hickness of
a pine board beyond him, Peter experienced a bit of the glow of the
morning, as of one who stumbling along in a dark place puts a hand on a
friend.

He went into the room. Stewart was lying very still and breathing
easily. On her knees beside the bed knelt Marie. At Peter's step she
rose and faced him.

"I am leaving him, Peter, for always."

"Good!" said Peter heartily. "Better for you and better for him."

Marie drew a long breath. "The night train," she said listlessly, "is an
express. I had forgotten. It is double fare."

"What of that, little sister?" said Peter. "What is a double fare when
it means life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness? And there will be
happiness, little sister."

He put his hand in his pocket.

CHAPTER XX

The Portier was almost happy that morning. For one thing, he had won
honorable mention at the Schubert Society the night before; for another,
that night the Engel was to sing Mignon, and the Portier had spent his
Christmas tips for a ticket. All day long he had been poring over the
score.

"'Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluhen?'" he sang with feeling
while he polished the floors. He polished them with his feet, wearing
felt boots for the purpose, and executing in the doing a sort of
ungainly dance--a sprinkle of wax, right foot forward and back, left
foot forward and back, both feet forward and back in a sort of double
shuffle; more wax, more vigorous polishing, more singing, with longer
pauses for breath. "'Knowest thou the land where the lemon trees
bloom?'" he bellowed--sprinkle of wax, right foot, left foot, any foot
at all. Now and then he took the score from his pocket and pored over
it, humming the air, raising his eyebrows over the high notes, dropping
his chin to the low ones. It was a wonderful morning. Between greetings
to neighbors he sang--a bit of talk, a bit of song.

"'Kennst du das Land'--Good-morning, sir--the old Rax wears a crown. It
will snow soon. 'Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen'--Ah, madam the milk
Frau, and are the cows frozen up to-day like the pump? No? Marvelous!
Dost thou know that to-night is Mignon at the Opera, and that the Engel
sings? 'Kennst du das Land'--"

At eleven came Rosa with her husband, the soldier from Salzburg with one
lung. He was having a holiday from his sentry duty at the hospital,
and the one lung seemed to be a libel, for while the women had coffee
together and a bit of mackerel he sang a very fair