, "listen, I am serious. Put that book away. I do not wish you to open it!"

The library was empty. I went into both drawingrooms, then into the bedrooms, laundry, kitchen, and finally

returned to the library and began a systematic search. She had hidden herself so well that it was half an hour

later when I discovered her crouching white and silent by the latticed window in the storeroom above. At

the first glance I saw she had been punished for her foolishness. "The King in Yellow" lay at her feet, but the

book was open at the second part. I looked at Tessie and saw it was too late. She had opened "The King in

Yellow." Then I took her by the hand and led her into the studio. She seemed dazed, and when I told her to lie

down on the sofa she obeyed me without a word. After a while she closed her eyes and her breathing became

regular and deep, but I could not determine whether or not she slept. For a long while I sat silently beside her,

but she neither stirred nor spoke, and at last I rose and entering the unused storeroom took the yellow book

in my least injured hand. It seemed heavy as lead, but I carried it into the studio again, and sitting down on

When, faint with the excess of my emotions, I dropped the volume and leaned wearily back against the sofa,

We had been speaking for some time in a dull monotonous strain before I realized that we were discussing

"The King in Yellow." Oh the sin of writing such words,words which are clear as crystal, limpid and

musical as bubbling springs, words which sparkle and glow like the poisoned diamonds of the Medicis! Oh

the wickedness, the hopeless damnation of a soul who could fascinate and paralyze human creatures with

such words, words understood by the ignorant and wise alike, words which are more precious than jewels,

We talked on, unmindful of the gathering shadows, and she was begging me to throw away the clasp of black

onyx quaintly inlaid with what we now knew to be the Yellow Sign. I never shall know why I refused, though

even at this hour, here in my bedroom as I write this confession, I should be glad to know what it was that

prevented me from tearing the Yellow Sign from my breast and casting it into the fire. I am sure I wished to

do so, but Tessie pleaded with me in vain. Night fell and the hours dragged on, but still we murmured to each

other of the King and the Pallid Mask, and midnight sounded from the misty spires in the fogwrapped city.

We spoke of Hastur and of Cassilda, while outside the fog rolled against the blank windowpanes as the

The house was very silent and not a sound from the misty streets broke the silence. Tessie lay among the

cushions, her face a gray blot in the gloom, but her hands were clasped in mine and I knew that she knew and

read my thoughts as I read hers, for we had understood the mystery of the Hyades and the Phantom of the

Truth was laid. Then as we answered each other, swiftly, silently, thought on thought, the shadows stirred in

the gloom about us, and far in the distant streets we heard a sound. Nearer and nearer it came, the dull

crunching of wheels, nearer and yet nearer, and now, outside before the door it ceased, and I dragged myself

to the window and saw a blackplumed hearse. The gate below opened and shut, and I crept shaking to my

door and bolted it, but I knew not bolts, no locks, could keep that creature out who was coming for the

Yellow Sign. And now I heard him moving very softly along the hall. Now he was at the door, and the bolts

rotted at his touch. Now he entered. With eyes staring from my head I peered into the darkness, but when he

came into the room I did not see him. It was only when I felt him envelop me in his cold soft grasp that I

cried out and struggled with deadly fury, but my hands were useless and he tore the onyx clasp from my coat

and struck me full in the face. Then, as I fell, I heard Tessie's soft cry and her spirit fled to God, and even

while falling I longed to follow her, for I knew that the King in Yellow had opened his tattered mantle and

I could tell more, but I cannot see what help it will be to the world. As for me I am past human help or hope.

As I lie here, writing, careless even whether or not I die before I finish, I can see the doctor gathering up his

powders and phials with a vague gesture to the good priest beside me, which I understand.

They will be very curious to know the tragedy they of the outside world who write books and print millions

of newspapers, but I shall write no more, and the father confessor will seal my last words with the seal of

sanctity when his holy office is done. They of the outside world may send their creatures into wrecked homes

and deathsmitten firesides, and their newspapers will batten on blood and tears, but with me their spies must

halt before the confessional. They know that Tessie is dead and that I am dying. They know how the people

of the house, aroused by an infernal scream, rushed into my rooms and found one living and two dead, but

they do not know what I shall tell them now; they do not know that the doctor said as he pointed to a horrible

decomposed heap on the floor the livid corpse of the watchman from the church: "I have no theory, no

There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not:

The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and

The utter desolation of the scene began to have its effect; I sat down to face the situation and, if possible,

recall to mind some landmark which might aid me in extricating myself from my present position. If I could

only find the ocean again all would be clear, for I knew one could see the island of Groix from the cliffs.

I laid down my gun, and kneeling behind a rock lighted a pipe. Then I looked at my watch. It was nearly four

Standing the day before on the cliffs below Kerselec with Goulven, looking out over the sombre moors

among which I had now lost my way, these downs had appeared to me level as a meadow, stretching to the

horizon, and although I knew how deceptive is distance, I could not realize that what from Kerselec seemed

to be mere grassy hollows were great valleys covered with gorse and heather, and what looked like scattered

"It's a bad place for a stranger," old Goulven had said; "you'd better take a guide;" and I had replied, "I shall

not lose myself." Now I knew that I had lost myself, as I sat there smoking, with the seawind blowing in my

face. On every side stretched the moorland, covered with flowering gorse and heath and granite boulders.

There was not a tree in sight, much less a house. After a while, I picked up the gun, and turning my back on

There was little use in following any of the brawling streams which every now and then crossed my path, for,

instead of flowing into the sea, they ran inland to reedy pools in the hollows of the moors. I had followed

several, but they all led me to swamps or silent little ponds from which the snipe rose peeping and wheeled

away in an ecstasy of fright. I began to feel fatigued, and the gun galled my shoulder in spite of the double

pads. The sun sunk lower and lower, shining level across the yellow gorse and the moorland pools.

As I walked my own gigantic shadow led me on, seeming to lengthen at every step. The gorse scraped against

my legging, crackled beneath my feet, showering the brown earth with blossoms, and the brake bowed and

billowed along my path. From tufts or heath rabbits scurried away through the bracken, and among the

swamp grass I heard the wild duck's drowsy quack. Once a fox stole across my path, and again, as I stooped

to drink at a hurrying rill, a heron flapped heavily from the reeds beside me. I turned to look at the sun. It

seemed to touch the edges of the plain. When at last I decided that it was useless to go on, and that I must

make up my mind to spend at least one night on the moors, I threw myself down thoroughly fagged out. The

evening sunlight slanted warm across my body, but the seawinds began to rise, and I felt a chill strike

though me from my wet shootingboots. High overhead gulls were wheeling and tossing like bits of white

paper; from some distant marsh a solitary curlew called. Little by little the sun sank into the plain, and the

zenith flushed with the afterglow. I watched the sky change from the palest gold to pink and then to

smouldering fire. Clouds of midges danced above me, and high in the calm air a bat dipped and soared. My

eyelids began to droop. Then as I shook off the drowsiness a sudden crash among the bracken roused me. I

raised my eyes. A great bird hung quivering in the air above my face. For an instant I stared, incapable of

motion; then something leaped past me in the ferns and the bird rose, wheeled, and pitched headlong into the

I was on my feet in an instant peering through the gorse. There came the sound of a struggle from a bunch of

heather close by, and then all was quiet. I stepped forward, my gun poised, but when I came to the heather the

gun fell from under my arm again, and I stood motionless in silent astonishment. A dead hare lay on the

ground, and on the hare stood a magnificent falcon, one talon buried in the creature's neck, the other planted

firmly on its limp flank. But what astonished me, was not the mere sight of a falcon sitting upon its prey. I

had seen that more than once. It was that the falcon was fitted with a sort of leash about both talons, and from

the leash hung a round bit of metal like a slightbell. The bird turned its fierce yellow eye on me, and then

stooped and struck its curved beak into the quarry. At the same instant hurried steps sounded among the

heather, and a girl sprang into the covert in front. Without a glance at me she walked up to the falcon, and

passing her gloved hand under its breast, raised it from the quarry. Then she deftly slipped a small hood over

the bird's head, and holding it out on her gauntlet, stooped and picked up the hare.

She passed a cord about the animal's legs and fastened the end of the thong to her girdle. Then she started to

retrace her steps through the covert. As she passed me I raised my cap and she acknowledged my presence

with a scarcely perceptible inclination. I had been so astonished, so lost in admiration of the scene before my

eyes, that it had not occurred to me that here was my salvation. But as she moved away I recollected that

unless I wanted to sleep on a windy moor that night I had better recover my speech without delay. At my first

word she hesitated, and as I stepped before her I thought a look of fear came into her beautiful eyes. But as I

humbly explained my unpleasant plight, her face flushed and she looked at me in wonder.

Her sweet voice had no trace of the Breton accent nor of any accent which I knew, and yet there was

something in it I seemed to have heard before, something quaint and indefinable, like the theme of an old

I explained that I was an American, unacquainted with Finist�re, shooting there for my own amusement.

"An American," she repeated in the same quaint musical tones, "I have never before seen an American."

For a moment she stood silent, then looking at me she said: "if you should walk all night you could not reach

"But," I began, "if you could only find a peasant's hut where I might get something to eat, and shelter."

The falcon on her wrist fluttered and shook its head. The girl smoothed its glossy back and glanced at me.

"Look around," she said gently, "Can you see the end of these moors? Look, north, south, east, west. Can you

"The moor is wild and desolate. It is easy to enter, but sometimes they who enter never leave it. There are no

"Well," I said, "if you will tell me in which direction Kerselec lies, tomorrow it will take me no longer to go

"Ah," she said, "to come is easy and takes hours; to go is differentand may take centuries."

I stared at her in amazement but decided that I had misunderstood her. Then before I had time to speak she

"Sit down and rest," she said to me; "you have come a long distance and are tired."

She gathered up her pleated skirts and motioning me to follow picked her dainty way through the gorse to a

"They will be here directly," she said, and taking a seat at one end of the rock invited me to sit down on the

other edge. The after glow was beginning to fade in the sky and a single star twinkled faintly through the rosy

haze. A long wavering triangle of waterfowl drifted southward over our heads and from the swamps around

"Oh," she cried with a little catch in her breath and looked at me. Her dark eyes met mine and I though she

"Like a woman," she repeated under her breath, "how cruel to say so!" Then after a pause, as though speaking

I don't know what sort of an apology I offered for my inane, though harmless speech, but I know that she

seemed so troubled about it that I began to think I had said something very dreadful without knowing it, and

remembered with horror the pitfalls and snares which the French language tends for foreigners. While I was

trying to imagine what I might have said, a sound of voices came across the moor and the girl rose to her feet.

"No," she said, with a trace of a smile on her pale face, "I will not accept you apologies, Monsieur, but I must

prove you wrongs and that shall be my revenge. Look. Here come Hastur and Raoul."

Two men loomed up in the twilight. One had a sack across his shoulders and the other carried a hoop before

him as a waiter carried a tray. The hoop was fastened with straps to his shoulders and around the edge of the

circlet sat three hooded falcons fitted with tinkling bells. The girl stepped up to the falconer, and with a quick

turn of her wrist transferred her falcon to the hoop where it quickly sidled off and nestled among its mates

who shook their hooded heads and ruffled their feathers till the belled jesses tinkled again. The other man

stepped forward and bowing respectfully took up the hare and dropped it into the gamesack.

"These are my piqueurs," said the girl turning to me with a gentle dignity. "Raoul is a good fauconnier and I

"Did I not tell you, Monsieur, that I should prove you wrong?" she continued. "This then is my revenge, that

Before I could answer she spoke to the falconers who started instantly across the heath, and with a gracious

gesture to me she followed. I don't know whether I made her understand how profoundly grateful I felt, but

"Don't you think your gallantry is a little oldfashioned," she said; and when I looked confused and humbled,

she added quietly, "oh, I like it, I like everything oldfashioned, and it is delightful to hear you say such

The moorland around us was very still now under its ghostly sheet of mist. The plover had ceased their

calling; the crickets and all the little creatures of the fields were silent as we passed, yet it seemed to me as if

I could hear them beginning again far behind us. Well in advance the two tall falconers strode across the

heather and the faint jingling of the hawks' bells came to our ears in distant murmuring chimes.

Suddenly a splendid hound dashed out of the mist in front, followed by another and another until half a dozen

or more were bounding and leaping around the girl beside me. She caressed and quieted them with her gloved

hand, speaking to them in quaint terms which I remembered to have seen in old French manuscripts.

Then the falcons on the circlet borne by the falconer ahead began to beat their wings and scream, and from

somewhere out of sight the notes of a huntinghorn floated across the moor. The hounds sprang away before

us and vanished in the twilight, the falcons flapped and squealed upon their perch and the girl taking up the

song of the horn began to hum. Clear and mellow her voice sounded in the night air

Chasseur, chasseur, chassez encore, Quittez Rosette et Jeanneton, Tonton, tonton, tontaine, tonton, Ou, pour,

rabattre, d�s l'aurore, Que les Amours soient de planton, Tonton, tontaine, tonton.

As I listened to her lovely voice a gray mass which rapidly grew more distinct loomed up in front, and the

horn rang out joyously through the tumult of the hounds and falcons. A torch glimmered at a gate, a light

streamed through an opening door, and we stepped upon a wooden bridge which trembled under out feet and

rose creaking and straining behind us as we passed over the moat and into a small stone court, walled on

every side. From an open doorway a man came and bending in salutation presented a cup to the girl beside

me. She took the cup and touched it with her lips, then lowering it turned to me and said in a low voice, "I bid

At that moment one of the falconers came with another cup, but before handing it to me, presented it to the

girl, who tasted it. The falconer made a gesture to receive it, but she hesitated a moment and then stepping

forward offered me the cup with her own hands. I felt this to be an act of extraordinary graciousness, but

hardly knew what was expected of me, and did not raise it to my lips at once. The girl flushed crimson. I saw

"Mademoiselle," I faltered, "a stranger whom you have saved from dangers he may never realize, empties this

"In His name," she murmured crossing herself as I drained the cup. Then stepping into the doorway she

turned to me with a pretty gesture and taking my hand in hers, led me into the house, saying again and again:

I awoke next morning with the music of the horn in my ears, and leaping out of the ancient bed, went to a

curtained window where the sunlight filtered through little deepset panes. The horn ceased as I looked into

A man who might have been brother to the two falconers of the night before stood in the midst of a pack of

in his hand he held a longlashed whip. The dogs whined and yelped, dancing around him in anticipation;

"Mount!" cried a voice in Breton, and with a clatter of hoofs the two falconers, with falcons upon their wrists,

rode into the courtyard among the hounds. Then I heard another voice which sent the blood throbbing

through my heart: "Piriou Louis, hunt the hounds well and spare neither spur nor whip. Thou Raoul and thou

Gaston, see that the epervier does not prove himself niais, and if it be best in your judgment, faites courtoisie

a l'oiseau. Fardiner un oiseau like the mu� there on Hastur's wrist is not difficult, but thou, Raoul mayest not

find it so simple to govern that hagard. Twice last week he foamed au vif and lost the beccade although he is

used to the leurre. The bird acts like a stupid branchier. Paitre un hagard n'est pas si facile."

Was I dreaming? The old language of falconry which I had read in yellow manuscriptsthe old forgotten

French of the middle ages was sounding in my ears while the hounds bayed and the hawks' bells tinkled

"If you would rather attach the longe and leave thy hagard au bloc, Raoul, I shall say nothing for it were a

pity to spoil so fair a day's sport with an illtrained sors. Essimer abaisser,it is possibly the best way. Ca

lui donnera des reins. I was perhaps hasty with the bird. It takes time to pass � la fili�re and the exercises

Then the falconer Raoul bowed in his stirrups and replied: "If it be the pleasure of Mademoiselle, I shall keep

"It is my wish," she answered. "Falconry I know, but you have yet to give me many a lesson in Autourserie,

The huntsman sprang into an archway and in an instant returned, mounted upon a strong black horse,

"Ah!" she cried joyously, "speed Glemarec Ren�! speed! speed all! Sound thy horn Sieur Piriou!"

The silvery music of the huntinghorn filled the courtyard, the hounds sprang through the gateway and

galloping hoofbeats plunged out of the paved court; loud on the drawbridge, suddenly muffled, then lost in

the heather and bracken of the moors. Distant and more distant sounded the horn, until it became so faint that

carol of a soaring lark drowned it in my ears. I heard the voice below responding to some call from within the

"I do not regret the chase. I will go another time. Courtesy to the stranger, Pelagie, remember!"

I stripped, and rubbed myself from head to foot in the huge earthen basin of icy water which stood upon the

stone floor at the foot of my bed. Then I looked about for my clothes. They were gone, but on a settle near the

door lay a heap of garments which I inspected with astonishment. As my clothes had vanished I was

compelled to attire myself in the costume which had evidently been placed there for me to wear while my

own clothes dried. Everything was there, cap, shoes, and hunting doublet of silvery gray homespun; but the

closefitting costume and seamless shoes belonged to another century, and I remembered the strange

costumes of the three falconers in the courtyard. I was sure that it was not the modern dress of any portion of

France or Brittany; but not until I was dressed and stood before a mirror between the windows did I realize

that I was clothed much more like a young huntsman of the middle ages than like a Breton of that day. I

hesitated and picked up the cap. Should I go down and present myself in that strange guise? There seemed to

be no help for it, my own clothes were gone and there was no bell in the ancient chamber to call a servant, so

I contented myself with removing a short hawk's feather from the cap, and opening the door went downstairs.

By the fireplace in the large room at the foot of the stairs an old Breton woman sat spinning with a distaff.

She looked up at me when I appeared, and, smiling frankly, wished me health in the Breton language, to

which I laughingly replied in French. At the same moment my hostess appeared and returned my salutation

with a grace and dignity that sent a thrill to my heart. Her lovely head with its dark curly was crowned with a

headdress. which set all doubts as to the epoch of my own costume at rest. Her slender figure was

exquisitely set off in the homespun huntinggown edged with silver, and on her gauntletcovered wrist she

bore one of her petted hawks. With perfect simplicity she took my hand and led me into the garden in the

court, and seating herself before a table invited me very sweetly to sit beside her. Then she asked me in her

soft quaint accent how I had passed the night and whether I was very much inconvenienced by wearing the

clothes which old Pelagie had put there for me while I slept. I looked at my own clothes and shoes, drying in

the sun by the gardenwall, and hated them. What horrors they were compared with the graceful costume

which I now wore I told her this laughing, but she agreed with me very seriously.

"We will throw them away," she said in a quiet voice. In my astonishment I attempted to explain that I not

only could not think of accepting clothes from anybody, although for all I knew it might be the custom of

hospitality in that part of the country, but that I should cut an impossible figure if I returned to France clothed

She laughed and tossed her pretty head, saying something in old French which I did not understand, and then

Pelagie trotted out with a tray on which stood two bowls of milk, a loaf of white bread, fruit, a platter of

honeycomb, and a flagon of deep red wine. "You see I have not yet broken my fast because I wished you to

"I would rather die than forget one word of what you have said!" I blurted out while my cheeks burned. "She

will think me mad," I added to myself, but she turned to me with sparkling eyes.

She crossed herself and broke breadI sat and watched her white hands, not daring to raise my eyes to hers.

Ah, why? I knew it now. I Knew I would give my life to touch with my lips those rosy palmsI understood

now that from the moment when looked into her dark eyes there on the moor last night I had loved her. My

Then like a man who pronounces his own doom I answered in a low voice: "Yes, I am ill at ease for love of

you." And as she did not stir nor answer, the same power moved my lips in spite of me and I said, "I, who am

unworthy of the lightest of your thoughts, I who abuse hospitality and repay your gentle courtesy with bold

She leaned her head upon her hands, and answered softly, "I love you. Your words are very dear to me. I love

But all the time I had been sitting silent, my face turned toward her. She also silent, her sweet face resting on

her upturned palm, sat facing me, and as her eyes looked into mine, I knew that neither she nor I had spoken

human speech; but I knew that her soul had answered mine, and I drew myself up feeling youth and joyous

love coursing through every vein. She, with a bright color in her lovely face, seemed as one awakened from a

dream, and her eyes sought mine with a questioning glance which made me tremble with delight. We broke

our fast, speaking of ourselves. I told her my name and she told me hers, the Mademoiselle Jeanne d'Ys.

