mfortable Floor of
his lamp, the flicker that was the fire. "Auf wiedersehen, Herr
Schenkenkaufer."

"Auf wiedersehen, Herr Doktor."

Violets, lilies-of-the-valley, cheese, rosary, luggage--thus Peter
climbed the stairs. The Portier wished to assist him, but Peter
declined. The Portier was noisy. There was to be a moment when Peter,
having admitted himself with extreme caution, would present himself
without so much as a creak to betray him, would stand in a doorway until
some one, Harmony perhaps--ah, Peter!--would turn and see him. She had a
way of putting one slender hand over her heart when she was startled.

Peter put down the jar of preserved peaches outside. It was to be a
second surprise. Also he put down the flowers; they were to be brought
in last of all. One surprise after another is a cumulative happiness.
Peter did not wish to swallow all his cake in one bite.

For once he did not slam the outer door, although he very nearly did,
and only caught it at the cost of a bruised finger. Inside he listened.
There was no clatter of dishes, no scurrying back and forth from table
to stove in the final excitement of dishing up. There was, however,
a highly agreeable odor of stewing chicken, a crisp smell of baking
biscuit.

In the darkened hall Peter had to pause to steady himself. For he had
a sudden mad impulse to shout Harmony's name, to hold out his arms, to
call her to him there in the warm darkness, and when she had come, to
catch her to him, to tell his love in one long embrace, his arms about
her, his rough cheek against her soft one. No wonder he grew somewhat
dizzy and had to pull himself together.

The silence rather surprised him, until he recalled that Harmony was
probably sewing in the salon, as she did sometimes when dinner was ready
to serve. The boy was asleep, no doubt. He stole along on tiptoe, hardly
breathing, to the first doorway, which was Jimmy's.

Jimmy was asleep. Round him were the pink and yellow and white flower
fairies with violet heads. Peter saw them and smiled. Then, his eyes
growing accustomed to the light, he saw Marie, face down on the floor,
her head on her arms. Still as she was, Peter knew she was not sleeping,
only fighting her battle over again and losing.

Some of the joyousness of his return fled from Peter, never to come
back. The two silent figures were too close to tragedy. Peter, with a
long breath, stole past the door and on to the salon. No Harmony there,
but t