s in a drawing-room rendered
somewhat dark by its many curtains and hangings, a door opened, and a
very dark, short, rather plump young woman appeared, surprised and
smiling.

George introduced them:

"My wife--Madame Julie Rosset."

The young widow uttered a half-suppressed cry of astonishment and joy,
and ran forward with hands outstretched. She had not hoped, she said, to
have this pleasure, knowing that Madame Baron never saw any one, but she
was delighted to make her acquaintance. She was so fond of George (she
said "George" in a familiar, sisterly sort of way) that, she had been
most anxious to know his young wife and to make friends with her, too.

By the end of a month the two new friends were inseparable. They saw each
other every day, sometimes twice a day, and dined together every evening,
sometimes at one house, sometimes at the other. George no longer deserted
his home, no longer talked of pressing business. He adored his own
fireside, he said.

When, after a time, a flat in the house where Madame Rosset lived became
vacant Madame Baron hastened to take it, in order to be near her friend
and spend even more time with her than hitherto.

And for two whole years their friendship was without a cloud, a
friendship of heart and mind--absolute, tender, devoted. Bertha
could hardly speak without bringing in Julie's name. To her Madame Rosset
represented perfection.

She was utterly happy, calm and contented.

But Madame Rosset fell ill. Bertha hardly left her side. She spent her
nights with her, distracted with grief; even her husband seemed
inconsolable.

One morning the doctor, after leaving the invalid's bedside, took George
and his wife aside, and told them that he considered Julie's condition
very grave.

As soon as he had gone the grief-stricken husband and wife sat down
opposite each other and gave way to tears. That night they both sat up
with the patient. Bertha tenderly kissed her friend from time to time,
while George stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes gazing steadfastly on
the invalid's face.

The next day she was worse.

But toward evening she declared she felt better, and insisted that her
friends should go back to their own apartment to dinner.

They were sitting sadly in the dining-room, scarcely even attempting to
eat, when the maid gave George a note. He opened it, turned pale as
death, and, rising from the table, said to his wife in a constrained
voice:

"Wait for me. I m