She spoke of her father and mother's death, and how the nineteen of her years had been passed in the little

fortified farm alone with her nurse Pelagie, Glemarec Ren� the piqueur, and the four falconers, Raoul,

Gaston, Hastur, and the Sieur Piriou Louis, who had served her father. She had never been outside the

moorlandnever even had seen a human soul before, except the falconers and Pelagie. She did not know how

she had heard of Kerselec; perhaps the falconers had spoken of it. She knew the legends of Loup Garou and

Jeanne la Flamme from her nurse Pelagie. She embroidered and spun flax. Her hawks and hounds were her

only distraction. When she had met me there on the moor she had been so frightened that she almost dropped

at the sound of my voice. She had, it was true, seen ships at sea from the cliffs, but as far as the eye could

reach the moors over which she galloped were destitute of any sign of human life. There was a legend which

old Pelagie told, how anybody once lost in the unexplored moorland might never return, because the moors

were enchanted. She did not know whether it was true, she never had thought about it until she met me. She

did not know whether the falconers had even been outside or whether they would go if they would. The

books in the house which Pelagie the nurse had taught her to read were hundreds of years old.

All this she told me with a sweet seriousness seldom seen in any one but children. My own name she found

easy to pronounce and insisted, because my first name was Philip, I must have French blood in me. She did

not seem curious to learn anything about the outside world, and I thought perhaps she considered it had

We were still sitting at the table and she was throwing grapes to the small field birds which came fearlessly to

I began to speak in a vague way of going, but she would not hear of it, and before I knew it I had promised to

stay a week and hunt with hawk and hound in their company. I also obtained permission to come again from

"Why," she said innocently. "I do not know what I should do if you never came back"; and I, knowing that I

had no right to awaken her with the sudden shock which the avowal of my own love would bring to her, sat

She rose and took my hand again with a childlike innocence of possession, and we walked through the garden

and fruit trees to a grassy lawn which was bordered by a brook. Over the lawn were scattered fifteen or

twenty stumps of treespartially imbedded in the grassand upon all of these except two sat falcons. They

were attached to the stumps by thongs which were in turn fastened with steel rivets to their legs just above the

talons. A little stream of pure spring water flowed in a winding course within easy distance of each perch.

The birds set up a clamor when the girl appeared, but she went from one to another caressing some, taking

"Are they not pretty?" she said. "See, here is a falcongentil. We call it 'ignoble,' because it takes the quarry

'noble' because it rises over the quarry, and wheeling, drops upon it from above. This white bird is a gerfalcon

from the north. It is also 'noble!' Here is a merlin, and this tiercelet is a falconheroner."

I asked her how she had learned the old language of falconry. She did not remember, but thought her father

Then she led me away and showed me the young falcons still in the nest. "They are termed niais in falconry,"

she explained. "A branchier is the young bird which is just able to leave the nest and hop from branch to

branch. A young bird which has not yet moulted is called a sors, and a mu� is a hawk which has moulted in

captivity. When we catch a wild falcon which has changed its plumage we term it a hagard. Raoul first taught

She seated herself on the bank of the stream among the falcons and I threw myself at her feet to listen.

She laughed very prettily and told me my dressage would perhaps be difficult as I was noble.

She sat silent for a moment. Then the color heightened in her cheeks and she held up her finger again saying,

But again she fell into the reverie, and her eyes seemed fixed on something beyond the summer clouds.

"Win me," she said, but this time it was the body and soul which spoke in unison.

Then Jeanne d'Ys took my hand in both of hers and told me how with infinite patience the young falcon was

taught to perch upon the wrist, how little by little it became used to the belled jesses and the chaperon �

"They must first have a good appetite," she said; "then little by little I reduce their nourishment which in

falconry we call p�t. When after many nights passed au bloc as these birds are now, I prevail upon the hagard

to stay quietly on the wrist, then the bird is ready to be taught to come for its food. I fix the p�t to the end of a

thong or leurre, and teach the bird to come to me, as soon as I begin to whirl the cord in circles about my

head. At first I drop the pat when the falcon comes, and he eats the food on the ground. After little he will

learn to seize the leurre in motion as I whirl it around my head, or drag it over the ground. After that it is easy

to teach the falcon to strike at game, always remembering to 'faire courtoisie � l'oiseau,' that is, to allow the

A squeal from one of the falcons interrupted her, and she arose to adjust the longe which had become

I looked around and at first saw nothing to cause the commotion which was now heightened by the screams

and flapping of all the birds. Then my eye fell upon the flat rock beside the stream from which the girl had

risen. A gray serpent was moving slowly across the surface of the boulder, and the eyes in its flat triangular

We watched the reptile moving slowly over the smooth rock to where the sunlight fell in a broad warm patch.

I started forward to examine it, but she clung to my arm crying "Don't Philip, I am afraid."

Then I took her in my arms and kissed her on the lips, but all I could say was: "Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne." And

foot in the grass below, but I did not heed it. Then again something struck my ankle, and a sharp pain shot

through me. I looked into the sweet face of Jeanne d'Ys and kissed her, and with all my strength lifted her in

my arms and flung her from me. Then bending I tore the viper from my ankle, and set my heel upon its head.

I remember feeling weak and numb,I remember falling to the ground. Through my slowly glazing eyes I

saw Jeanne's white face bending close to mine, and when the light in my eyes went out I still felt her arms

When I opened my eyes, I looked around in terror. Jeanne was gone. I saw the stream and the flat rock; I saw

the crushed viper in the grass beside me, but the hawks and blocs had disappeared, I sprang to my feet. The

garden, the fruit trees, the drawbridge and the walled court were gone. I stared stupidly at a heap of

crumbling ruins ivycovered and gray, through which great trees had pushed their way. I crept forward

dragging my numbed foot, and as I moved, a falcon sailed from the treetops among the ruins and soaring,

"Jeanne, Jeanne," I cried, but my voice died on my lips, and I fell on my knees among the weeds. And as God

willed it, I, not knowing, had fallen kneeling before a crumbling shrine; carved in stone for our Mother of

Sorrows. I saw the sad face of the Virgin wrought in the cold stone. I saw the cross and thorns at her feet, and

I said, "Why tell me of the world? My world is here, between these walls and the sheet of glass above; here

among gilded flagons and dull jewelled arms, tarnished frames and canvasses, black chests and high backed

"For whom do you wait?" he said, and I answered, "When she comes I shall know her."

On my hearth a tongue of flame whispered secrets to the whitening ashes. In the street below I heard

Footsteps, a voice, and a song in the street below, and I knew the song but neither the steps nor the voice.

"Fool!" he cried, "the song is the same, the voice and steps have but changed with years!"

On the hearth a tongue of flame whispered above the whitening ashes: "Wait no more; they have passed, the

I answered, "My world is here, between these walls and the sheet of glass above; here among gilded flagons

and dull jewelled arms, tarnished frames and canvasses, black chests and high backed chairs, quaintly carved

"If it is true," she sighed, "that you find in me a friend, let us turn back together. You will forget, here, under

I held her close, pleading, caressing; I seized her, white with anger, but she resisted.

"If it is true," she sighed, "that you find in me a friend, let us turn back together."

I went into a field of flowers, whose petals are whiter than snow and whose hearts are pure gold.

Far afield a woman cried, "I have killed him I loved!" and from a jar she poured blood upon the flowers

Far afield I followed, and on the jar I read a thousand names, while from within the fresh blood bubbled to

"I have killed him I loved!" she cried. "The world's athirst; now let it drink!" She passed, and far afield I

watched her pouring blood upon the flowers whose petals are whiter than snow and whose hearts are pure

"Pass!" cried the keeper, but I laughed, saying, "There is time;" and he smiled and shut the gates.

To the bridge which few may pass came young an old. All were refused. Idly I stood and counted them, until,

wearied of their noise and lamentations, I came again to the bridge which few may pass.

Those in the throng about the gates shrieked out, "He comes too late!" But I laughed saying, "There is time."

There, where the throng was thickest in the street, I stood with Pierrot. All eyes were turned to me.

"What are they laughing at?" I asked, but he grinned, dusting the chalk from my black cloak. "I cannot see; it

Then Truth stepped out holding a mirror. "If he is an honest thief," cried Truth, "Pierrot shall find him with

"You see," he said, "Truth is an honest thief, she brings you back your mirror."

"Arrest Truth!" I cried, forgetting it was not a mirror but a purse I lost, standing with Pierrot, there, where the

"Was she fair?" I asked, but he only chuckled, listening to the bells jingling on his cap.

"Stabbed," he tittered; "think of the long journey, the days of peril, the dreadful nights! Think how he

wandered, for her sake, year after year, through hostile lands, yearning for kith and kin, yearning for her!"

"She kissed him at the gate," he tittered, "but in the hall his brother's welcome touched his heart."

"Stabbed," he chuckled; "think of the long journey, the days of peril, the dreadful nights! Think how he

wandered, for her sake, year after year, through hostile lands, yearning for kith and kin, yearning for her!

"She kissed him at the gate, but in the hall his brother's welcome touched his heart."

"Was she fair?" I asked; but he only snarled, listening to the bells jingling on his cap.

"If to be fair is to be beautiful," he said, "who can compare with me in my white mask?"

"You are beautiful," sighed the Clown, turning his powdered face from the mirror.

"If it is true that you love," said Love, "then wait no longer. Give her these jewels which would dishonour her

and so dishonour you in loving one dishonoured. If it is true that you love," said Love, "then wait no longer."

I took the jewels and went to her, but she trod upon them, sobbing: "Teach me to wait, I love you!"

THE ANIMAL paused on the threshold, interrogative, alert, ready for flight if necessary. Severn laid down

his palette, and held out a hand of welcome. The cat remained motionless, her yellow eyes fastened upon

Apparently she found his voice reassuring, for she slowly settled upon all fours, her eyes still fastened upon

He rose from his easel smiling. She eyed him quietly, and when he walked toward her she watched him bend

above her without a wince her eyes followed his hand until it touched her head. Then she uttered a ragged

It had long been Severn's custom to converse with animals, probably because he lived so much alone and

Then moving quietly about he busied himself with the duties of a host, rinsed a saucer, filled it with the rest

of the milk from the bottle on the windowsill, and kneeling down, crumbled a roll into the hollow of his

With the handle of a palette knife he stirred the crumbs and milk together and stepped back as she thrust her

nose into the mess. He watched her in silence. From time to time the saucer klinked upon the tiled floor as

she reached for a morsel on the rim; and at last the bread was all gone, and her purple tongue travelled over

every unlicked spot until the saucer shone like polished marble. Then she sat up, and coolly turning her back

She flattened one ear but neither turned nor interrupted her toilet. As the grime was slowly removed Severn

observed that nature had intended her for a white cat. Her fur had disappeared in patches, from disease or the

chances of war, her tail was bony and her spine sharp. But what charms she had were becoming apparent

under vigorous licking, and he waited until she had finished before reopening the conversation. When at last

she closed her eyes and folded her forepaws under her breast, he began again very gently: "Puss, tell me your

At the sound of his voice she broke into a harsh rumbling which he recognized as an attempt to purr. He bent

over to rub her cheek and she mewed again, an amiable inquiring little mew, to which he replied, "Certainly,

you are greatly improved, and when you recover your plumage you will be a gorgeous bird." Much flattered

she stood up and marched around and around his legs, pushing her head between them and making pleased

"Now what sent you here," he said, "here into the Street of the Four Winds, and up five flights to the very

door where you would be welcome? What was it that prevented your meditated flight when I turned from my

canvas to encounter your yellow eyes? Are you a Latin Quarter cat as I am a Latin Quarter man? And why do

you wear a rosecolored flowered garter buckled about your neck? The cat had climbed into his lap and now

Excuse me," he continued in lazy soothing tones, harmonizing with her purring, "if I seem indelicate, but I

cannot help musing on this rosecolored garter, flowered so quaintly and fastened with a silver clasp. For the

clasp is silver; I can see the mint mark on the edge, as is prescribed by the law of the French Republic. Now,

why is this garter woven of rose silk and delicately embroidered,why is this silken garter with its silver

clasp about your famished throat? Am I indiscreet when I inquire if its owner is your owner? Is she some

aged dame living in memory of youthful vanities fond, doting on you, decorating you with her intimate

personal attire? The circumference of the garter would suggest this, for your neck is thin, and the garter fits

you. But then again I noticeI notice most thingsthat the garter is capable of being much enlarged. These

small silverrimmed eyelets, of which I count five, are proof of that, And now I observe that the fifth eyelet

is worn out, as though the tongue of the clasp were accustomed to lie there. That seems to argue a

He murmured on: "Why should your mistress decorate you with an article most necessary to her at all times?

Anyway, at most times. How did she come to slip this bit of silk and silver about your neck? Was it the

caprice of a moment, when you, before you had lost your pristine plumpness, marched singing into her

bedroom to bid her goodmorning? Of course, and she sat up among the pillows, her coiled hair tumbling to

her shoulders, as you sprang upon the bed purring: 'Goodday, my lady.' Oh, it is very easy to understand,"

he yawned, resting his head on the back of the chair. The cat still purred, tightening and relaxing her padded

"Shall I tell you all about her, cat? She is very beautifulyour mistress," he murmured drowsily, "and her

hair is heavy as burnished gold." "I could paint her,not on canvasfor I should need shades and tones and

hues and dyes more splendid than the iris of a splendid rainbow. I could only paint her with closed eyes, for

in dreams alone can such colors as I need be found. For her eyes, I must have azure from skies untroubled by

a cloudthe skies of dreamland. For her lips, roses from the palaces of slumberland, and for her brow,

snowdrifts from mountains which tower in fantastic pinnacles to the moons;oh, much higher than our

The cat too was asleep, her cheek turned Up upon her wasted flank, her paws relaxed and limp.

"It is fortunate," said Severn, sitting up and stretching, "that we have tided over the dinner hour, for I have

nothing to offer you for supper but what may be purchased with one silver franc."

"What shall it be? A roast chicken with salad? No? Possibly you prefer beef? Of course,and I shall try an

egg and some white bread. Now for the wines. Milk for you? Good. I shall take a little water, fresh from the

He put on his hat and left the room. The cat followed to the door, and after he had closed it behind him, she

settled down, smelling at the cracks, and cocking one ear at every creak from the crazy old building.

The door below opened and shut. The cat looked serious, for a moment doubtful, and her ears flattened in

nervous expectation. Presently, she rose with a jerk of her tail and started on a noiseless tour of the studio.

She sneezed at a pot of turpentine, hastily retreating to the table, which she presently mounted, and having

satisfied her curiosity concerning a roll of red modelling wax, returned to the door and sat down with her eyes

When Severn returned he looked grave, but the cat, joyous and demonstrative, marched around him, rubbing

her gaunt body against his legs, driving her head enthusiastically into his hand, and purring until her voice

He placed a bit of meat, wrapped in brown paper, upon the table, and with a penknife cut it into shreds. The

milk he took from a bottle which had served for medicine, and poured it into the saucer on the hearth.

He cooked his egg and ate it with a slice of bread, watching her busy with the shredded meat, and when he

had finished, and had filled and emptied a cup of water from the bucket in the sink, he sat clown, taking her

into his lap, where she at once curled up and began her toilet. He began to speak again, touching her

"Cat, I have found out where your mistress lives. It is not very far away;it is here, under this same leaky

roof, but in the north wing which I had supposed was uninhabited. My janitor tells me this. By chance, he is

almost sober this evening. The butcher on the rue de Seine, where I bought your meat, knows you, and old

Cabane the baker identified you with needless sarcasm. They tell me hard tales of your mistress which I shall

not believe. They say she is idle and vain and pleasureloving; they say she is harebrained and reckless. The

little sculptor on the ground floor, who was buying rolls from old Cabane, spoke to me tonight for the first

time, although we have always bowed to each other. He said she was very good and very beautiful. He has

only seen her once, and does not know her name. I thanked him;I don't know why I thanked him so

warmly. Cabane said, "Into this cursed Street of the Four Winds, the four winds blow all things evil." The

sculptor looked confused, but when he went out with his rolls, he said to me, "I am sure, Monsieur, that she is

The cat had finished her toilet and now, springing softly to the floor, went to the door and sniffed. He knelt

beside her, and unclasping the garter held it for a moment in his hands. After a while he said: "There is a

name engraved upon the silver clasp beneath the buckle. It is a, pretty name, Sylvia Elven. Sylvia is a

woman's name, Elven is the name of a town. In Paris, in this quarter, above all, in this Street of the Four

Winds, names are worn and put away as the fashions change with the seasons. I know the little town of

Elven, for there I met Fate face to face and Fate was unkind. But do you know that in Elven Fate had another

He replaced the garter and stood up looking down at the cat crouched before the closed door.

"The name of Elven has a charm for me. It tells me of meadows and clear rivers. The name of Sylvia troubles

"Yes, yes," he said soothingly, "I will take you back. Your Sylvia is not my Sylvia; the world is wide and

Elven is not unknown. Yet in the darkness and filth of poorer Paris, in the sad shadows of this ancient house,

He lifted her in his arms and strode through the silent corridors to the stairs. Down five flights and into the

moonlit court, past the little sculptor's den, and then again in at the gate of the north wing and up the

wormeaten stairs he passed, until he came to a closed door. When he had stood knocking for a long time,

something moved behind the door; it opened and he went in. The room was dark. As he crossed the threshold,

the cat sprang from his arms into the shadows. He listened but heard nothing. The silence was oppressive and

he struck a match. At his elbow stood a table and on the table a candle in a gilded candlestick. This he

lighted, then looked around. The chamber was vast, the hangings heavy with embroidery. Over the fireplace

towered a carved mantel, gray with the ashes of dead fires. In a recess by the deepset windows stood a bed,

from which the bedclothes, soft and fine as lace, trailed to the polished floor. He lifted the candle above his

head. A handkerchief lay at his feet. It was faintly perfumed. He turned toward the windows. In front of them

was a canap� and over it were flung, pellmell, a gown of silk, a heap of lacelike garments, white and

delicate as spiders' meshes, long, crumpled gloves, and, on the floor beneath, the stockings, the little pointed

shoes, and one garter of rosy silk, quaintly flowered and fitted with a silver clasp. Wondering, he stepped

forwarded and drew the heavy curtains from the bed. For a moment the candle flared in his hand; then his

eyes met two other eyes, wide open, smiling, and the candle flame flashed over hair heavy as gold.

She was pale, but not as white as he; her eyes were untroubled as a child's; but he stared, trembling from head

Then, knowing that she was dead, he kissed her on the mouth. And through the long watches of the night, the

cat purred on his knee, tightening and relaxing her padded claws, until the sky paled above the Street of the

THE ROOM WAS already dark. The high roofs apposite cut off what little remained of the December

daylight. The girl drew her chair nearer the window and choosing a large needle, threaded it, knotting the

thread over her fingers. Then she smoothed the baby garment across her knees, and bending, bit off the thread

and drew the smaller needle from where it rested in the hem. When she had brushed away the stray threads

and bits of lace, she laid it again over her knees caressingly. Then she slipped the threaded needle from her

corsage and passed it through a button, but as the button spun down the thread, her hand faltered, the thread

snapped, and the button rolled across the floor. She raised her head. Her eyes were fixed on a strip of waning

light above the chimneys. From somewhere in the city came sounds like the distant beating of drums, and

beyond, far beyond, a vague muttering, now growing, swelling, rumbling in the distance like the pounding of

surf upon the rocks, now like the surf again, receding, growling, menacing. The cold had become intense, a

bitter piercing cold which strained and snapped at joist and beam and turned the slush of yesterday to flint.

From the street below every sound broke sharp and metallicthe clatter of sabots, the rattle of shutters or the

rare sound of a human voice. The air was heavy, weighted with the black cold as with a pall. To breathe was

In the desolate sky there was something that wearied, in the brooding clouds, something that saddened. It

penetrated the freezing city cut by the freezing river, the splendid city with its towers and domes, its quays

and bridges and its thousand spires. It entered the squares, it seized the avenues and the palaces, stole across

bridges and crept among the narrow streets of the Latin Quarter, gray under the gray of the December sky.

Sadness, utter sadness. A fine icy sleet was falling, powdering the pavement with a tiny crystalline dust. It

sifted against the windowpanes and drifted in heaps along the sill. The light at the window had nearly failed,

and the girl bent low over her work. Presently she raised her head, brushing the curls from her eyes.

