a comrade in the park, shouted through the iron railings,
sent a shiver through McLane. Art students had an uncomfortable habit
of roaming everywhere, and they were boisterous in hailing an
acquaintance. Besides, they talked, and McLane dreaded having his
little intrigue the joke of the school. At any moment an objectionable
art student might drop into the park to sketch the fountain, or the
nurses and children, or the back of the cathedral at one end of the
park, or even the low, gloomy, unimposing front of the Morgue at the
other.

He was an easy-going young fellow, who hated trouble, and perhaps,
knowing that the inevitable day of reckoning was approaching, this
accounted for the somewhat tardy awakening of his conscience.

He sometimes thought it would be best simply to leave Paris without any
explanation, but he remembered that she knew his address, having
written to him often, and that by going to the school she could easily
find out where his home was. So if there was to be a scene it was much
better that it should take place in Paris, rather than where the nice
girl lived.

He nerved himself up many times to make the explanation and bring down
the avalanche, but when the time came he postponed it. But the
inevitable ultimately arrives. He had some difficulty at first in
getting her to understand the situation clearly, but when he at last
succeeded there was no demonstration. She merely kept her eyes fixed on
the gravel and gently withdrew her hand from his. To his surprise she
did not cry, nor even answer him, but walked silently to and fro with
downcast eyes in the shadow of the church. No one, he said, would ever
occupy the place in his heart that she held. He was engaged to the
other girl, but he had not known what love was until he met Yvette. He
was bound to the other girl by ties he could not break, which was quite
true, because the nice girl had a rich father. He drew such a pathetic
picture of the loveless life he must in the future lead, that a great
wave of self-pity surged up within him and his voice quavered. He felt
almost resentful that she should take the separation in such an
unemotional manner. When a man gets what he most desires he is still
unsatisfied. This was exactly the way he had hoped she would take it.

All things come to an end, even explanations.

"Well, good-bye, Yvette," he said, reaching out his hand. She hesitated
an instant, then without looking up, placed her small palm in