's
_Serious Call_ which had belonged to the late Viscount, and bore many of
his pencil-marks. This in itself was to Sara a sign of some unusual
melancholy in her friend.

"Why," she said, kissing her soft, pale cheek, "why didn't you let me
know that you had returned? I thought you were still in Paris."

"My dear," said Pensee, sitting up with a sudden movement and
supporting herself on her two hands. "I am no longer my own mistress. I
have become a puppet--a marionette: a kind of lady-in-waiting--a person
to whom women talk when they have nothing to say, and to whom men talk
when they have nothing to do."

Sara chose a seat and studied the speaker with a new curiosity. She was
charming; vexation gave humanity to her waxen features, and the flash in
her eyes suggested hitherto unsuspected fires in her temperament, "She
has more spirit than I gave her credit for," thought Sara, and she
added, "Darling!" aloud.

"Darling, indeed!" said Pensee. "I can tell you I am tired of being a
darling. There are limits.... I have no patience with Brigit, and Robert
drives me to the conclusion that good men are fools--fools! I suppose he
told you that I was in town again?"

"Yes."

"Well, he won't come and see me himself because _she_ is here."

"That is merely a decision on principle. He longs to come."

"Quite so. But the girl does not deserve him."

Sara showed no astonishment; she maintained her thoughtful air, and
replied with tranquillity--

"He thinks she is perfect."

"I find no vulgar faults in her, myself, although there seems no foolish
thing left that she hasn't done. I am sure that every one will think
her light, worldly, and frivolous. Let me say what I have been through.
After the first terrible day and night at St. Malo, there was no more
crying. There was not another tear. We went to Paris. She spent all her
mornings at Notre Dame, all her afternoons with old Monsieur Lanitaux of
the Conservatoire, all her evenings at the theatre. She found many of
her mother's old friends. In the theatrical world I find much loyalty
toward those actually born in the profession. They treated her as though
she were a young queen. Lanitaux managed to get her privately before the
Empress Eugenie. She sang for the Empress: the Empress cried and gave
her an emerald ring."

"Then she has talent."

"Genius, I believe," said Pensee, solemnly. "This makes her hateful and
lovable at the same moment. She is determined to be an ac