He said, "all right," and picking up his palette, sat down upon the floor in front of the stove. His head and

shoulders were in the shadow, but the firelight fell across his knees and glimmered red on the blade of the

palette knife. Full in the firelight beside him stood a colorbox. On the lid was carved,

The sleet blew against the windowpanes, covering them with stars and diamonds, then, melting from the

"He's whining," she continued nervously, "and if it isn't because he's hungry it is because"

"Oh, Jack," she cried, "another" but her voice was drowned in the scream of a shell tearing through the

"Oh, no," he answered cheerfully, "it probably fell way over by Montmartre," and as she did not answer, he

said again with exaggerated unconcern, "They wouldn't take the trouble to fire at the Latin Quarter; anyway

After a while she spoke up brightly. "Jack, dear, when are you going to take me to see Monsieur West's

"I will bet," he said, throwing down his palette and walking over to the window beside her, "that Colette has

"Why?" she asked, opening her eyes very wide. Then, "Oh, it's too bad!really, men are tiresome when they

think they know everything! And I warn you that if Monsieur West is vain enough to imagine that

From the north another shell came whistling and quavering through the sky, passing above them with a

They were silent for a while, then he spoke again gayly; "Go on, Sylvia, and wither poor West;" but she only

Her scissors fell jingling to the floor; she tossed her unfinished frock after them, and putting both arms about

"They may all fall in the Beaux Arts, you said yourself that two struck the Quai d'Orsay"

"Oh, I can't get used to it and I know you must go, but I beg you not to be late to dinner. If you knew what I

She watched him fill the alcohol lamp for her, and when he had lighted it and had taken his hat to go, she

jumped up and clung to him in silence. After a moment he said: "Now, Sylvia, remember my courage is

sustained by yours. Come, I must go!" She did not move and he repeated: "I must go." Then she stepped back

and he thought she was going to speak and waited, but she only looked at him, and a little impatiently, he

When he had reached the last flight of stairs on his way to the street a woman hobbled out of the

housekeeper's lodge waving a letter and calling: "Monsieur Jack! Monsieur Jack! This was left by Monsieur

I believe Braith is dead broke and I'm sure Fallowby is. Braith swears he isn't, and Fallowby swears he is, so

you can draw your own conclusions. I've got a scheme for dinner, and if it works, I will let you fellows in.

"P.S.Fallowby has shaken Hartman and his gang, thank the Lord! There is something rotten there,or it

"P.P.S.I'm more desperately in love than ever, but I'm sure she does not care a straw for me."

"All right," said Trent, with a smile, to the concierge; "but tell me, how is Papa Cottard?"

He walked over to the bed and drew the curtains. An old man was lying among the tumbled sheets.

"Better," repeated the man wearily; and, after a pause; "have you any news, Monsieur Jack?"

"I haven't been out today. I will bring you any rumor I may hear, though goodness knows I've got enough of

"It will be sickening," thought Trent as he went out into the street and turned the corner toward the rue de

The street was almost deserted. A few women muffled in tattered military capes crept along the frozen

pavement, and a wretchedly clad gamin hovered over the sewer hole on the corner of the Boulevard. A rope

around his waist held his rags together. From the rope hung a rat, still warm and bleeding.

"Two francs for a quarter of a fat one; that's what they give at the St. Germain Market."

A violent fit of coughing interrupted him, but he wiped his face with the palm of his hand and looked

"Last week you could buy a rat for six francs, but," and here he swore vilely, "the rats have quit the rue de

Seine and they kill them now over by the new hospital. I'll let you have this one for seven francs; I can sell it

"You lie," said Trent, "and let me tell you that if you try to swindle anybody in this quarter the people will

He stood for a moment eyeing the gamin, who pretended to snivel. Then he tossed him a franc, laughing. The

child caught it, and thrusting it into his mouth wheeled about to the sewer hole. For a second he crouched,

motionless, alert, his eyes on the bars of the drain, then leaping forward he hurled a stone into the gutter, and

Trent left him to finish a fierce gray rat that writhed squealing at the mouth of the sewer.

"Suppose Braith should come to that," he thought; "poor little chap;" and hurrying, he turned in the dirty

Home? A garret absolutely bare, save for the iron bedstead in the corner and the iron basin and pitcher on the

West appeared at the door, winking with much mystery and motioned Trent to enter. Braith, who was

"Where on earth did you get that?" he demanded, pointing to a halffinished chicken nestling in a

Braith, looking a little ashamed, began. "Oh, it's one of West's exploits," but was cut short by West, who said

"You see, before the siege, I had a letter of introduction to a "type" here, a fat banker, GermanAmerican

variety. You know the species, I see. Well, of course I forgot to present the letter, but this morning, judging it

"The villain lives in comfort,fires, my boy!fires in the anterooms! The Buttons finally condescends to

carry my letter and card up, leaving me standing in the hallway, which I did not like, so I entered the first

room I saw and nearly fainted at the sight of a banquet on a table by the fire. Down comes Buttons, very

insolent. No, oh, no, his master 'is not at home, and in fact is too busy to receive letters of introduction just

"I deliver a kick to Buttons, pick up this chicken from the table, toss my card on to the empty plate, and

addressing Buttons as a species of Prussian pig, march out with the honors of war."

"I forgot to say that Hartman often dines there, and I draw my own conclusions," continued West. "Now

about this chicken, half of it is for Braith and myself and half for Colette, but of course you will help me eat

"Neither am I," began Braith, but Trent, with a smile at the pinched faces before him shook his head saying,

West hesitated, reddened, and then slicing off Braith's portion, but not eating any himself, said, goodnight,

and hurried away to number 470 rue Serpente, where lived a pretty girl named Colette, orphan after Sedan,

and Heaven alone knew where she got the roses in her cheeks, for the siege came hard on the poor.

"That chicken will delight her, but I really believe she's in love with West," said Trent. Then walking over to

Braith drew a purse from beneath his bolster and handed it to his friend with a simplicity that touched him.

"Seven sous," he counted; "you make me tired! Why on earth don't you come to me? I take it dd ill, Braith!

How many times must I go over the same thing and explain to you that because I have money it is my duty to

share it, and your duty and the duty of every American to share it with me? You can't get a cent, the city's

blockaded, and the American Minister has his hands full with all the German riffraff and deuce knows what!

"II will, Trent, but it's an obligation that perhaps I can never even in part repay, I'm poor and"

"Of course you'll pay me! If I were a usurer I would take your talent for security. When you are rich and

He slipped a dozen gold pieces into the purse and tucking it again under the mattress smiled at Braith.

Trent laid his hand lightly on his friend's shoulder. "I'm twentytwo, and I have the rights of a grandfather as

"The siege will be over then I hope," said Braith trying to laugh, but the prayer in their hearts: "How long, O

Lord, how long!" was answered by the swift scream of a shell soaring among the stormclouds of that

West, standing in the doorway of a house in the rue Serpente, was speaking angrily. He said he didn't care

"You call yourself an American!" he sneered; "Berlin and hell are full of that kind of American. You come

loafing about Colette with your pockets stuffed with white bread and beef, and a bottle of wine at thirty

francs and you can't really afford to give a dollar to the American Ambulance and Public Assistance, which

Hartman retreated to the curbstone, but West followed him, his face like a thundercloud. "Don't you dare to

call yourself a countryman of mine," he growled,"no,nor an artist either! Artists don't worm themselves

into the service of the Public Defense where they do nothing but feed like rats on the people's food! And I'll

tell you now," he continued, dropping his voice, for Hartman had started as though stung, "you might better

keep away from that Alsatian Brasserie and the smugfaced thieves who haunt it. You know what they do

"You like, you hound!" screamed Hartman, and flung the bottle in his hand straight at West's face. West had

him by the throat in a second, and forcing him against the dead wall shook him wickedly.

"Now you listen to me," he muttered, through his clenched teeth. "You are already a suspect andI

swearI believe you are a paid spy! It isn't my business to detect such vermin, and I don't intend to

denounce you, but understand this! Colette doesn't like you and I can't stand you, and if I catch you in this

Hartman had managed to drag a knife from his pocket but West tore it from him and hurled him into the

gutter. A gamin who had seen this, burst into a peal of laughter, which rattled harshly in the silent street.

Then everywhere windows were raised and rows of haggard faces appeared demanding to know why people

"Look at that," cried West as Hartman picked himself up from the pavement, "look! you miser! look at those

faces!" But Hartman gave him a look which he never forgot, and walked away without a word. Trent, who

suddenly appeared at the corner, glanced curiously at West, who merely nodded toward his door saying,

"What are you doing with that knife?" demanded Fallowby, as he and Trent entered the studio.

West looked at his wounded hand which still clutched the knife, but saying: "cut myself by accident," tossed

Fallowby, fat and lazy, watched him without comment, but Trent, half divining how things had turned,

"Where is it? I'm hungry," replied Fallowby with affected eagerness, but Trent, frowning, told him to listen.

"Three hundred and eighty francs," replied the other, with a squirm of contrition.

Fallowby began a series of intricate explanations which were soon cut short by Trent.

"I know; you blew it in;you always blow it in. I don't care a rap what you did before the siege; I know you

are rich and have a right to dispose of your money as you wish to, and I also know that, generally speaking, it

is none of my business. But now it is my business as I have to supply the funds until you get some more

which you won't until the siege is ended one way or another. I wish to share what I have, but I won't see it

thrown out of the window. Oh, yes, of course I know you will reimburse me, but that isn't the question; and,

anyway, it's the opinion of your friends, old man, that you will not be worse off for a little abstinence from

fleshly pleasures. You are positively a freak in this faminecursed city of skeletons!"

"That roast suckling pig on the rue St. Honor�,is it there yet?" continued Trent.

"AhI thought so! I caught you in ecstasy before that suckling pig at least a dozen times!"

Then laughing, he presented Falloway with a roll of twenty franc pieces saying: "If these go for luxuries you

must live on your own flesh," and went over to aid West, who sat beside the washbasin binding up his hand.

West suffered him to tie the knot, and then said: "You remember, yesterday, when I left you and Braith to

"Chicken," repeated West, enjoying Fallowby's grief;"Ithat is, I must explain that things are changed.

"Shut up!" laughed Trent, and slipping his arm through West's, walked to the stairway.

"The poor little thing," said West, "just think, not a splinter of firewood for a week and wouldn't tell me

because she thought I needed it for my clay figure. Whew! When I heard it I smashed that smirking clay

nymph to pieces, and the rest can freeze and be hanged!" After a moment he added timidly:"Won't you call

He stopped on the third landing, lighted a match, scanned the numbers over the row of dingy doors, and

"Oh, pardon, Monsieur Jack, I thought it was Monsieur West;" then blushing furiously: "oh, I see you have

heard! Oh, thank you so much for your wishes, and I'm sure we love each other very much,and I'm dying

"He's pure gold," returned Trent, and then gayly: "I want you and George to come and dine with us tonight.

It's a little treatyou see tomorrow is Silvia's f�te. She will be nineteen. I have written to Thorne, and the

Guernalecs will come with their cousin Odile. Fallowby has engaged not to bring anybody but himself."

The girl accepted shyly, charging him with loads of loving messages to Sylvia, and he said goodnight.

He started up the street, walking swiftly for it was bitter cold, and cutting across the rue de la Lune he entered

the rue de Seine. The early winter night had fallen, almost without warning, but the sky was clear and

myriads of stars glittered in the heavens. The bombardment had become furiousa steady rolling thunder

The shells streamed across the sky leaving trails like shooting stars, and now, as he turned to look back,

rockets blue and red flared above the horizon from the Fort of Issy, and the Fortress of the North flamed like

"Good news!" a man shouted over by the Boulevard St. Germain. As if by magic the streets were filled with

"Eh! mon vieux, it has come then at last! I told thee! I told thee! Tomorrowtonightwho knows?"

Someone said: "Oh, Goda sortieand my son?" Another cried: "to the Seine They say one can see the

There was a child standing near Trent who kept repeating: "Mamma, Mamma, then tomorrow we may eat

white bread?" and beside him, an old man swaying, stumbling, his shrivelled hands crushed to his breast,

"Could it be true? Who has heard the news? The shoemaker on the rue de Buci had it from a Mobile who had

Rocket after rocket clove the sky, and now, from Montmartre, the cannon clanged, and the batteries on

He looked toward the north. Suddenly the huge silhouette of the Arc de Triomphe sprang into black relief

against the flash of a cannon. The boom of the gun rolled along the quay and the old bridge vibrated.

Again over by the Pont du Jour a flash and heavy explosion shook the bridge, and then the whole eastern

bastion of the fortifications blazed and crackled, sending a red flame into the sky.

"Yes, waiting," murmured a man behind him, "waiting, sick, starved, freezing, but waiting. Is it a sortie?

They go gladly. Is it to starve? They starve. They have no time to think of surrender. Are they heroes,these

The American Ambulance surgeon turned about and scanned the parapets of the bridge.

"News?" said the doctor; "I don't know any;I haven't time to know any. What are these people after?"

"Poor devils." The doctor glanced about him for an instant, and then: "I'm so harried and worried that I don't

know what to do. After the last sortie we had the work of fifty ambulances on our poor little corps.

Tomorrow there's another sortie and I wish you fellows could come over to headquarters. We may need

"Well," replied Trent, "but she seems to grow more nervous every day. I ought to be with her now."

"Take care of her," said the doctor, then with a sharp look at the people: "I can't stop nowgoodnight!" and

Trent leaned over the parapet and blinked at the black river surging through the arches. Dark objects, carried

swiftly on the breast of the current, struck with a grinding tearing noise against the stone piers, spun around

As he stood staring into the water a hand was laid on his shoulder. "Hello, Southwark!" he cried, turning

"Trent, I have something to tell you. Don't stay here,don't believe in the Army of the Loire;" and the

attach� of the American Legation slipped his arms through Trent's and drew him toward the Louvre.

"Worsewe know at the LegationI can't speak of it. But that's not what I have to say. Something

happened this afternoon. The Alsatian Brasserie was visited and an American named Hartman has been

"Of course we at the Legation can't allow them to shoot him offhand, but the evidence seems conclusive."

"Well, the papers seized in his rooms are pretty damning proofs, and besides, he was caught, they say,

swindling the Public Food Committee. He drew rations for fifty, how, I don't know. He claims to be an

American artist here and we have been obliged to take notice of it at the Legation. It's a nasty affair."

"To cheat the people at such a time is worse than robbing the poorbox," cried Trent angrily. "Let them shoot

"Yes, oh yes," said the other with bitterness. "American citizenship is a precious privilege when every

Southwark shook hands with him warmly. "It can't be helped, we must own the carrion. I am afraid you may

be called upon to identify him as an American artist," he said with a ghost of a smile on his deeplined face;

Trent swore silently for a moment and then drew out his watch. Seven o'clock. "Sylvia will be anxious," he

thought, and hurried back to the river. The crowd still huddled shivering on the bridge, a sombre pitiful

congregation, peering out into the night for the signals of the Army of the Loire: and their hearts beat time to

the pounding of the guns, their eyes lighted with each flash from the bastions, and hope rose with the drifting

A black cloud hung over the fortifications. From horizon to horizon the cannon smoke stretched in wavering

bands, now capping the spires and domes with cloud, now blowing in streamers and shreds along the streets,

now descending from the housetops, enveloping quays, bridges, and river, in a sulphurous mist. And

through the smoke pall the lightning of the cannon played while from time to time a rift above showed a

He turned again in to the rue de Seine, that sad abandoned street, with its rows of closed shutters and desolate

ranks of unlighted lamps. He was a little nervous and wished once or twice for a revolver, but the slinking

forms which passed him in the darkness were too weak with hunger to be dangerous, he thought, and he

passed on unmolested to his doorway. But there somebody sprang at his throat. Over and over the icy

pavement he rolled with his assailant, tearing at the noose about his neck, and then with a wrench sprang to

Slowly and with great deliberation, a small gamin picked himself out of the gutter and surveyed Trent with

"That's a nice clean trick," said Trent; "a whelp of your age! You'll finish against a dead wall! Give me that

Trent struck a match and looked at his assailant. It was the ratkiller of the day before.

The impudence, the overpowering audacity of the ragamuffin took Trent's breath away.

"Do you know, you young stranger," he gasped, "that they shoot thieves of your age?"

Groping up the unlighted stairway, he at last reached his own landing and felt about in the darkness for the

door. From his studio came the sound of voices, West's hearty laugh and Fallowby's chuckle, and at last he

found the knob and, pushing back the door, stood a moment confused by the light.

"Hello, Jack!" cried West, "you're a pleasant creature inviting people to dine and letting them wait. Here's

"So now we know where you get your cash!" added West; "vive le coup do P�re Fran�ois!"

"I didn't mean to be late; I stopped on the bridge a moment to watch the bombardment. Were you anxious,

She smiled and murmured, "Oh, no!" but her hand dropped into his and tightened convulsively.

"Take it easy," observed Thorne, with a remnant of manners; "you are not the host, you know."

Marie Guernalec, who had been chattering with Colette, jumped up and took Thorne's arm and Monsieur

Trent, bowing gravely, offered his own arm to Colette, West took in Sylvia, and Fallowby hovered anxiously

"You march around the table three times singing the Marseillaise," explained Sylvia, "and Monsieur

Fallowby suggested that they could sing after dinner, but his protest was drowned in the ringing chorus

with all their might, while Fallowby with very bad grace, hammered on the table, consoling himself a little

with the hope that the exercise would increase his appetite. Hercules, the black and tan, fled under the bed,

from which retreat he yapped and whined until dragged out by Guernalec and placed in Odile's lap.

"And now," said Trent gravely, when everybody was seated, "listen!" and he read the menu.

Vegetables. Canned Beans � la chassepot, Canned Pease Gravelotte, Potatoes Irlandaises, Miscellaneous.

Dessert. Dried prunesWhite bread, Currant Jelly, TeaCaf�, Liqueurs, Pipes and Cigarettes.

"Not at all like horse, and I don't care what they say, horse doesn't taste like beef," whispered Colette to West.

"Monsieur Fallowby cannot have any more," announced Sylvia; "I am saving this for the concierge."

The sardines, hot from the grille, were a great success. While the others were eating Sylvia ran downstairs

with the soup for the old concierge and her husband, and when she hurried back, flushed and breathless, and

had slipped into her chair with a happy smile at Trent, that young man arose, and silence fell over the table.

For an instant he looked at Sylvia and thought he had never seen her so beautiful.

Fallowby, bubbling with enthusiasm, waved his glass in circles about his head to the terror of Odile and

Colette, his neighbors, and Thorne, West and Guernalec refilled their glasses three times before the storm of

Three times the glasses were filled and emptied to Sylvia, and again to Trent who protested.

"This is irregular," he cried, "the next toast is to the twin Republics, France and America!"

"To the Republics! To the Republics!" they cried, and the toast was drunk amid shouts of "Vive la France!

Then Trent, with a smile at West offered the toast, "To a Happy Pair!" and everybody understood, and Sylvia

The beef was eaten in comparative calm, but when it was finished and a portion of it set aside for the old

people below, Trent cried: "Drink to Paris! May she rise from her ruins and crush the invader!" and the

cheers rang out, drowning for a moment the monotonous thunder of the Prussian guns.

Pipes and cigarettes were lighted, and Trent listened an instant to the animated chatter around him, broken by

ripples of laughter from the girls or the mellow chuckle of Fallowby. Then he turned to West.

"There is going to be a sortie tonight," he said, "I saw the American Ambulance surgeon just before I came

in and he asked me to speak to you fellows. Any aid we can give him will not come amiss."

Then dropping his voice and speaking in English, "As for me, I shall go out with the ambulance tomorrow

morning. There is of course no danger, but it's just as well to keep it from Sylvia."

West nodded. Thorne and Guernalec, who had heard, broke in and offered assistance, and Fallowby

"All right," said Trent rapidly,"no more now, but meet me at Ambulance headquarters tomorrow morning

Sylvia and Colette, who were becoming uneasy at the conversation in English, now demanded to know what

"You are not French, you know, and it is none of your business, this war," said Odile with much dignity.

"It seems," he said to Fallowby, "that a fellow cannot discuss the beauties of Greek sculpture in his mother

Colette placed her hand over his mouth and turning to Sylvia, murmured, "They are horribly untruthful, these

"I believe the word for ambulance is the same in both languages," said Marie Guernalec saucily; "Sylvia,

"Come in!" cried Fallowby, but Trent sprang up, and opening the door, looked out. Then with a hasty excuse

"What is it?" repeated Trent savagely; "I'll tell you what it is. I have received a dispatch from the American

Minister to go at once and identify and claim, as a fellowcountryman and a brother artist, a rascally thief

Sylvia sprang up deathly white, but Odile slipped her arm around her, and supported her to a chair, saying

Sylvia opened her eyes, and after a moment rose, and supported by Marie Guernalec and Trent, passed into

It was the signal for breaking up, and everybody came and shook hands with Trent, saying they hoped Sylvia

When Marie Guernalec took leave of him, she avoided his eyes, but he spoke to her cordially and thanked her

"Anything I can do, Jack?" inquired West, lingering, and then hurried downstairs to catch up with the rest.

