and Martella
accompanied me. We lived with Annette--she would take no refusal, and
we were both at ease in her beautiful house.

Annette always wanted to have Martella about her, but Martella had an
unconquerable--I cannot say aversion, but, rather, dread of Annette;
for Annette had an unpleasant habit of calling attention to every
remark of Martella's, and had even quoted several of them in society.

Richard, who, as the representative of the University, had become a
member of the Upper Chamber, seemed provoked; not on account of my
having brought Martella with me, but because I had allowed myself to be
induced to stay at Annette's house.

He hinted that Annette's marked hospitality was not caused by regard
for me; and it really seemed as if she desired to see much of Richard
at her house, although he had been cold and distant, and, at times,
even scornful towards her. Nevertheless, he often visited us and
allowed Annette to draw him into all sorts of discussions.

One evening when we three were alone,--Annette had been invited to the
house of a friend,--Martella said:

"Richard, do you know what Madame Annette admires most in you?"

"No."

"Your fine teeth. She lets you use your good teeth to crack her hard
nuts."

Richard jumped up from his seat embraced Martella, and kissed her.

Martella blushed crimson and called out, "Richard, you are so polite
and yet so rude! Is that proper?"

But Richard was quite happy to know that Martella had guessed at what
had so often displeased him.

Martella, who never wanted to leave me, one day suddenly expressed a
wish to return home. Annette had on the previous evening taken her to
the theatre, where a ballet had been produced in addition to the drama.
A little child, representing a winged spirit, had descended from above,
and Martella had called out in a loud voice, "That hurts!"

All eyes were turned to Annette's box, in which Martella sat with her
eyes wide open and looking towards the stage as if oblivious of aught
else.

Annette left the theatre with her. Martella could not be induced to
utter a single word in explanation of her sudden fright. I was
surprised to find how Annette bore this mishap, in which she herself
had been subjected to the unkind glances of all the audience. "How
strange," said she; "we are all, unconsciously, slaves of ceremony.
There seems to be a tacit understanding that every member of a theatre
audience or art-gathering must either rem