Trent leaned over the banisters, listening to the footsteps and chatter, and then the lower door banged and the

house was silent. He lingered, staring down into the blackness, biting his lips; then with an impatient

movement, "I am crazy!" he muttered, and lighting a candle, went into the bedroom. Sylvia was lying on the

She did not answer, but raised her eyes to his. For an instant he met her gaze, but what he read there sent a

At last she spoke in a voice changed and strained,a voice which he had never heard, and he dropped his

"Jack, it has come at last. I have feared it and trembled,ah! how often have I lain awake at night with this

on my heart and prayed that I might die before you should ever know of it! For I love you, Jack, and if you go

away I cannot live. I have deceived you;it happened before I knew you, but since that first day when you

found me weeping in the Luxembourg and spoke to me, Jack, I have been faithful to you in every thought and

deed. I loved you from the first, and did not dare to tell you thisfearing that you would go away; and since

then my love has growngrownand oh! I suffered!but I dared not tell you. And now you know, but

you do not know the worst. For him,nowwhat do I care? He was so crueloh so cruel!"

The bells of St. Sulpice tolled the hour, and she started up, speaking with feverish haste,"I must finish!

When you told me you loved meyouyou asked me nothing; but then, even then, it was too late, and that

other life which binds me to him, must stand forever between you and me! For the is another whom he has

claimed, and is good to. He must not die,they cannot shoot him, for that other's sake!"

Sylvia, little Sylvia, who shared with him his student lifewho bore with him the dreary desolation of the

siege without complaint,this slender blueeyed girl whom he was so quietly fond of, whom he teased or

caressed as the whim suited, who sometimes made him the least bit impatient with her passionate devotion to

Then he clenched his teeth. "Let him die! Let him die!"but then,for Sylvia's sake, and,for that other's

sake,Yes, he would go,he must go,his duty was plain before him. But Sylvia,he could not be what

he had been to her, and yet a vague terror seized him, now all was said. Trembling, he struck a light.

She lay there, her curly hair tumbled about her face, her small white hands pressed to her breast.

He could not leave her, and he could not stay. He never knew before that he loved her. She had been a mere

comrade, this girl wife of his. Ah! he loved her now with all his heart and soul, and he knew it, only when it

was too late. Too late? Why? Then he thought of that other one, binding her, linking her forever to the

creature, who stood in danger of his life. With an oath he sprang to the door, but the door would not

open,or was it that he pressed it back,locked it,and flung himself on his knees beside the bed,

It was four in the morning when he came out of the Prison of the Condemned with the Secretary of the

American Legation. A knot of people had gathered around the American Minister's carriage, which stood in

front of the prison, the horses stamping and pawing in the icy street, the coachman huddled on the box,

wrapped in furs. Southwark helped the Secretary into the carriage, and shook hands with Trent, thanking him

"How the scoundrel did stare," he said; "your evidence was worse than a kick, but it saved his skin for the

The Secretary sighed; "we have done our part. Now let them prove him a spy and we wash our hands of him.

"I have a word to say to Captain Southwark, I won't detain him," said Trent hastily, and dropping his voice,

"Southwark, help me now. You know thethe child is at his rooms. Get it, and take it to my apartment, and

Their hands met in a warm clasp and then Captain Southwark climbed into the carriage motioning Trent to

He watched the carriage to the end of the street, then started toward his own quarter, but after a step or two,

hesitated, stopped and finally turned away in the opposite direction. Somethingperhaps it was the sight of

the prisoner he had so recently confronted nauseated him. He felt the need of solitude and quiet to collect his

thoughts. The events of the evening had shaken him terribly, but he would walk it off, forget, bury

everything, and then go back to Silvia. He started on swiftly and for a time the bitter thoughts seemed to fade,

but when he paused at last, breathless, under the Arc de Triomphe, the bitterness and the wretchedness of the

whole thingyes, of his whole misspent life came back with a pang. Then the face of the prisoner, stamped

Sick at heart he wandered up and down under the great Arc, striving to occupy his mind, peering up at the

sculptured cornices to read the names of the heroes and battles which he knew were engraved there, but

always the ashen face of Hartman followed him, grinning with terror!or was it terror? was it not

triumph? At the thought he leaped like a man who feels a knife at his throat, but after a savage tramp

The air was cold, but his cheeks were burning with angry shame. Shame? Why? Was it because he had

married a girl whom chance had made a mother? Did he love her? Was this miserable bohemian existence

then his end and aim in life? He turned his eyes upon the secrets of his heart, and read an evil story,the

story of the past, and he covered his face for shame, while, keeping time to the dull pain throbbing in his

Roused at last from a lethargy which had begun to numb the bitterness of his thoughts, he raised his head and

looked about. A sudden fog had settled in the streets, the arches of the Arc were choked with it. He would go

home. A great horror of being alone seized him. But he was not alone. The fog was peopled with phantoms.

All around him in the mist they moved drifting through the arches in lengthening lines, and vanished, while

from the fog others rose up, swept past and were engulfed. He was not alone, for even at his side they

crowded, touched him, swarmed before him, beside him, behind him, pressed him back, seized, and bore him

with them through the mist. Down a dim avenue, through lanes and alleys white with fog, they moved, and if

they spoke their voices were dull as the vapor which shrouded them. At last in front, a bank of masonry and

earth cut by a massive iron barred gate towered up in the fog. Slowly and more slowly they glided, shoulder

to shoulder and thigh to thigh. Then all movement ceased. A sudden breeze stirred the fog. It wavered and

eddied. Objects became more distinct. A pallor crept above the horizon, touching the edges of the watery

clouds, and drew dull sparks from a thousand bayonets. Bayonetsthey were everywhere, cleaving the fog

or flowing beneath it in rivers of steel. High on the wall of masonry and earth a great gun loomed, and around

it figures moved in silhouettes. Below a broad torrent of bayonets swept through the iron barred gateway, out

into the shadowy plain. It became lighter. Faces grew more distinct among the marching masses and he

Trent cried,"is there room for me?" but the other only waved his arm in a vague adieu and was gone with

the rest. Presently the cavalry began to pass, squadron on squadron, crowding out into the darkness, then

many cannon, then an ambulance, then again the endless lines of bayonets. Beside him a cuirassier sat on his

streaming horse, and in front, among the group of mounted officers he saw a general, with the astrakan collar

Some women were weeping near him and one was struggling to force a loaf of black bread into a soldier's

haversack. The soldier tried to aid her, but the sack was fastened, and his rifle bothered him, so Trent held it,

while the woman unbuttoned the sack and forced in the bread, now all wet with her tears. The rifle was not

heavy. Trent found it wonderfully manageable. Was the bayonet sharp? He tried it. Then a sudden longing, a

Trent looked up, and the ratkiller laughed in his face. But when the soldier had taken the rifle again, and

thanking him, ran hard to catch his battalion, he plunged into the throng about the gateway.

Then a girl,a mere child caught him by the hand and led him into the caf� which faced the gate. The room

was crowded with soldiers, some, white and silent, sitting on the floor, others groaning on the

She helped him buckle his knapsack, cartridge box, and showed him how to load the chassepot rifle, holding

"I am a Bretonne. My father is up there with the cannon of the marine. He will shoot you if you are a spy."

They faced each other for a moment. Then sighing, he bent over and kissed the child. "Pray for France, little

one," he murmured, and she repeated with a pale smile: "for France and you, beau Monsieur."

He ran across the street and through the gateway. Once outside, he edged into line and shouldered his way

along the road. A corporal passed, looked at him, repassed, and finally called an officer. "You belong to the

"We have no use for Franctireurs," added the officer, catching sight of his black trousers.

"I wish to volunteer in the place of a comrade," said Trent, and the officer shrugged his shoulders and passed

Nobody paid much attention to him, one or two merely glancing at his trousers. The road was deep with slush

and mud ploughed and torn by wheels and hoofs. A soldier in front of him wrenched his foot in an icy rut and

dragged himself to the edge of the embankment groaning. The plain on either side of them was gray with

melting snow. Here and there behind dismantled hedgerows stood wagons bearing white flags with red

crosses. Sometimes the driver was a priest in rusty hat and gown, sometimes a crippled Mobile. Once they

passed a wagon driven by a Sister of Charity. Silent empty houses with great rents in their walls, and every

window blank, huddled along the road. Further on, within the zone of danger, nothing of human habitation

remained except here and there a pile of frozen bricks or a blackened cellar choked with snow.

For some time Trent had been annoyed by the man behind him who kept treading on his heels. Convinced at

last that it was intentional he turned to remonstrate and found himself face to face with a fellowstudent from

"He can't eat it, his jaw is smashed, and he wants you to chew it for him," said the soldier next to him.

Trent took the crust, and grinding it in his teeth, morsel by morsel, passed it back to the starving man.

From time to time, mounted orderlies sped to the front covering them with slush. It was a chilly silent march

through sodden meadows wreathed in fog. Along the railroad embankment across the ditch, another column

moved parallel to their own. Trent watched it, a sombre mass, now distinct, now vague, now blotted out in a

puff of fog. Once for half an hour he lost it, but when again it came into view, he noticed a thin line detach

itself from the flank, and, bellying in the middle, swing rapidly to the west. At the same moment a prolonged

crackling broke out in the fog in front. Other lines began to slough off from the column, swinging east and

west, and the crackling became continuous. A battery passed at full gallop and he drew back with his

comrades to give it way. It went into action a little to the right of his battalion, and as the shot from the first

rifled piece boomed through the mist, the cannon from the fortifications opened with a mighty roar. An

officer galloped by shouting something which Trent did not catch, but he saw the ranks in front suddenly part

company with his own, and disappear in the twilight. More officers rode up and stood beside him peering into

the fog. It was dreary waiting. Trent chewed some bread for the man behind, who tried to swallow it, and

after a while shook his head, motioning Trent to eat the rest of it himself. A corporal offered him a little

brandy and he drank it, but when he turned around to return the flask, the corporal was lying on the ground.

Alarmed, he looked at the soldier next to him, who shrugged his shoulders and opened his mouth to speak,

but something struck him and he rolled over and over into the ditch below. At that moment the horse of one

of the officers gave a bound and backed into the battalion, lashing out with his heels. One man was ridden

down; another was kicked in the chest and hurled through the ranks. The officer sank his spurs into the horse

and forced him to the front again, where he stood trembling. The cannonade seemed to grow nearer. A staff

officer, riding slowly up and down the battalion suddenly collapsed in his saddle and clung to his horse's

mane. One of his boots dangled, crimsoned and dripping, from the stirrup. Then out of the mist in front, men

came running. The roads, the fields, the ditches were full of them, and many of them fell. For an instant he

imagined he saw horsemen riding about like ghosts in the vapors beyond, and a man behind him cursed

horribly, declaring he too had seen them and that they were Uhlans; but the battalion stood inactive and the

The colonel sat heavily upon his horse, his bulletshaped head buried in the astrakan collar of his dolman, his

The buglers clustered about him with the bugles poised, and behind him a staff officer in a pale blue jacket,

smoked a cigarette and chatted with a captain of hussars. From the road in front came the sound of furious

galloping and an orderly reined up beside the colonel, who motioned him to the rear without turning his head.

Then on the left confused murmur arose which ended in a shout. A hussar passed like the wind, followed by

another and another, an then squadron after squadron whirled by them into the sheeted mists. At that instant

the colonel reared in his saddle, the bugles clanged and the whole battalion scrambled down the embankment.

Almost at once Trent lost his cap. Something snatched it from his head, he thought it was a tree branch. A

good many of his comrades rolled over in the slush and ice, and he imagined that they had slipped. One

pitched right across his path and he stopped to help him up, but the man screamed when he touched him and

an officer shouted, "forward, forward!" so he ran on again. It was a long jog through the mist, and he was

often obliged to shift his rifle. When at last they lay panting behind the railroad embankment, he looked about

him. He had felt the need of action, of a desperate physical struggle, of killing and crushing. He had been

seized with a desire to fling himself among masses and tear right and left. He longed to fire, to use the thin

sharp bayonet on his chassepot. He had not expected this. He wished to become exhausted, to struggle and

cut until incapable of lifting his arm. Then he had intended to go home. He heard a man say that half the

battalion had gone down in the charge, and he saw another examining a corpse under the embankment. The

body, still warm, was clothed in a strange uniform, but even when he noticed the spiked helmet lying a few

The colonel sat on his horse a few feet to the left, his eyes sparkling under the crimson k�pi. Trent heard him

reply to an officer: "I can hold it, but another charge, and I won't have enough men left to sound a bugle."

"Wee the Prussians here?" Trent asked of a soldier who sat wiping the blood trickling from his hair.

Then the battalion crawled over the embankment and moved along the lines of twisted rails. Trent rolled up

his trousers and tucked them into his woolen socks: but they halted again, and some of the men sat down on

the dismantled railroad track. Trent looked for his wounded comrade from the Beaux Arts. He was standing

in his place, very pale. The cannonade had become terrific. For a moment the mist lifted. He caught a glimpse

of the first battalion motionless on the railroad track in front, of regiments on either flank, and then, as the fog

settled again, the drums beat and the music of the bugles began away on the extreme left. A restless

movement passed among the troops, the colonel threw up his arm, the drums rolled, and the battalion moved

off through the fog. They were near the front now, for the first battalion was firing as it advanced.

Ambulances galloped along the base of the embankment to the rear, and the hussars passed and repassed like

phantoms. They were in the front at last, for all about them was movement and turmoil, while from the fog,

close at hand, came cries and groans and crashing volleys. Shells fell everywhere, bursting along the

embankment, splashing them with frozen slush. Trent was frightened. He began to dread the unknown, which

lay there cracking and flaming in obscurity. The shock of the cannon sickened him. He could even see the fog

light up with a dull orange as the thunder shook the earth. It was near, he felt certain, for the colonel shouted

"forward!" and the first battalion was hastening into it. He felt its breath, he trembled, but hurried on. A

fearful discharge in front terrified him. Somewhere in the fog men were cheering, and the colonel's horse

Another blast and shock, right in his face, almost stunned him, and he faltered. All the men to the right were

down. His head swam; the fog and smoke stupefied him. He put out his hand for a support and caught

something. It was the wheel of a gun carriage, and a man sprang from it, aiming a blow at his head with a

rammer, but stumbled back shrieking with a bayonet through his neck, and Trent knew that he had killed.

Mechanically he stooped to pick up his rifle, but the bayonet was still in the man who lay, beating with red

hands against the sod. It sickened him and he leaned on the cannon. Men were fighting all around him now

and the air was foul with smoke and sweat. Somebody seized him from behind and another in front, but

others in turn seized them or struck them solid blows. The click! click! click! of bayonets infuriated him, and

A man threw his arm around his neck and bore him to the ground, but he throttled him and raised himself on

his knees. He saw a comrade seize the cannon, and fall across it with his skull crushed in; he saw the colonel

When he came to himself, he was lying on the embankment among the twisted rails. On every side huddled

men who cried out and cursed and fled away into the fog, and he staggered to his feet and followed them.

Once he stopped to help a comrade with a bandaged jaw, who could not speak but clung to his arm for a time

and then fell dead in the freezing mire; and again he aided another, who groaned: "Trent, c'est

An icy wind swept down from the heights, cutting the fog into shreds. For an instant, with an evil leer the sun

peered through the naked woods of Vincennes, sank like a blood clot in the battery smoke, lower, lower into

When Midnight sounded from the belfry of St. Sulpice the gates of Paris were still choked with fragments of

They entered with the night, a sullen horde, spattered with slime, faint with hunger and exhaustion. There was

little disorder at first and the throng at the gates parted silently as the troops tramped along the freezing

streets. Confusion came as the hours passed. Swiftly and more swiftly, crowding squadron after squadron and

battery on battery, horses plunging and caissons jolting, the remnants from the front surged through the gates,

a chaos of cavalry and artillery struggling for the right of way. Close upon them stumbled the infantry; here a

skeleton of a regiment marching with a desperate attempt at order, there a riotous mob of Mobiles crushing

their way to the streets, then a turmoil of horsemen, cannon, troops without officers, officers without men,

All through the day the ambulances had been arriving, and all day long the ragged throng whimpered and

shivered by the barriers. At noon the crowd was increased tenfold, filling the squares about the gates, and

At four o'clock in the afternoon the German batteries suddenly wreathed themselves in smoke and the shells

fell fast on Montparnasse. At twenty minutes after four two projectiles struck a house in the rue de Bac, and a

"I wish you would come down; our house has been knocked into a cocked hat, and I'm afraid that some of the

Braith jumped out of bed and bundled himself into a garment which had once been an overcoat.

"Anybody hurt?" he inquired, struggling with a sleeve full of dilapidated lining.

"No. Colette is barricaded in the cellar, and the concierge ran away to the fortifications. There will be a rough

"Of course," said Braith; but it was not until they had reached the rue Serpente and had turned in the passage

which led to West's cellar, that the latter cried: "have you seen Jack Trent today?"

A bomb came crashing through the roof of a house at the end of the alley and burst in the basement,

showering the street with slate and plaster. A second struck a chimney and plunged into the garden, followed

by an avalanche of bricks, and another exploded with a deafening report in the next street.

They hurried along the passage to the steps which led to the cellar. Here again Braith stopped.

"Don't you think I had better run up to see if Jack and Sylvia are well intrenched? I can get back before dark."

"I know it," replied West calmly; and dragging Braith into the alley pointed to the cellar steps. The iron door

"Colette! Colette!" he called. The door swung inward, and the girl sprang up the steps to meet them. At that

instant, Braith, glancing behind him, gave a startled cry, and pushing the two before him into the cellar

jumped down after them and slammed the iron door. A few seconds later a heavy jar from outside shook the

Braith examined the low iron structure, now trembling with the blows rained on it from without. West

glanced anxiously at Colette who displayed no agitating, and this comforted him.

"I don't believe they will spend much time here," said Braith; "they only rummage in cellars for spirits, I

A crash from outside followed by a yell cut him short; then blow after blow shook the doors until there came

a sharp snap, a clinking of metal, and a triangular bit of iron fell inwards leaving a hole through which

Instantly West knelt, and shoving his revolver through the aperture fired every cartridge. For a moment the

alley resounded with the racket of the revolver, then absolute silence followed.

Presently a single questioning blow fell upon the door, and a moment later another and another, and then a

"Here," said West, seizing Colette by the wrist, "you follow me, Braith!" and he ran swiftly toward a circular

spot of light at the further end of the cellar. The spot of light came from a barred manhole above. West

With little effort Braith lifted the barrel cover, scrambled out on his stomach, and easily raised Colette from

Braith twisted his legs around a fence chain and leaned down again. The cellar was flooded with a yellow

light and the air reeked with the stench of petroleum torches. The iron door still held, but a whole plate of

metal was gone, and now as they looked a figure came creeping through holding a torch.

"Quick!" whispered Braith, "Jump!" and West hung dangling until Colette grasped him by the collar and he

was dragged out. Then her nerves gave way and she wept hysterically, but West threw his arms around her

and led her across the gardens into the next street, where Braith, after replacing the manhole cover and

piling some stone slabs from the wall over it, rejoined them. It was almost dark. They hurried through the

street now only lighted by burning buildings or the swift glare of the shells. They gave wide berth to the fires,

but at a distance saw the flitting forms of pillagers among the d�bris. Sometimes they passed a female fury

crazed with drink shrieking anathemas upon the world, or some slouching lout whose blackened face and

hands betrayed his share in the work of destruction. At last they reached the Seine and passed the bridge, and

then Braith said: "I must go back. I am not sure of Jack and Sylvia." As he spoke, he made way for a crowd

which came trampling across the bridge, and along the river wall by the d'Orsay barracks. In the midst of it

West caught the measured tread of a platoon. A lantern passed, a file of bayonets, then another lantern which

glimmered on a deathly face behind, and Colette gasped, "Hartman!" and he was gone. They peered fearfully

across the embankment, holding their breath. There was a shuffle of feet on the quay and the gate of the

barracks slammed. A lantern shone for a moment at the postern, the crowd pressed to the grille, then came the

One by one the petroleum torches flared up along the embankment, and now the whole square was in motion.

Down from the Champs Elys�es and across the Place de la Concorde, straggled the fragments of the battle, a

company here, and a mob there. They poured in from every street followed by women and children, and a

great murmur, borne on the icy wind, swept through the Arc de Triomphe and cut down the dark

A ragged end of a battalion was pressing past, the spectre of annihilation. West groaned. Then a figure sprang

from the shadowy ranks and called West's name, and when he saw it was Trent he cried out. Trent seized

West stared speechless, but Colette moaned "Oh, Sylvia! Sylvia!and they are shelling the Quarter!"

The bombardment ceased as Trent crossed the Boulevard St. Germain, but the entrance to the rue de Seine

was blocked by a heap of smoking bricks. Everywhere the shells had torn great holes in the pavement. The

caf� was a wreck of splinters and glass, the bookstore tottered, ripped from roof to basement, and the little

He climbed over the steaming bricks and hurried into the rue de Tournon. On the corner a fire blazed, lighting

up his own street, and on the blank wall, beneath a shattered gas lamp, a child was writing with a bit of

The letters stared him in the face. The ratkiller finished and stepped back to view his work, but catching

sight of Trent's bayonet, screamed, and fled, and as Trent staggered across the shattered street, from holes and

crannies in the ruins fierce women fled from their work of pillage, cursing him.

At first he could not find his house, for the tears blinded him, but he felt along the wall and reached the door.

A lantern burned in the concierge's lodge and the old man lay dead beside it. Faint with fright he leaned a

moment on his rifle, then, snatching the lantern, sprang up the stairs. He tried to call, but his tongue hardly

moved. On the second floor he saw plaster on the stairway, and on the third the floor was torn and the

concierge lay in a pool of blood across the landing. The next floor was his, theirs. The door hung from its

hinges, the walls gaped. He crept in and sank down by the bed, and there two arms were flung around his

THE STREET is not fashionable neither is it shabby. It is a pariah among streetsa street without a Quarter.

It is generally understood to lie outside the pale of the aristocratic Avenue de l'Observatoire. The students of

the Montparnasse Quarter consider it swell and will have none of it. The Latin Quarter, from the

Luxembourg, its northern frontier, sneers at its respectability and regards with disfavor the

correctlycostumed students who haunt it. Few strangers go into it. At times, however, the Latin Quarter

students use it as a thoroughfare between the rue de Rennes and the Bullier, but except for that and the

weekly afternoon visits of parents and guardians of the Convent near the rue Vavin, the street of Our Lady of

the Fields is as quiet as a Passy boulevard. Perhaps the most respectable portion lies between the rue de la

Grande Chaumi�re and the rue Vavin, at least this was the conclusion arrived at by the Reverend Joel Byram,

as he rambled through it with Hastings in charge. To Hastings the street looked pleasant in the bright June

weather, and he had begun to hope for its selection when the Reverend Byram shied violently at the cross on

"Well," said Hastings wearily, "I imagine we won't find anything better. You say yourself that vice is

triumphant in Paris, and it seems to me that in every street we find Jesuits or something worse."

After a moment he repeated, "Or something worse, which of course I would not notice except for your

Dr. Byram sucked in his lips and looked about him. He was impressed by the evident respectability of the

surroundings. Then, frowning at the Convent he took Hastings' arm and shuffled across the street to an iron

gateway which bore the number 201 bis painted in white on a blue ground. Below this was a notice printed in

1. For porter please oppress once. 2. For Servant please oppress twice. 3. For Parlor please oppress thrice.

Hastings touched the electric button three times and they were ushered through the garden and into the parlor

by a trim maid. The diningroom door, just beyond, was open, and from the table in plain view, a stout

woman hastily arose and came toward them. Hastings caught a glimpse of a young man with a big head and

several snuffy old gentlemen at breakfast, before the door closed and the stout woman waddled into the room,

"It ees a plaisir to you receive!" she cried; "Monsieur is Anglish? No? Americain? Of course. My pension it

ees for Americains surtout. Here all spik Angleesh, c'est � dire, ze personelle; ze sairvants do spik, plus ou

"Ah, yess, I know, ah! mon Dieu! you do not spik Frainch but you have come to lairne! My husband does

spik Frainch wiss le pensionaires. We have at ze moment a family Americaine who learn of my husband

The poodle fled and his mistress cried, "Ah, ze accent charming! He does spik already Frainch like a Parisien

Then Dr. Byram managed to get in a word or two and gathered more or less information in regard to prices.

"It ees a pension serieux; my clientelle ess of ze best, indeed a pension de famille where one ees at 'ome."

Then they went upstairs to examine Hastings' future quarters, test the bedsprings and arrange for the weekly

Madame Marotte accompanied them to the door and rang for the maid, but as Hastings stepped out into the

gravel walk, his guide and mentor paused a moment and fixed Madame with his watery eyes.

"You understand," he said, "that he is a youth of most careful bringing up, and his character and morals are

without a stain. He is young and has never been abroad, never even seen a large city, and his parents have

requested me, as an old family friend living in Paris, to see that he is placed under good influences. He is to

study art, but on no account would his parents wish him to live in the Latin Quarter if they knew of the

A sound like the click of a latch interrupted him and he raised his eyes, but not in time to see the maid slap

"It ees well zat he come here. The pension more serious, il n'en existe pas, eet ees not any!" she announced

"I trust," he said, eyeing the Convent, "that you will make no acquaintances among Jesuits!"

Hastings looked at the Convent until a pretty girl passed before the gray fa�ade, and then he looked at her. A

young fellow with a paintbox and canvas came swinging along, stopped before the pretty girl, said

something during a brief but vigorous handshake at which they both laughed, and he went his way, calling

"Valentine," thought Hastings, "what a quaint name;" and he started to follow the Reverend Joel Byram who

"An' you are pleas wiz Paris, Monsieur, 'Astang?" demanded Madame Marotte the next morning as Hastings

came into the breakfastroom of the pension, rosy from his plunge in the limited bath above.

"I am sure I shall like it," he replied, wondering at his own depression of spirits.

The maid brought him coffee, and rolls. He returned the vacant glance of the bigheaded young man and

acknowledged diffidently the salutes of the snuffy old gentlemen. He did not try to finish his coffee and sat

crumbling a roll, unconscious of the sympathetic glances of Madame Marotte who had tact enough not to

Presently a maid entered with a tray on which was balanced two bowls of chocolate, and the snuffy old

gentlemen leered at her ankles. The maid deposited the chocolate at a table near the window and smiled at

Hastings. Then a thin young lady, followed by her counterpart in all except years, marched into the room and

took the table near the window. They were evidently American, but Hastings, if he expected any sign of

recognition, was disappointed. To be ignored by compatriots intensified his depression. He fumbled with his

The thin young lady was talkative enough. She was quite aware of Hastings' presence, ready to be flattered if

he looked at her, but on the other hand she felt her superiority for she had been three weeks in Paris and he, it

Her conversation was complacent. She argued with her mother upon the relative merits of the Louvre and the

Bon March� but her mother's part of the discussion was mostly confined to the observation, "Why, Susie!"

The snuffy old gentlemen had left the room in a body, outwardly polite and inwardly raging. The could not

The bigheaded young man looked after them with a knowing cough, murmuring, "Gay old birds!"

To this Mr. Bladen smiled and said, "They've had their day," in a tone which implied that he was not having

"And that's why they all have baggy eyes," cried the girl. "I think it's a shame for young gentlemen"

After a while Mr. Bladen threw down the "Petit Journal," which he daily studied at the expense of the house,

and turning to Hastings started to make himself agreeable. He began by saying, "I see you are an American."

To this brilliant and original opening, Hastings, deadly homesick, replied gratefully, and the conversation was

judiciously nourished by observations from Miss Susie Byng distinctly addressed to Mr. Bladen. In the

course of events Miss Susie, forgetting to address herself exclusively to Mr. Bladen, and Hastings replying to

her general question, the entente cordiale was established, and Susie and her mother extended a protectorate

"Mr. Hastings, you must not desert the pension every evening as Mr. Bladen does. Paris is an awful place for

Hastings answered, "I shall be at the studio all day, and I imagine I shall be glad enough to come back at

Mr. Bladen, who, at a salary of fifteen dollars a week, acted as agent for the Pewly Manufacturing Company

of Troy, N.Y., smiled a skeptical smile and withdrew to keep an appointment with a customer on the

Hastings walked into the garden with Mrs. Byng and Susie, and, at their invitation, sat down in the shade

The chestnut trees still bore their fragrant spikes of pink and white and the bees hummed among the roses,

A faint freshness was in the air. The watering carts moved up and down the streets, and a clear stream

bubbled over the spotless gutters of the rue de la Grande Chaumi�re. The sparrows were merry along the

curbstones, taking bath after bath in the water and ruffling their feathers with delight. In a walled garden

Hastings swallowed the lump in his throat, for the song of the birds and the ripple of water in a Paris gutter

"That's a blackbird," observed Miss Byng; "see him there on the bush with pink blossoms. He's all black

except his bill, and that looks as if it had been dipped in an omelet, as some Frenchman says"

"That garden belongs to a studio inhabited by two Americans," continued the girl serenely, "and I often see

"Perhaps they prefer painting that kind, but I don't see why they should invite five, with three more young

gentlemen, and all get into two cabs and drive away singing. This street," she continued, "is dull. There is

nothing to see except the garden and a glimpse of the Boulevard Montparnasse through the rue de la Grande

Chaumi�re. No one ever passes except a policeman. There is a convent on the corner."

"I thought it was a Jesuit College," began Hastings, but was at once overwhelmed with a Baedecker

description of the place, ending with, "on one side stand the palatial hotels of Jean Paul Laurens and

Guillaume Bouguereau, and opposite, in the little Passage Stanislas, Carolus Duran paints the masterpieces

The blackbird burst into a ripple of golden throaty notes, and from some distant green spot in the city, an

unknown wildbird answered with a frenzy of liquid trills until the sparrows paused in their ablutions to look

Then a butterfly came and sat on a cluster of heliotrope and waved his crimsonbanded wings in the hot

sunshine. Hastings knew him for a friend and before his eyes there came a vision of tall mullins and scented

milkweed alive with painted wings, a vision of a white house and woodbinecovered piazza,a glimpse of a

man reading and a woman leaning over the pansy bed,and his heart was full. He was startled a moment

"I believe you are homesick!" Hastings blushed. Miss Byng looked at him with a sympathetic sigh and

continued: "Whenever I felt homesick at first I used to go with mamma and walk in the Luxembourg

Gardens. I don't know why it is but those oldfashioned gardens seem to bring me nearer home than anything

"But they are full of marble statues," said Mrs. Byng mildly, "I don't see the resemblance myself."

"Come with me to the gate," said Miss Byng. He rose and followed her, and she pointed out the rue Vavin at

He walked slowly through the long avenues of trees, past mossy marbles and oldtime columns, and

threading the grove by the bronze lion, came upon the treecrowned terrace above the fountain. Below lay

the basin shining in the sunlight: Flowering almonds encircled the terrace and in a greater spiral, groves of

chestnuts wound in and out and down among the moist thickets by the western palace wing. At one end of the

avenue of trees, the Observatory rose, its white domes piled up like an eastern mosque; at the other end stood

Around the fountain, children and whitecapped nurses armed with bamboo poles, were pushing toy boats,

whose sails hung limp in the sunshine. A park policeman, wearing red epaulettes and a dress sword, watched

them for a while and then went away to remonstrate with a young man who had unchained his dog. The dog

was pleasantly occupied in rubbing grass and dirt into his back while his legs waved in the air.

The officer glared for a moment in silence, then deciding that as he was a student he was wicked, grabbed at

the dog who promptly dodged. Around and around the flowerbeds they raced, and when the officer came

too near for comfort, the bulldog cut across a flowerbed which perhaps was not playing fair.

The policeman noticed this and decided to strike at the fountainhead of the evil. He stormed up to the

That was a poser. It was useless to attempt to catch the dog until three gardeners lent a hand, but then the dog

The policeman shambled off to find consolation among the whitecapped nurses, and the student, looking at

his watch, stood up yawning. Then catching sight of Hastings, he smiled and bowed. Hastings walked over to

"It's my moustache," sighed the other. "I sacrificed it to humor the whim ofofa friend. What do you

"Of course. It's a pleasant change for him, this playing tag with policemen, but he is known now and I'll have

to stop it. He's gone home. He always does when the gardeners take a hand. It's a pity; he's fond of rolling on

lawns." Then they chatted for a moment of Hastings' prospects, and Clifford politely offered to stand his

"You see, old tabby, I mean Dr. Byram told me about you before I met you," explained Clifford, "and Elliott

and I will be glad to do anything we can." Then looking at his watch again he muttered, "I have just ten

minutes to catch the Versailles train; au revoir," and started to go, but catching sight of a girl advancing by

"Why are you not at Versailles?" she said, with an almost imperceptible acknowledgment of Hastings'

For a moment they faced each other, and then Clifford, very red, stammered, "With you permission I have the

Hastings bowed low. She smiled very sweetly, but there was something of malice in the quiet inclination of

"I could have wished," she said, "that Monsieur Clifford might spare me more time when he brings with him

Clifford took his leave with very bad grace, wincing, when she added, "And give my dearest love to C�cile!"

As he disappeared in the rue d'Assas, the girl turned as if to go, but then suddenly remembering Hastings,

"Monsieur Clifford is so perfectly hairbrained," she smiled, "it is embarrassing sometimes. You have heard,

She seemed to pay little heed to his explanation, but continued: "Nobody imagined he had the energy to do

anything good, but on varnishing day, the Salon was astonished by the entrance of Monsieur Clifford, who

strolled about as bland as you please with an orchid in his buttonhole, and a beautiful picture on the line."

"Monsieur Bouguereau told me that Monsieur Julian was so astonished that he only shook hands with

Monsieur Clifford in a dazed manner, and actually forgot to pat him on the back! Fancy," she continued with

Hastings, wondering at her acquaintance with the great Bouguereau, looked at her with respect. "May I ask,

"I," she said in some surprise. Then she looked at him curiously. Was he permitting himself the liberty of

She leaned back on the crooked stick of her parasol, and looked at him. "Why did you think so?"

She sat down on the marble bench lately occupied by Clifford, and tilting her parasol over her small head

He felt the compliment, and for a moment hesitated to declare himself one of the despised. Then mustering

up his courage, he told her how new and green he was, and all with a frankness which made her blue eyes

"Yes, and Henner, and Constant and Laurens, and Puvis de Chavannes and Dagan and Courtois andand all

At first she looked at him, shaking her head and smiling, then of a sudden her eyes fell and she began tracing

figures with her parasol in the gravel at her feet. Hastings had taken a place on the seat and now, with his

elbows on his knees, sat watching the spray drifting above the fountain jet. A small boy dressed as a sailor,

stood poking his yacht and crying, "I won't go home!" His nurse raised her hands to Heaven.

"Just like a little American boy," thought Hastings, and a pang of homesickness shot through him.

"Give me my boat I say," he cried, "and don't call me Ren�, for my name's Randall and you know it!"

"I am American," announced the boy in perfectly good English, turning to look at Hastings, "and she's such a

Here he dodged the exasperated nurse and took up a station behind Hastings, who laughed, and catching him

"One of my countrymen," he said to the girl beside him. He smiled while he spoke, but there was a queer

"Don't you see the stars and striped on my yacht?" demanded Randall. Sure enough, the American colors

"Oh," cried the girl, "he is charming," and impulsively stooped to kiss him, but the infant Randall wriggled

out of Hastings' arms and his nurse pounced upon him with an angry glance at the girl.

She reddened and then bit her lips as the nurse, with eyes still fixed on her, dragged the child away and

"What an illtempered woman," he said. "In America, most nurses are flattened with people kiss their

For an instant she tipped the parasol to hide her face, then closed it with a snap and looked at him defiantly.

But she made no answer, and sat silent, tracing curves and circles in the dust with her parasol. After a while

he said"I am glad to see that young people have so much liberty here. I understood that the French were

not at all like us. You know in Americaor at least where I live in Millbrook, girls have every liberty,to

out alone and receive their friends alone, and I was afraid I should miss it here. But I see how it is now, and I

He continued pleasantly "Since I have sat here I have seen a lot of pretty girls walking alone on the terrace

there,and then you are alone too. Tell me, for I do not know French customs,do you have the liberty of

For a long time she studied his face, and then with a trembling smile said, "Why do you ask me?"

He waited for an answer, but getting none, decided that perhaps she had misunderstood him.

"I hope you don't think I mean to presume on our short acquaintance," he began,"in fact it is very odd but I

don't know your name. When Mr. Clifford presented me he only mentioned mine. Is that the custom in

"It is the custom in the Latin Quarter," she said with a queer light in her eyes. Then suddenly she began

"You must know, Monsieur Hastings, that we are all un peu sans g�e;ne here in the Latin Quarter. We are

very Bohemian and etiquette and ceremony are out of place. It was for that Monsieur Clifford presented you

to me with small ceremony, and left us together with less,only for that, I am his friend, and I have many

friends in the Latin Quarter, and we all know each other very welland I am not studying art

"I shall not tell you,it is a secret," she said with an uncertain smile. On both cheeks a pink spot was

Then in a moment her face fell. "Do you know Monsieur Clifford very intimately?"

"My name is ValentineValentine Tissot. Mightmight I ask a service of you on such very short

"It is only this," she said gently, "it is not much. Promise me not to speak to Monsieur Clifford about me.

"But," he began, "I had wished, I had hoped that you might give Monsieur Clifford permission to bring me, to

"I cannot," she answered. Then glancing up at him, "I am sorry; I should like to; but believe me, I cannot."

"I like you," she said slowly, "and we will see each other sometimes if you will."

"Why," he cried, "in Paris you are much more liberal in your views than we are."

"You see, we shall be in the best of society," she ventured timidly, with a pretty gesture toward the statues of

He looked at her, delighted, and she brightened at the success of her innocent little pleasantry.

"Indeed," she smiled, "I shall be well chaperoned, because you see we are under the protection of the gods

themselves; look, there are Apollo, and Juno, and Venus, on their pedestals," counting them on her small

Hastings turned to look up at the winged god under whose shadows they were seated.

"There is a nouveau here," drawled Laffat, leaning around his easel and addressing his friend Bowles, "there

is a nouveau here who is so tender and green and appetizing that Heaven help him if he should fall into a

"Hayseed?" inquired Bowled, plastering in a background with a broken paletteknife and squinting at the

"Yes, Squeedunk or Oshkosh, and how he ever grew up among the daisies and escaped the cows, Heaven

Bowles rubbed his thumb across the outlines of his study to "throw in a little atmosphere," as he said, glared

at the model, pulled at his pipe and finding it out struck a match on his neighbor's back to relight it.

"His name," continued Laffat, hurling a bit of bread at the hatrack, "his name is Hastings. He is a berry. He

knows no more about the world,"and here Mr. Laffat's face spoke volumes for his own knowledge of that

Bowles now having succeeded in lighting his pipe, repeated the thumb touch on the other edge of the study

"Yes," continued his friend, "and would you imagine it, he seems to think that everything here goes on as it

does in his dd little backwoods ranch at home; talks about the pretty girls who walk alone in the street;

says how sensible it is; and how French parents are misrepresented in America; says that for his part he finds

French girls,and he confessed to only knowing one,as jolly as American girls. I tried to set him right,

tried to give him a pointer as to what sort of ladies walk about alone or with students, and he was either too

stupid or too innocent to catch on. Then I gave it to him straight, and he said I was a vileminded fool and

"Who spoke to you? Is this your business?" sneered Bowles, but nearly lost his balance as Clifford swung

And when Hastings left his easel and came around, he nodded toward the astonished Laffat.

"This man has been disagreeable to you, and I want to tell you that any time you feel inclined to kick him,

Hastings, embarrassed, said, "Why no, I don't agree with his ideas, nothing more."

Clifford said "Naturally," and slipping his arm through Hastings', strolled about with him, and introduced him

to several of his own friends, at which all the nouveaux opened their eyes with envy, and the studio were

given to understand that Hastings, although prepared to do menial work as the latest nouveau, was already

The rest finished, the model resumed his place and work went on in a chorus of songs and yells and every

Five o'clock struck,the model yawned, stretched and climbed into his trousers, and the noisy contents of

six studios crowded through the hall and down into the street. Ten minutes later, Hastings found himself on

"I always stop here," observed Clifford, "I like the walk through the Luxembourg."

"By the way," said Hastings, "how can I call on you when I don't know where you live?"

Hastings thought of the description of the two American artists which he had heard from Miss Susie Byng,

Clifford continued, "Perhaps you had better let me know when you think of coming so,so that I will be

"I shouldn't care to meet any of your model friends there," said Hastings smiling. "You knowmy ideas are

rather straight laced,I suppose you would say, Puritanical. I shouldn't enjoy it and wouldn't know how to

"Oh, I understand," said Clifford, but added with great cordiality,"I'm sure we'll be friends although you

may not approve of me and my set, but you will like Severn and Selby becausebecause, well they are like

After a moment he continued, "There is something I want to speak about. You see when I introduced you, last

"Nonot a word!" he said gaily"I insist,promise me upon your word of honor you will not speak of her

"She is a charming girl,we had such a delightful chat after you left, and I thank you for presenting me, but

Clifford strolled across the street and traversing the ivycovered alley, entered his garden.

He felt for his studio key, muttering, "I wonderI wonder,but of course he doesn't!"

He entered the hallway, and fitting the key into the door, stood staring at the two cards tacked over the panels.

He opened the door, and, discouraging the caresses of two brindle bulldogs, sank down on the sofa.

Clifford gazed absently at the back of his head, murmuring, "I'm afraid, I'm afraid that man is too innocent. I

say, Elliott," he said, at last, "Hastingsyou know the chap that old Tabby Byram came around here to tell

"Why yes, but he is going to have a tough time when some of his illusions are dispelled."

"I was just going to say," he observed, "that I have asked him not to come without letting us know, so I can

"Not exactly," grinned Clifford. Then more seriously, "I don't want anything to occur here to bother him. He's

"Listen!" cried the other, "I have managed to put my foot in it in great style. Do you know what I've done?

Wellthe first time I met him in the street,or rather, it was in the Luxembourg, I introduced him to

"Believe me," said Clifford, solemnly, "this rustic Hastings has no more idea that Valentine isisin fact is

Valentine, than he has that he himself is a beautiful example of moral decency in a Quarter where morals are

as rare as elephants. I heard enough in a conversation between that blackguard Laffat and the little immoral

eruption, Bowles, to open my eyes. I tell you Hastings is a trump! He's a healthy, clean minded young fellow,

bred in a small country village, brought up with the idea that saloons are way stations to helland as for

"Well," said Clifford, "his idea of the dangerous woman is probably a painted Jezabel."

"He's a trump!" said Clifford, "and if he swears the world is as good and pure as his own heart, I'll swear he's

Elliott sat smoking and sketching with a piece of charcoal and turned to his sketch saying, "he will never hear

"He's a lesson to me," said Clifford. Then he unfolded a small perfumed note, written on rosecolored paper,

He read it, smiled, whistled a bar or two from "Miss Helyett," and sat down to answer it on his best

creamlaid notepaper. When it was written and sealed, he picked up his stick and marched up and down the

"Yes," he said, but lingered a moment over Elliott's shoulder, watching him pick out the lights in his sketch

"No, I will tonight. She and Rowden and Jacquette are coming to Boulant's. I suppose you and C�cile will

"Well, no," replied Clifford. "C�cile dines at home tonight, and II had an idea of going to Mignon's."

"You can make all the arrangements for La Roche without me," he continued, avoiding Elliott's eyes.

"Don't tell me," replied his chum, with scorn, "fellows don't rush off to Mignon's when the set dine at

Boulant's. Who is it now?but no, I won't ask that,what's the use!" Then he lifted up his voice in

complaint and beat upon the table with his pipe. "What's the use of ever trying to keep track of you? What

will C�cile say,oh, yes, what will she say? It's a pity you can't be constant two months, yes, by Jove! and

"Heaven alone knows why any one puts up with your antics, but they all do and so do I. If I was C�cile or any

of the other pretty fools after whom you have toddled and will, in all human probabilities, continue to toddle,

I say, if I were C�cile I'd spank you! Now I'm going to Boulant's, and as usual I shall make excuses for you

and arrange the affair, and I don't care a continental where you are going, but, by the skull of the studio

skeleton! if you don't turn up tomorrow with your sketchingkit under one arm and C�cile under the

other,if you don't turn up on good shape, I'm done with you, and the rest can think what they please.

Clifford said goodnight with as pleasant a smile as he could muster, and then sat down with his eyes on the

door. He took out his watch and gave Elliott ten minutes to vanish, then rang the concierge's call, murmuring,

"Alfred," he said, as that gimleteyed person answered the call, "make yourself clean and proper, Alfred, and

replace your sabots with a pair of shoes. Then put on your best hat and take this letter to the big white house

The concierge departed with a snort in which unwillingness for the errand and affection for M. Clifford were

blended. Then with great care the young fellow arrayed himself in all the beauties of his and Elliott's

wardrobe. He took his time about it, and occasionally interrupted his toilet to play his banjo or make pleasing

diversion for the bulldogs by gamboling about on all fours. "I've got two hours before me," he thought, and

borrowed a pair of Elliott's silken footgear, with which he and the dogs played ball until he decided to put

them on. Then he lighted a cigarette and inspected his dresscoat. When he had emptied it of four

handkerchiefs, a fan, and a pair of crumpled gloves as long as his arm, he decided it was not suited to add

�clat to his charms and cast about in his mind for a substitute. Elliott was too thin, and, anyway, his coats

were now under lock and key. Rowden probably was as badly off as himself. Hastings! Hastings was the

man! But when he threw on a smokingjacket and sauntered over to Hastings' house, he was informed that he

"Now, where in the name of all that's reasonable could he have gone!" muttered Clifford, looking down the

The maid didn't know, so he bestowed upon her a fascinating smile and lounged back to the studio.

Hastings was not far away. The Luxembourg is within five minutes' walk of the rue N�tre Dame des Camps,

and there he sat under the shadow of a winged god, and there he had sat for an hour, poking holes in the dust

and watching the steps which lead from the northern terrace to the fountain. The sun hung, a purple globe,

above the misty hills of Meudon. Long streamers of clouds touched with rose swept low on the western sky

and the dome of the distant Invalides burned like an opal through the haze. Behind the Palace the smoke from

a high chimney mounted straight into the air, purple until it crossed the sun where it changed to a bar of

smouldering fire. High above the darkening foliage of the chestnuts the twin towers of St. Sulpice rose, an

A sleepy blackbird was carolling in some near thicket and pigeons passed and repassed with the whisper of

soft winds in their wings. The light on ht ePalace windows had died away, and the dome of the Pantheon

swam aglow above the northern terrace, a fiery Valhalla in the sky, while below in grim array along the

From the end of the long walk by the northern fa�ade of the Palace came the noise of omnibuses and the cries

of the street. Hastings looked at the Palace clock. Six, and as his own watch agreed with it, he fell to poking

holes in the gravel again. A constant stream of people passed between the Odeon and the fountain. Priests in

black, with silverbuckled shoes, line soldiers, slouchy and rakish, neat girls without hats bearing milliner's

boxes, students with black portfolios and high hats, students with b�rets and big canes, nervous,

quickstepping officers, symphonies in turquoise and silver, ponderous jangling cavalrymen all over dust,

pastry cooks' boys skipping along with utter disregard for the safety of the basket balanced in the impish

head, and then the lean outcast, the shambling Paris tramp, slouching with shoulders bent and little eye

furtively scanning the ground for smokers' refuse;all these moved in a steady stream across the fountain

circle and out into the city by the Odeon, whose long arcades were now beginning to flicker with gasjets.

The melancholy bells of St. Sulpice struck the hour and the clocktower of the Palace lighted up. Then

"How late you are," he said, but his voice was hoarse and only his flushed face told how long had seemed the

She said, "I was keptindeed, I was so much annoyedandand I may only stay a moment."

She sat down beside him casting a furtive glance over her shoulder at the god upon his pedestal.

"Wings," she murmured, "oh, yesto fly away with when he's tired of his play. Of course it was a man who

"Oh," she said, with a toss of her small head, "I really forget what we were speaking of."

"I was not," said the girl. "Then looking up at the marble god, "I don't care for this one at all. I don't believe

he knows how to shoot his arrowsno indeed, he is a coward;he creeps up like an assassin in the twilight.

I don't approve of cowardice," she announced, and turned her back on the statue.

"I think," said Hastings quietly, "that he does shoot fairlyyes, and even gives one warning."

"Heed the warning then," she cried, with a nervous laugh. As she spoke she stripped off her gloves, and then

carefully proceeded to draw them on again. When this was accomplished she glanced at the Palace clock,

saying, "Oh, dear, how late it is!" furled her umbrella then unfurled it, and finally looked at him.

"Oh, dear," she sighed again, "still talking about that tiresome statue!" Then stealing a glance at his face, "I

She raised her head with a quick gesture. "You seem delighted at this idea," she said, but bit her lip and

trembled as his eyes met hers. Then sudden fear came over her and she sprang up, staring into the gathering

"Are you cold?" he said, but she only answered, "Oh, dear, oh, dear, it is lateso late. I must

"By Jove!" he burst out, "what do you mean by saying I'm good to you! That's at least the third time, and I

The sound of a drum from the guardhouse at the palace cut him short. "Listen," she whispered, "they are

The rolling of the drum came nearer and nearer, and then the silhouette of the drummer cut the sky above the

eastern terrace. The fading light lingered a moment on his belt and bayonet, then he passed into the shadows,

drumming the echoes awake. The roll became fainter along the eastern terrace, then grew and grew and

rattled with increasing sharpness when he passed the avenue by the bronze lion and turned down the western

terrace walk. Louder and louder the drum sounded and the echoes struck back the notes from the gray palace

wall; and now the drummer loomed up before themhis red trousers a dull spot in the gathering gloom, the

brass of his drum and bayonet touched on his shoulders. He passed, leaving the crash of the drum in their

ears, and far into the alley of trees they saw his little tin cup shining on his haversack. Then the sentinels

began the monotonous cry: "on ferme! on ferme!" and the bugle blew from the barracks in the rue de

He watched her until she reached the northern terrace, and then sat down on the marble seat until a hand on

She passed on through the grove, and turning into the rue de Medici, traversed it to the Boulevard. At the

corner she bought a bunch of violets and walked on along the Boulevard to the rue des Ecoles. A cab was

"Not Victor?" cried the girl laughing, but she passed with a little shiver, nodding goodnight, then turning

into the Boulevard St. Germain, she walked a little faster to escape a gay party sitting before the Caf� Cluny

who called to her to join them. At the door of the Restaurant Mignon stood a coalblack negro in buttons. He

"Send Eugene to me," she said at the office, and passing through the hallway to the right of the diningroom

stopped before a row of panelled doors. A saiter passed and she repeated her demand for Eugene, who

"No one in the cabinets, madame; in the hall Madame Madelon and Monsieur Gay, Monsieur de Clamart,

Monsieur Clisson, Monsieur Marie and their set." Then he looked around and bowing again murmured.

"Monsieur awaits Madame since half an hour," and he knocked at one of the panelled doors bearing the

The gar�on bowed her in and whispering, "will Monsieur have the goodness to ring," vanished.

He helped her off with her jacket and took her hat and umbrella. When she was seated at the little table with

Clifford opposite, she smiled and leaned forward on both elbows looking him in the face.

For an instant she turned and examined herself in the glass. The wide blue eyes, the curling hair, the straight

nose and short curled lip flashed in the mirror an instant only, and then, its depths reflected her pretty neck

and back. "Thus do I turn my back on vanity," she said, and then leaning forward again, "what are you doing

The soup was bisque, and the wine Pommery, and the courses followed each other with the usual regularity

until Eugene brought coffee, and there was nothing left on the table but a small silver lamp.

"Valentine," said Clifford, after having obtained permission to smoke, "is it the Vaudeville or the

"Now see here, don't guy me, Valentine. You always do, and, and,you know what they say,a good laugh

She laughed until her eyes were moist with tears. "Tiens," she cried, "he is dead, then!"

"Don't you know that I like you too well toto ever fall in love with you?" she said. "Don't you know that

we are too good comrades,too old friends for that? And were we not,do you think that I do not know

"I hope she is," said the girl, "for she deserves a better fate. Tiens, do you know your reputation in the

Quarter? Of the inconstant, the most inconstant,utterly incorrigible and no more serious than a goat on a

"I like you. You know that. Everybody does. You are a spoiled child here. Everything is permitted you and

"Caprice!" he cried. "By Jove, if the girls of the Latin Quarter are not capricious"

"Never mind,never mind about that! You must not sit in judgmentyou of all men. Why are you here

tonight? Oh," she cried, "I will tell you why! Monsieur receives a little note; he sends a little answer; he

"You do, and it becomes you," she retorted with a faint smile. Then again, very quietly, "I am in your power,

but I know I am in the power of a friend. I have come to acknowledge it to you here,and it is because of

"I want to ask you," she continued in a low voice, "I want to ask you totoin case you should speak of me

"That is not fair," she murmured, "you know howhow he considers me,as he considers every woman.

You know how different he is from you and the rest. I have never seen a man,such a man as Monsieur

"I am almost afraid of himafraid he should know what we all are in the Quarter. Oh, I do not wish him to

know! I do not wich him toto turn from meto cease from speaking to me as he does! Youyou and the

rest cannot know what it has been to me. I could not believe him,I could not believe he was so good

andand noble. I do not wish him to know,so soon. He will find outsooner or later, he will find out for

himself, and then he will turn away from me. Why!" she cried passionately, "why should he turn from me and

The month passed quickly for Hastings, and left few definite impressions after it. It did leave some, however.

One was a painful impression of meeting Mr. Bladen on the Boulevard des Capucines in company with a

very pronounced young person whose laugh dismayed him, and when at last he escaped from the bock he felt

as if the whole boulevard was looking at him, and judging him by his company. Later, an instinctive

conviction regarding the young person with Mr. Bladen sent the hot blood into his cheek and he returned to

the pension in such a miserable state of mind that Miss Byng was alarmed and advised him to conquer his

Another impression was equally vivid. One Saturday morning feeling lonely, his wanderings about the city

brought him to the Gare St. Lazare. It was early for breakfast, but he entered the Hotel Terminus and took a

table near the window. As he wheeled about to give his order, a man passing rapidly along the aisle collided

with his head, and looking up to receive the expected apology, he was met instgead by a slap on the shoulder

and a hearty, "what the deuce are you doing here, old chap?" It was Rowden, who seized him and told him to

come along. So, mildly protesting, he was ushered into a private diningroom where Clifford, rather red,

jumped up from the table and welcomed him with a startled air which was softened by the unaffected glee of

Rowden and the extreme courtesy of Elliott. The latter presented him to three bewitching girls who welcomed

him so charmingly and seconded Rowden in his demand that Hastings should make one of the party that he

consented at once. While Elliott briefly outlined the projected excursion to La Roche, Hastings delightedly

ate his omelet, and returned the smiles of encouragement from C�cile and Colette and Jacqueline. Meantime

Clifford in a bland whisper was telling Rowden what an ass he was. Poor Rowden looked miserable until

Elliott, divining how affairs were turning, frowned on Clifford and found a moment to let Rowden know that

"It's Rowden and that settles it," murmured Clifford, concealing a grin. For after all he was not Hastings' wet

nurse. So it came about that the train which left the Gare St. Lazare at 9:15 A.M. stopped a moment in its

career towards Havre and desposited at the redroofed station of La Roche a merry part, armed with

sunshades, trout rods, and one cane, carried by the noncombatant, Hastings. Then, when they had

established their camp in a grove of sycamores which bordered the little river Ept, Clifford, the

"You, Rowden," he said, "divide your flies with Elliott and keep an eye on him or else he'll be trying to put

"I shall be delighted to see your first trout," said Clifford, and dodging a fly hook, hurled with intent to hit,

proceeded to sort and equip three slender rods destined to bring joy and fish to C�cile, Colette, and

Jacqueline. With perfect gravity he ornamented each line with four split shot, a small hook, and a brilliant

Jacqueline and Colette hastened to sustain her, and Hastings pleasantly offered to act in the capacity of

general baiter and taker off of fish. But C�cile, doubtless fascinated by the gaudy flies in Clifford's book,

decided to accept lessons from him in the true art, and presently disappeared up the Ept with Clifford in tow.

"I prefer gudgeons," said that damsel with decision, "and you and Monsieur Rowden may go away when you

"IIhave almost decided toernot to flip the flies about just now," he began. "There's the pole that

"Rod then," continued Elliott, and started off in the wake of the two girls, but was promptly collared by

"No you don't! Fancy a man fishing with a float and sinker when he has a fly rod in his hand! You come

Where the placid little Ept flows down between the thickets to the Seine, a grassy bank shadows the haunt of

the gudgeon, and on this bank sat Colette and Jacqueline and chattered and laughed and watched the

swerving of the scarlet quills, while Hastings, his hat over his eyes, his head on a bank of moss, listened to

their soft voices and gallantly unhooked the small and indignant gudgeon when a flash of a rod and a half

suppressed scream announced a catch. The sunlight filtered through the leafy thickets awaking to song the

forest birds. Magpies on spotless black and white flirted past, alighting near by with a hop and bound and

twitch of the tail. Blue and white jays with rosy breasts shrieked through the trees, and a lowsailing hawk

wheeled among the fields of ripening wheat, putting to flight flocks of twittering hedge birds.

Across the Seine a gull dropped on the water like a plume. The air was pure and still. Scarcely a leaf moved.

Sounds from a distant farm came faintly, the shrill cockcrow and dull baying. Now and then a steamtug

with big raking smokepipe, bearing the name, "Gu�ve 27," ploughed up the river dragging its interminable

train of barges, or a sailboat dropped down with the current toward sleepy Rouen.

A faint fresh odor of earth and water hung in the air, and through the sunlight, orangetipped butterflies

danced above the marsh grass, soft velvety butterflies flapped through the mossy woods.

Hastings was thinking of Valentine. It was two o'clock when Elliott strolled back, and frankly admitted that

he had eluded Rowden, sat down beside Colette and prepared to doze with satisfaction.

Rowden returned shortly after, and casting a scornful glance at the slumbering one, displayed three

"And that," smiled Hastings lazily, "that is the holy end to which the faithful plod,the slaughter of these

Rowden disdained to answer him. Colette caught another gudgeon and awoke Elliott who protested and

gazed about for the lunch baskets, as Clifford and C�cile came up demanding instant refreshment. C�cile's

skirts were soaked, and her gloves torn but she was happy, and Clifford, dragging out a two pound trout,

C�cile, wet and enthusiastic, recounted the battle, and then Clifford eulogized her powers with the fly, and, in

proof, produced from his creel a defunct chub, which, he observed, just missed being a trout.

They were all very merry at luncheon and Hastings was voted "charming." He enjoyed it immensely,only

it seemed to him at moments that flirtation went further in France than in Millbrook, Connecticut, and he

thought that C�cile might be a little less enthusiastic about Clifford, that perhaps it would be quire as well if

Jacqueline sat further away from Rowden and that possibly Colette could have, for a moment, at least, taken

her eyes from Elliott's face. Still he enjoyed itexcept when his thoughts drifted to Valentine and then he

felt that he was very far away from her. La Roche is at least an hour and a half from Paris. It is also true that

he felt a happiness, a quick heartbeat when, at eight o'clock that night the train which bore them from La

Roche rolled into the Gare St. Lazare and he was once more in the city of Valentine.

He promised, and watched them, two by two, drift into the darkening city, and stood so long that, when again

he raised his eyes, the vast Boulevard was twinkling with gasjets through which the electric lights stared like

It was with another quick heartbeat that he awoke next morning, for his first thought was of Valentine.

The sun already gilded the towers of Notre Dame, the clatter of workmen's sabots awoke sharp echoes in the

street below, and across the way a blackbird in a pink almond tree was going into an ecstasy of trills.

He determined to awake Clifford for a brisk walk in the country, hoping later to beguile that gentleman into

the American church for his soul's sake. He found Alfred the gimleteyed, washing the asphalt walk which

"Monsieur Clifford," said the concierge with fine irony, "will be pleased to see you, as he retired early; in fact

Hastings hesitated while the concierge pronounced a fiery eulogy on people who never stayed out all night

and then came battering at the lodge gate during hours which even a gendarme held sacred to sleep. He also

discourse eloquently upon the beauties of temperance, and took an ostentatious draught from the fountain in

"Pardon, Monsieur," growled the concierge, "perhaps it would be well to see Monsieur Clifford. He possibly

needs aid. Me he drives forth with hairbrushes and boots. It is a mercy if he has not set fire to something

with his candle." Hastings hesitated for an instant, but swallowing his dislike of such a mission, walked

slowly through the ivycovered alley and across the inner garden to the studio. He knocked. Perfect silence.

Then he knocked again and this time something struck the door from within with a crush.

"That," said the concierge, "was a boot." He fitted his duplicate key into the lock and ushered Hastings in.

Clifford, in disordered evening dress, sat on the rug in the middle of the room. He held in his hand a shoe,

"Goodmorning, do you use Pears' soap?" he inquired with a vague wave of his hand and a vaguer smile.

"Not while thatthat Alfred pokes his shaggy head in here an' I have a shoe left."

Hastings blew out the candle, picked up Clifford's hat and cane, and said, with an emotion he could not

"Ole chap," returned Clifford, becoming maudlin, "Providence which feedsfeedsersparrows an' that

But Clifford only wagged his head and waved his arm about. "He's out there,somewhere about." Then

suddenly feeling a desire to see his missing chum, lifted up his voice and howled for him.

Hastings, thoroughly shocked, sat down in the lounge without a word. Presently, after shedding several

"Ole chap," he observed, "do you want to see erer miracle? Well, here goes. I'm goin' to begin."

Hastings supposed he was alluding to the miracle of his keeping his balance and said nothing.

"I'm goin' to bed," he announced, "poor ole Clifford's goin' to bed, an' that's er miracle!"

And he did with a nice calculation of distance and equilibrium which would have rung enthusiastic yells of

applause from Elliott had he been there to assist en connaisseur. But he was not. He had not yet reached the

studio. He was on his way, however, and smiled with magnificent condescension on Hastings, who, half an

hour later, found him reclining upon a bench in the Luxembourg. He permitted himself to be aroused, dusted

and escorted to the gate. Here, however, he refused all further assistance, and bestowing a patronizing bow

Hastings watched him out of sight, and then slowly retraced his steps toward the fountain. At first he felt

gloomy and depressed, but gradually the clear air of the morning lifted the pressure from his heart, and he sat

The air was fresh and sweet with perfume from the orange flowers. Everywhere pigeons were bathing,

dashing the water over their irishued breasts, flashing in and out of the spray or nestling almost to the neck

along the polished basin. The sparrows, too, were abroad in force, soaking their dustcolored feathers in the

limpid pool and chirping with might and main. Under the sycamores which surround the duck pond opposite

the fountain of Marie de Medici, the waterfowl cropped the herbage, or waddled in rows down the bank to

Butterflies, somewhat lame from a chilly night's repose under the lilac leaves, crawled over and over the

white phlox, or took a rheumatic flight toward some sunwarmed shrub. The bees were already busy among

the heliotrope and one or two great gray flies with brickcolored eyes sat in a spot of sunlight beside the

marble seat, or chased each other about, only to return again to the spot of sunshine and rub their forelegs,

The sentries paced briskly before the painted boxes, pausing at times to look toward the guardhouse for their

They came at last, with a shuffle of feet and click of bayonets, the word was passed, the relief fell out, and

A mellow chime floated from the clocktower of the palace, the deep bell of St. Sulpice, echoed the stroke.

Hastings sat dreaming in the shadow of the god, and while he mused, somebody came and sat down beside

him. At first he did not raise his head. It was only when she spoke that he sprang up.

"I was restless, I could not sleep." Then in a low happy voice"and you! at this hour?"

"I could not sleep," she said, and her eyes seemed, for a moment, touched with an indefinable shadow. Then,

smiling, "I am so gladI seemed to know you were coming. Don't laugh, I believe in dreams."

"I think I was awake when I dreamed it," she admitted. Then for a time they were mute, acknowledging by

silence the happiness of being together. And after all their silence was eloquent, for faint smiles, and glances

born of their thoughts, crossed and recrossed, until lips moved and words were formed, which seemed almost

superfluous. What they said was not very profound. Perhaps the most valuable jewel that fell from Hastings'

"I have not yet had my chocolate," she confessed, "but what a material man you are."

"Valentine," he said impulsively, "I wish,I do wish that you would,just for this once,give me the

Again that indefinable shadow fell across her eyes, and when it was gone she sighed. "Yes,together, only

On the Boulevard St. Michel there is a Cr�merie painted white and blue outside, and neat and clean as a

whistle inside. The auburnhaired young woman who speaks French like a native, and rejoices in the name of

Murphy, smiled at them as they entered, and tossing a fresh napkin over the zinc t�te�t�te table, whisked

The primrosecolored pats of butter each stamped with a shamrock in relief, seemed saturated with the

"How delicious," they said in the same breath, and then laughed at the coincidence.

"How absurd," she cried with cheeks all rosy, "I'm thinking I'd like a croisson."

Then they had a quarrel; she accusing him of behavior unworthy of a child in arms, and he denying it, and

bringing counter charges, until Mademoiselle Murphy laughed in sympathy, and the last croisson was eaten

under a flag of truce. Then they rose, and she took his arm with a bright nod to Mlle. Murphy, who cried

them a merry: "Bonjour, Madame! bonjour, Monsieur!" and watched them hail a passing cab and drive away.

"Dieu! qu'il est beau," she sighed, adding after a moment, "Do they be married, I dunno,ma foi ils ont bien

The cab swung around the rue de Medici, turned into the rue de Vaugirard, followed it to where it crosses the

rue de Rennes, and taking that noisy thoroughfare, drew up before the Gare Montparnasse. They were just in

time for a train and scampered up the stairway and out to the cars as the last note from the starting gong rang

through the arched station. The guard slammed the door of their compartment, a whistle sounded, answered

by a screech from the locomotive, and the long train glided from the station, faster, faster, and sped out into

the morning sunshine. The summer wind blew in their faces from the open window, and sent the soft hair

She leaned against the cushioned windowseat, her eyes bright and wide open, her lips parted. The wind lifted

her hat, and fluttered the ribbons under her chin. With a quick movement she untied them and drawing a long

hat pin from her hat, laid it down on the seat beside her. The train was flying.

The color surged in her cheeks and with each quickdrawn breath, her breast rose and fell under the cluster of

lilies at her throat. Trees, houses, ponds, danced past, cut by a mist of telegraph poles.

His eyes never left her, but hers, wide open and blue as the summer sky, seemed fixed on something far

Was it the horizon, cut now by the grim fortress on the hill, now by the cross of a country chapel? Was it the

The car shook and shivered and the fields streamed by like an emerald torrent. He caught the excitement and

"Oh," she cried, and with an unconscious movement caught his hand, drawing him to the window beside her.

He only saw her lips move; her voice was drowned in the roar of a trestle, but his hand close din hers and he

clung to the sill. The wind whistled in their ears. "Not so far out, Valentine, take care!" he gasped.

Below, through the ties of the trestle, a broad river flashed into view and out again, as the train thundered

along a tunnel, and away once more through the freshet of green fields. The wind roared about them. The girl

was leaning far out from the window, and he caught her by the waist, crying, "Not too far!" but she only

murmured, "Faster! faster! away out of the city, out of the land, faster, faster! away out of the world!"

"What are you saying all to yourself," he said, but his voice was broken, and the wind whirled it back into his

She heard him, and, turning from the window looked down at his arm about her. Then she raised her eyes to

his. The car shook and the windows rattled. They were dashing through a forest now, and the sun swept the

dewy branches with running flashes of fire. He looked into her troubled eyes; he drew her to him and kissed

the halfparted lips, and she cried out, a bitter, hopeless cry. "Not thatnot that!"

But he held her close and strong, whispering words of honest love and passion, and when she sobbed"Not

thatnot thatI have promised! You mustyou must knowI amnotworthy" In the purity of

his own heart her words were, to him, meaningless then, meaningless forever after. Presently her voice

ceased, and her head rested on his breast. He leaned against the window, his ears swept by the furious wind,

his heart in a joyous tumult. The forest was passed, and the sun slipped from behind the trees, flooding the

earth again with brightness. She raised her eyes and looked out into the world from the window. Then she

began to speak, but her voice was faint and he bent his head close to hers and listened. "I cannot turn from

you; I am too weak. You were long ago my mastermaster of my heart and soul. I have broken my word to

one who trusted me, but I have told you all,what matters the rest?" He smiled at her innocence and she

worshipped his. She spoke again: "Take me or cast me away;what matters it? Now with a word you can

kill me, and it might be easier to die than to look upon happiness as great as mine."

He took her in his arms; "Hush, what are you saying? Look,look out at the sunlight, the meadows and the

She turned to the sunlight. From the window, the world below seemed very fair to her.

Trembling with happiness, she sighed: "Is this the world? Then I have never known it."

ONE MORNING at Julian's, a student said to Selby; "that is Foxhall Clifford," pointing with his brushes at a

Selby, shy and nervous, walked over and began: "My name is Selby,I have just arrived in Paris, and bring

a letter of introduction" His voice was lost in the crash of a falling easel, the owner of which promptly

assaulted his neighbor, and for a time the noise of battle rolled through the studios of MM. Boulanger and

Lefebvre, presently subsiding into a scuffle on the stairs outside. Selby, apprehensive as to his own reception

"It's a little noisy here," said Clifford, "but you will like the fellows when you know them." His unaffected

manner delighted Selby. Then with a simplicity that won his heart, he presented him to half a dozen students

of as many nationalities. Some were cordial, all were polite. Even the majestic creature who held the position

of Massier, unbent enough to say: "My friend, when a man speaks French as well as you do, and is also a

friend of Monsieur Clifford, he will have no trouble in this studio. You expect, of course, to fill the stove

Clifford, much amused, put on his hat, saying, "You must expect lots of it at first.

As they passed the model stand there was a furious cry of "Chapeau! Chapeau!" and a student sprang from

"You are charming," replied Selby, astonished at his own audacity, but the studio rose as one man, shouting:

"He has done well! he's all right!" while the model, laughing, kissed her hand to him and cried: "� demain

All that week Selby worked at the studio unmolested. The French students christened him "l'Enfant

Prodigue," which was freely translated, "The Prodigious Infant," "The Kid," "Kid Selby," and "Kidby," to

"Kidney," and then naturally to "Tidbits" where it was arrested by Clifford's authority and ultimately relapsed

Wednesday came, and with it M. Boulanger. For three hours the students writhed under his biting

sarcasms,among the others Clifford, who was informed that he knew even less about a work of art than he

did about the art of work. Selby was more fortunate. The professor examined his drawing in silence, looked at

him sharply, and passed on with a noncommittal gesture. He presently departed arm in arm with Bouguereau,

to the relief of Clifford who was then at liberty to jam his hat on his head and depart.

The next day, he did not appear, and Selby, who had counted on seeing him at the studio, a thing which he

learned later it was vanity to count on, wandered back to the Latin Quarter alone.

Paris was still strange and new to him. He was vaguely troubled by its splendor. No tender memories stirred

his American bosom at the Place du Ch�telet, nor even by Notre Dame. The Palais de Justice with its clock

and turrets and stalking sentinels in blue and vermilion, the Place St. Michel with its jumble of omnibuses

and ugly waterspitting griffins, the hill of the Boulevard St. Michel, the tooting trams, the policemen

dawdling two by two, and the tablelined terraces of the Caf� Vachette, were nothing to him, as yet, nor did

he even know, when he stepped from the stones of the Place St. Michel to the asphalt of the Boulevard, that

he had crossed the frontier and entered the student zone,the famous Latin Quarter.

A cabman hailed him as "bourgeois," and urged the superiority of driving over walking, A gamin, with an

appearance of great concern, requested the latest telegraphic news from London, and then, standing on his

head, invited Selby to feats of strength. A pretty girl gave him a glance from a pair of violet eyes. He did not

see her, but she, catching her own reflection in a window, wondered at the color burning in her cheeks.

Turning to resume her course, she met Foxhall Clifford, and hurried on. Clifford, openmouthed, followed

her with his eyes; then he looked after Selby, who had turned into the Boulevard St. Germain toward the rue

de Seine. Then he examined himself in the shop window. The result seemed to be unsatisfactory.

"I'm not a beauty," he mused, "but neither am I a hobgoblin. What does she mean by blushing at Selby? I

never before saw her look at a fellow in my life, neither has any one in the Quarter. Anyway, I can swear she

never looks at me, and goodness knows I have done all that respectful adoration can do."

He sighed, and murmuring a prophecy concerning the salvation of his immortal soul swung into that graceful

lounge which at all times characterized Clifford. With no apparent exertion, he overtook Selby at the corner,

and together they crossed the sunlit Boulevard and sat down under the awning of the Caf� du Cercle. Clifford

bowed to everybody on the terrace, saying, "You shall meet them all later, but now let me present you to two

"You cut tile studio today," said Elliott, suddenly turning on Clifford who avoided his eyes.

"What's her name this time?" asked Elliott, and Rowden answered promptly; "Name, Yvette; nationality,

The subject changed instantly, and Selby listened in surprise to names which were new to him, and eulogies

on the latest Prix de Rome winner. He was delighted to hear opinions boldly expressed and points honestly

debated, although the vehicle was mostly slang, both English and French. He longed for the time when he too

The bells of St. Sulpice struck the hour, and the Palace of the Luxembourg answered chime on chime. With a

glance at the sun, dipping low in the golden dust behind the Palais Bourbon, they rose, and turning to the east,

crossed the Boulevard St. Germain and sauntered toward the �cole de Medecine. At the corner a girl passed

them, walking hurriedly. Clifford smirked, Elliott and Rowden were agitated, but they all bowed, and,

without raising her eyes, she returned their salute. But Selby, who had lagged behind, fascinated by some gay

shop window, looked up to meet two of the bluest eyes he had ever seen. The eyes were dropped in an

"By Jove," he said, "do you fellows know I have just seen the prettiest girl" An exclamation broke from

Two hours later, during dinner, Clifford turned to Selby and said, "You want to ask me something; I can tell

"Her name," said Clifford solemnly, "is unknown to any one, at least," he added with much

conscientiousness, "as far as I can learn. Every fellow in the Quarter bows to her and she returns the salute

gravely, but no man has ever been known to obtain more than that. Her profession, judging from her

musicroll, is that of a pianist. Her residence is in a small and humble street which is kept in a perpetual

process of repair by the city authorities, and from the black letters painted on the barrier which defends the

street from traffic, she has taken the name by which we know her,Rue Barr�e. Mr. Rowden, in his

imperfect knowledge of the French tongue, called our attention to it as Roo Barry"

"And Roo Barry or Rue Barr�e, is today an object of adoration to every rapin in the Quarter"

"I am not," returned Clifford, "and I beg to call to your attention, Selby, that these two gentlemen have at

various and apparently unfortunate moments, offered to lay down life and limb at the feet of Rue Barr�e. The

lady possesses a chilling smile which she uses on such occasions and," here he became gloomily impressive,

"I have been forced to believe that neither the scholarly grace of my friend Elliott nor the buxom beauty of

TWENTYFOUR hours later Selby had completely forgotten Rue Barr�e. During the week he worked with

might and main at the studio, and Saturday night found him so tired that he went to bed before dinner and had

a nightmare about a river of yellow ochre in which he was drowning. Sunday morning, apropos of nothing at

all, he thought of Rue Barr�e and ten seconds afterwards he saw her. It was at the flower market on the

marble bridge. She was examining a pot of pansies. The gardener had evidently thrown heart and soul into

It is a question whether Selby would have stopped then and there to inspect a cabbagerose had not Clifford

unwound for him the yarn of the previous Tuesday. It is possible that his curiosity was piqued, for with the

exception of a henturkey, a boy of nineteen is the most openly curious biped alive. From twenty until death

he tries to conceal it. But, to be fair to Selby, it is also true that the market was attractive. Under a cloudless

sky the flowers were packed and heaped along the marble bridge to the parapet. The air was soft, the sun

spun a shadowy lacework among the palms and glowed in the hearts of a thousand roses. Spring had

come,was in full tide. The watering carts and sprinklers, spread freshness over the Boulevard, the sparrows

had become vulgarly obtrusive and the credulous Seine angler anxiously followed his gaudy quill, floating

among the soapsuds of the lavoirs. The whitespiked chestnuts clad in tender green, vibrated with the hum of

bees. Shoddy butterflies flaunted their winter rags among the heliotrope. There was a smell of fresh earth in

the air, an echo of the woodland brook in the ripple of the Seine, and swallows soared and skimmed among

the anchored river craft. Somewhere in a window, a caged bird was singing its heart out to the sky.

Selby looked at the cabbagerose and then at the sky. Something in the song of the caged bird may have

At first he was hardly conscious that he had stopped, then he was scarcely conscious why he had stopped,

then he thought he would move on, then he thought he wouldn't, then he looked at Rue Barr�e.

The gardener smiled. She evidently did not want the pansies. She had bought many pots of pansies there, two

or three every spring, and never argued. What did she want then? The pansies were evidently a feeler toward

a more important transaction. The gardener rubbed his hands and gazed about him.

"These tulips are magnificent," he observed, "and these hyacinths" He fell into a trance at the mere sight

"That," murmured Rue, pointing to a splendid rosebush with her furled parasol, but in spite of her, her voice

trembled a little. Selby noticed it, more shame to him that he was listening, and the gardener noticed it, and,

burying his nose in the roses, scented a bargain. Still, to do him justice, he did not add a centime to the honest

value of the plant, for after all, Rue was probably poor, and any one could see she was charming.

The gardener's tone was grave. Rue felt that argument would be wasted. They both stood silent for a moment.

The gardener did not eulogize his prize,the rosetree was gorgeous and any one could see it.

"I will take the pansies," said the girl, and drew two francs from a worn purse. Then she looked up. A

teardrop stood in the way refracting the light like a diamond, but as it rolled into a little corner by her nose, a

vision of Selby replaced it, and when a brush of the handkerchief had cleared the startled blue eyes, Selby

himself appeared, very much embarrassed. He instantly looked up into the sky, apparently devoured with a

thirst for astronomical research, and as he continued his investigations for fully five minutes, the gardener

looked up too and so did a policeman. Then Selby looked at the tips of his boots, the gardener looked at him

Selby never knew why, but he suddenly began to buy flowers. The gardener was electrified. Never before had

he sold so many flowers, never at such satisfying prices, and never, never with such absolute unanimity of

opinion with a customer. But he missed the bargaining, the arguing, the calling of Heaven to witness. The

"Dieu!" murmured the gardener in a perspiration, "he's madder than most Englishmen."

"That is a beauty. I believe it is fifty francs" He stopped, very red. The gardener relished his confusion.

Then a sudden cool selfpossession took the place of his momentary confusion and he held the gardener with

"Take this rosebush with them, and"here he glared at the gardener, "don't you dare say from whom they

came." The gardener's eyes were like saucers, but Selby, calm and victorious, said: "Send the others to the

H�tel du S�nat, 7 rue de Tournon. I will leave directions with the concierge."

Then he buttoned his glove with much dignity and stalked off, but when well around the corner and hidden

from the gardener's view, the conviction that he was an idiot came home to him in a furious blush. Ten

minutes later he sat in his room in the H�tel du S�nat repeating with an imbecile smile: "What an ass I am,

An hour later found him in the same chair, in the same position, his hat and gloves still on, his stick in his

hand, but he was silent, apparently lost in contemplation of his boot toes, and his smile was less imbecile and

About five o'clock that afternoon, the little sadeyed woman who fills the position of concierge at the H�tel

du S�nat, held up her hands in amazement to see a wagonload of flowerbearing shrubs draw up before the

doorway. She called Joseph, the intemperate gar�on who, while calculating the value of the flowers in petit

The little woman stood a moment pensive and then sighed. Joseph caressed his nose, a nose which for

Then the gardener came in, hat in hand, and a few minutes later Selby stood in the middle of his room, his

coat off, his shirtsleeves rolled up. The chamber originally contained, besides the furniture, about two

square feet of walking room, and now this was occupied by a cactus. The bed groaned under crates of

pansies, lilies and heliotrope, the lounge was covered with hyacinths and tulips, and the washstand supported

Clifford came in a little later, fell over a box of sweet peas, swore a little, apologized, and then as the full

splendor of the floral f�te burst upon him, sat down in astonishment upon a geranium. The geranium was a

"Nno,I'm very fond of flowers," said Selby, but the statement lacked enthusiasm.

Selby contemplated the cactus, touched it with the air of a connaisseur, and pricked his thumb.

Clifford poked a pansy with his stick. Then Joseph came in with the bill, announcing the sum total in a loud

voice, partly to impress Clifford, partly to intimidate Selby into disgorging a pourboire which he would share

if he chose, with the gardener. Clifford tried to pretend that he had not heard, while Selby paid bill and tribute

without a murmur. Then he lounged back into the room with an attempt at indifference which failed entirely

Clifford made some commonplace remark, lighted a cigarette and looked out of the window to give Selby a

chance. Selby tried to take it, but getting as far as"Yes, spring is here at last," froze solid. He looked at the

back of Clifford's head. It expressed volumes. Those little perked up ears seemed tingling with suppressed

glee. He made a desperate effort to master the situation, and jumped up to reach for some Russian cigarettes

as an incentive to conversation, but was foiled by the cactus to whom again he fell a prey. The last straw was

"Damn the cactus." This observation was wrung from Selby against his, will,against his own instinct of

selfpreservation, but the thorns on the cactus were~long and sharp and at their repeated prick, his pentup

wrath escaped. It was too late now; it was done, and Clifford had wheeled around.

As soon as he said it he regretted it. What in Heaven's name would Clifford think of him! He had heard the

amount of the bill. Would he believe that he had invested in these luxuries as a timid declaration to his

concierge? And would the Latin Quarter comment upon it in their own brutal fashion? He dreaded riclicule,

Selby looked at Clifford with a hunted expression which touched that young man's heart. It was a confession

and at the same time a supplication. Clifford jumped up, threaded his way through the floral labyrinth, and

"It's Elliott," he said looking back, "and Rowden, too, and their bulldogs." Then he addressed them through

Discretion is a virtue. The Latin Quarter possesses few, and discretion seldom figures on the list. They sat

"You ought to know Selby better than that," growled Clifford behind the door, while the other hurriedly

"Yes," said Rowden, "he gives receptions with floral decorations and invites Clifford, while we sit on the

"Yes, while the youth and beauty of the Quarter revel," suggested Rowden; then, with sudden misgiving, "Is

Then he raised his voice in a plaintive howl, "Are you there, Colette, while I'm kicking my heels on these

"Clifford is capable of anything," said Rowden; "his nature is soured since Rue Barr�e sat on him."

Elliott raised his voice; "I say, you fellows, we saw some flowers carried into Rue Barr�e's house at noon."

Clifford turned with sudden suspicion upon Selby. The latter hummed a tune, selected a pair of gloves and,

choosing a dozen cigarettes, placed them in a case. Then walking over to the cactus, he deliberately detached

a blossom, drew it through his buttonhole and picking up hat and stick, smiled upon Clifford, at which the

Monday morning at Julian's, students fought for places; students with prior claims drove away others who

had been anxiously squatting on coveted tabourets since the door was opened in hopes of appropriating them

at rollcall; students squabbled over palettes, brushes, portfolios, or rent the air with demands for Ciceri and

bread. The former, a dirty exmodel, who had in palmier days posed as Judas, now dispensed stale bread at

one sou and made enough to keep himself in cigarettes. Monsieur Julian walked in, smiled a fatherly smile

and walked out. His disappearance was followed by the apparition of the clerk, a foxy creature who flitted

Three men who had not paid dues were caught and summoned. A fourth was scented, followed, outflanked,

his retreat towards the door cut off, and finally captured behind the stove. About that time the revolution

Jules came, umpired two fights with a sad resignation in his big brown eyes, shook hands with everybody and

melted away in the throng, leaving an atmosphere of peace and good will. The lions sat down with the lambs,

the massiers marked the best places for themselves and friends, and, mounting the model stands, opened the

Clisson jumped like a flash and marked his name on the floor in chalk before a front seat.

Caron galloped away to secure his place. Bang! went an easel. "Nom de Dieu!" in French,"Where in hl

are you goin'!" in English. Crash! a paint box fell with brushes and all on board. "Dieu de Dieu de" spat! A

blow, a short rush, a clinch and scuffle, and the voice of the massier, stern and reproachful:

Clifford was not there. He was about three miles away in a direct line and every instant increased the

distance. Not that he was walking fast,on the contrary, he was strolling with that leisurely gait peculiar to

himself. Elliott was beside him and two bulldogs covered the rear. Elliott was reading the "Gil Blas" from

which he seemed to extract amusement, but deeming boisterous mirth unsuitable to Clifford's state of mind,

subdued his amusement to a series of discreet smiles. The latter, moodily aware of this, said nothing, but

leading the way into the Luxembourg Gardens installed himself upon a bench by the northern terrace and

surveyed the landscape with disfavor. Elliott, according to the Luxembourg regulations, tied the two dogs and

then with an interrogative glance toward his friend, resumed the "Gil Blas" and the discreet smiles.

The day was perfect. The sun hung over Notre Dame, setting the city in a glitter. The tender foliage of the

chestnuts cast a shadow over the terrace and flecked the paths and walks with tracery so blue that Clifford

might here have found encouragement for his violent "impressions" had he but looked; but as usual in this

period of his career, his thoughts were anywhere except in his profession. Around about, the sparrows

quarrelled and chattered their courtship songs, the big rosy pigeons sailed from tree to tree, the flies whirled

in the sunbeams and the flowers exhaled a thousand perfumes which stirred Clifford with languorous

"You make me ill," replied the latter, folding his paper. "It's just as I thought,you are tagging after some

new petticoat again. And," he continued wrathfully, "if this is what you've kept me away from Julian's

"See. here," cried Elliott, "have you the nerve to try to tell me that you are in love again?"

For a moment Elliott would have laid hands on him, then he laughed from sheer helplessness. "Oh, go on, go

on; let's see, there's Cl�mence and Marie Tellec and Cosette and Fifine, Colette, Marie Verdier"

"So help me Moses," said Elliott, solemnly, "each and every one of those named have separately and in turn

torn your heart with anguish and have also made me lose my place at Julian's in this same manner; each and

"What you say may be founded on factsin a waybut give me the credit of being faithful to one at a

"But this, this is really very different. Elliott, believe me, I am all broken up."

"Well," observed Elliott, with scorn, "if you are moping and moaning over that girl,the girl who has given

you and myself every reason to wish that the ground would open and engulf us,well, go on!"

"I'm desperate, Elliott. Am I in love? Never, never did I feel so dn miserable. I can't sleep; honestly, I'm

"Hold on a moment, I know the rest by heart. Now let me ask you something. Is it your belief that Rue Barr�e

"Do you love her,not as you dangle and tiptoe after every pretty inanityI mean, do you honestly love

"Pleasant news for your family," growled Elliott in suppressed fury. 'Dear father, I have just married a

charming grisette whom I'm sure you'll welcome with open arms, in company with her mother, a most

estimable and cleanly washlady.' Good heavens! This. seems to have gone a little further than the rest. Thank

your stars, young man, that my head is level enough for us both. Still, in this case, I have no fear. Rue Barr�e

"Rue Barr�e," began Clifford, drawing himself up, but he suddenly ceased, for there where the dappled

sunlight glowed in spots of gold, along the sunflecked path, tripped Rue Barr�e. Her gown was spotless, and

her big straw hat, tipped a little from the white forehead, threw a shadow across her eyes.

Elliott stood up and bowed. Clifford removed his head covering with an air so plaintive, so appealing, so

The smile was delicious, and when Clifford, incapable of sustaining himself on his legs from sheer

astonishment, toppled slightly, she smiled again in spite of herself. A few moments later she took a chair on

the terrace and drawing a book from her music roll, turned the pages, found the place, and then placing it

open downwards in her lap, sighed a little, smiled a little, and looked out over the city. She had entirely

After a while she took up her book again, but instead of reading began to adjust a rose in her corsage. The

rose was big and red. It glowed like fire there over her heart and like fire it warmed her heart now fluttering

under the silken petals. Rue Barr�e sighed again. She was very happy. The sky was so blue, the air so soft and

perfumed, the sunshine so caressing, and her heart sang within her, sang to the rose in her breast. This is what

it sang: "Out of the throng of passers by, out of the world of yesterday, out of the millions passing, one has

So her heart sang under his rose on her breast. Then two big mousecolored pigeons came whistling by and

alighted on the terrace where they bowed and strutted and bobbed and turned until Rue Barr�e laughed in

delight, and looking up beheld Clifford before her. His hat was in his hand and his face was wreathed in a

series of appealing smiles which would have touched the heart of a Bengal tiger.

For an instant Rue Barr�e frowned, then she looked curiously at Clifford, then when she saw the resemblance

between his bows and the bobbing pigeons, in spite of herself, her lips parted in the most bewitching laugh.

Was this Rue Barr�e? So changed, so changed that she did not know herself; but oh! that song in her heart

which drowned all else, which trembled on her lips, struggling for utterance, which rippled forth in a laugh at

"And you think because I return the salute of the students in the Quarter, that you may be received in

particular as a friend? I do not know you Monsieur, but vanity is man's other name;be content, Monsieur

"Let me only be permitted to speak to you now and then,occasionallyvery occasionally."

Her eyes were very clear and Clifford winced for a moment, but only for a moment. Then the devil of

recklessness seizing him he sat down and offered himself, soul and body, goods and chattels. And all the time

he knew he was a fool and that infatuation is not love, and that each word he uttered bound him in honor from

which there was no escape. And all the time Elliott was scowling down on the fountain plaza and savagely

checking both bulldogs from their desire to rush to Clifford's rescue,for even they felt there was something

When Clifford finished, he finished in a glow of excitement, but Rue Barr�e's response was long in coming

and his ardor cooled while the situation slowly assumed its just proportions. Then regret began to creep in,

but he put that aside and broke out again in protestations. At the first word Rue Barr�e checked him.

"I thank you," she said, speaking very gravely. "No man has ever before offered me marriage." She turned

and looked out over the city. After a while she spoke again. "You offer me a great deal. I am alone, I have

nothing, I am nothing." She turned again and looked at Paris, brilliant, fair, in the sunshine of a perfect day.

Oh," She murmured, ''it is hard,hard to work alwaysalways alone with never a friend you can have in

honor, and the love that is offered means the streets, the boulevardwhen passion is dead. I know it,we

know it,we others who have nothing,have no one, and who give ourselves, unquestioningwhen we

She touched the rose at her breast. For a moment she seemed to forget him, then quietly"I thank you, I am

very grateful." She opened the book and, plucking a petal from the rose dropped it between the leaves. Then

It took Clifford a month to entirely recover, although at the end of the first week he was pronounced

convalescent by Elliott, who was an authority, and his convalescence was aided by the cordiality with which

Rue Barr�e acknowledged his solemn salutes. Forty times a day he blessed Rue Barr�e for her refusal and

thanked his lucky stars, and at the same time, oh wondrous heart of ours!he suffered the tortures of the

Elliott was annoyed, partly by Clifford's reticence, partly by the unexplainable thaw in the frigidity of Rue

Barr�e. At their frequent encounters, when she, tripping along the rue de Seine, with musicroll and big straw

hat would pass Clifford and his familiars steering an easterly course to the Caf� Vachette, and at the

respectful uncovering of the band, would color and smile at Clifford, Elliott's slumbering suspicions awoke.

But he never found out anything and finally gave it up as beyond his comprehension, merely qualifying

Clifford as an idiot and reserving his opinion of Rue Barr�e. And all this time Selby was jealous. At first he

refused to acknowledge it to himself and cut the studio for a day in the country, but the woods and fields of

course aggravated his case, and the brooks babbled of Rue Barr�e and the mowers calling to each other across

the meadow ended in a quavering "Rue Barr�ee!" That day spent in the country made him angry for a

week, and he worked sulkily at Julian's, all the time tormented by a desire to know where Clifford was and

what he might be doing. This culminated in an erratic stroll on Sunday which ended at the flowermarket on

the Pont au Change, began again, was gloomily extended to the morgue, and again ended at the marble

bridge. It would never do and Selby felt it, so he went to see Clifford who was convalescing on mint juleps in

They sat down together and discussed morals and human happiness, and each found the other most

entertaining, only Selby failed to pump Clifford to the other's unfeigned amusement. But the juleps spread

balm on the sting of jealousy, and trickled hope to the blighted, and when Selby said he must go, Clifford

went too, and when Selby, not to be outdone, insisted on accompanying Clifford back to his door, Clifford

determined to see Selby back half way, and then finding it hard to part they decided to dine together and

"flit." To flit, a verb applied to Clifford's nocturnal prowls, expressed, perhaps, as well as anything, the

gayety proposed. Dinner was ordered at Mignon's and while Selby interviewed the chef, Clifford kept a

fatherly eye on the butler. The dinner was a success, or was of the sort generally termed a success. Toward

the dessert Selby heard some one say as at a great distance, "Kid Selby, drunk as a lord."

A group of men passed near them it seemed to him that he shook hands and laughed a great deal, and that

everybody was very witty. There was Clifford opposite swearing undying confidence in his chum Selby, and

there seemed to be others there, either seated beside them or continually passing with the swish of skirts on

the polished floor. The perfume of roses, the rustle of fans, the touch of rounded arms and the laughter grew

vaguer and vaguer. The room seemed enveloped in mist. Then, all in a moment each object stood out

painfully distinct, only forms and visages were distorted and voices piercing. He drew himself up, calm,

grave, for the moment master of himself, but very drunk.. He knew he was drunk, and was as guarded and

alert, as keenly suspicious of himself as he would have been of a thief at his elbow. His selfcommand

enabled Clifford to hold his head safely under some running water, and repair to the street considerably the

worse for wear, but never suspecting that his companion was drunk. For a time he kept his selfcommand.

His face was only a bit paler, a bit tighter than usual; he was only a trifle slower and more fastidious in his

speech. It was midnight when he left Clifford peacefully slumbering in somebody's armchair, with a long

suede glove dangling in his hand and a plumy boa twisted about his neck to protect his throat from drafts. He

walked through the hall and down the stairs, and found himself on the sidewalk in a quarter he did not know.

Mechanically he looked up at the name of the street. The name was not familiar. He turned and steered his

course toward some lights clustered at the end of the Street. They proved farther away than he had anticipated

and after a long quest he came to the conclusion that his eyes had been mysteriously removed from their

proper places and had been reset on either side of his head like those of a bird. It grieved him to think of the

inconvenience this transformation might occasion him, and he attempted to cock up his head, henlike, to test

the mobility of his neck. Then an immense despair stole over him,tears gathered in the tear ducts, his heart

melted, and he collided with a tree. This shocked him into comprehension; he stifled the violent tenderness in

his breast, picked up his hat and moved on more briskly. His mouth was white and drawn, his teeth tightly

clinched. He held his course pretty well and strayed but little, and after an apparently interminable length of

time found himself passing a line of cabs. The brilliant lamps, red, yellow and green annoyed him, and he felt

it might be pleasant to demolish them with his cane, but mastering this impulse he passed on. Later an idea

struck him that it would save fatigue to take a cab, and he started back with that intention but the cabs seemed

already so far away and the lanterns were so bright and confusing that he gave it up, and pulling himself

A shadow, a mass, huge, undefined, rose to his right. He recognized the Arc de Triomphe and gravely shook

his cane at it. Its size annoyed him. He felt it was too big. Then he heard something fall clattering to the

pavement and thought probably it was his cane but it didn't much matter. When he had mastered himself and

regained control of his right leg which betrayed symptoms of insubordination, he found himself traversing the

Place de la Concorde at a pace which threatened to land him at the Madeleine. This would never do. He

turned sharply to the right and crossing the bridge passed the Palais Bourbon at a trot and wheeled into the

Boulevard St. Germain. He got on well enough although the size of the War Office struck him as a personal

insult, and he missed his cane which it would have been pleasant to drag along the iron railings as he passed.

It occurred to him, however, to substitute his hat, but when he found it, he forgot what he wanted it for and

replaced it upon his head with gravity. Then he was obliged to battle with a violent inclination to sit down

and weep. This lasted until he came to the rue de Rennes, but there he became absorbed in contemplating the

dragon on the balcony overhanging the Cour de Dragon, and time slipped away until he remembered vaguely

that he had no business there, and marched off again. It was slow work. The inclination to sit down and weep

had given place to a desire for solitary and deep reflection. Here his right leg forgot its obedience and

attacking the left, outflanked it and brought him up against a wooden board which seemed to bar his path. He

tried to walk around it, but found the street closed. He tried to push it over, and found he couldn't. Then he

noticed a red lantern standing on a pile of paving stones inside the barrier. This was pleasant. How was he to

get home if the boulevard was blocked? But he was not on the boulevard. His treacherous right leg had

beguiled him into a detour, for there, behind him lay the boulevard with its endless line of lamps,and here,

what was this narrow dilapidated street piled up with earth and mortar and heaps of stone? He looked up.

He sat down. Two policemen whom he knew came by and advised him to get up, but he argued the question

from a standpoint of personal taste and they passed on, laughing. For he was at that moment absorbed in a

problem. It was, how to see Rue Barr�e. She was somewhere or other in that big house with the iron

balconies, and the door was locked, but what of that? The simple idea struck him to shout until she came.

This idea was replaced by another equally lucid,to hammer on the door until she came; but finally rejecting

both of these as too uncertain, he decided to climb into the balcony, and opening a window politely inquire

for Rue Barr�e. There was but one lighted window in the house that he could see. It was on the second floor,

and toward this he cast his eyes. Then mounting the wooden barrier and clambering over the piles of stones,

he reached the sidewalk and looked up at the fa�ade for a foothold. It seemed impossible. But a sudden fury

seized him, a blind, drunken obstinacy, and the blood rushed to his head, leaping, beating in his ears like the

dull thunder of an ocean. He set his teeth, and springing at a windowsill, dragged himself up and hung to the

iron bars. Then reason fled; there surged in his brain the sound of many voices, his heart leaped up beating a

mad tattoo, and gripping at cornice and ledge he worked his way along the fa�ade, clung to pipes and

shutters, and dragged himself up, over and into the balcony by the lighted window. His hat fell off and rolled

against the pane. For a moment he leaned breathless against the railing,then the window was slowly

They stared at each other for some time. Presently the girl took two unsteady steps back into the room. He

saw her face,all crimsoned now,he saw her sink into a chair by the lamplit table, and without a word he

followed her into the room, closing the big doorlike panes behind him. Then they looked at each other in

The room was small and white; everything was white about it,the curtained bed, the little washstand in

the corner, the bare walls, the china lamp,and his own face, had he known it, but the face and neck of

Rue were surging in the color that dyed the blossoming rosetree there on the hearth beside her. It did not

occur to him to speak. She seemed not to expect it. His mind was struggling with the impressions of the

room. The whiteness, the extreme purity of everything occupied himbegan to trouble him. As his eye

became accustomed to the light, other objects grew from the surroundings and took their places in the circle

of lamplight. There was a piano and a coalscuttle and a little iron trunk and a bathtub. Then there was a

row of wooden pegs against the door, with a white chintz curtain covering the clothes underneath. On the bed

lay an umbrella, and a big straw hat, and on the table, a musicroll unfurled, an inkstand, and sheets of ruled

paper. Behind him stood a wardrobe faced with a mirror, but somehow he did not care to see his own face

The girl sat looking at him without a word. Her face was expressionless, yet the lips at times trembled almost

imperceptibly. Her eyes, so wonderfully blue in the daylight, seemed dark and soft as velvet, and the color on

her neck deepened and whitened with every breath. She seemed smaller and more slender than when he had

seen her in the street, and there was now something in the curve of her cheek almost infantine. When at last

he turned and caught his own reflection in the mirror behind him, a shock passed through him as though he

had seen a shameful thing, and his clouded mind and his clouded thoughts grew clearer. For a moment their

eyes met, then his sought the floor, his lips tightened, and the struggle within him bowed his head and

strained every nerve to the breaking. And now it was over, for the voice within had spoken. He listened, dully

interested but already knowing the end,indeed it little mattered;the end would always be the same for

him;he understood now,always the same for him, and he listened, dully interested, to a voice which

grew within him. After a while he stood up, and she rose at once, one small hand resting on the table.

Presently he opened the window, picked up his hat, and shut it again. Then he went over to the rosebush and

touched the blossoms with his face. One was standing in a glass of water on the table, and mechanically the

girl drew it out, pressed it with her lips and laid it on the table beside him. He took it without a word and

crossing the room, opened the door. The landing was dark and silent but the girl lifted the lamp and gliding

past him slipped down the polished stairs to the hallway. Then unchaining the bolts, she drew open the iron