rol more and more readily by
repeated surrender. So there was little of gazing into the
party-colored eyes now.

"You will soon sleep," said Madame le Claire, in that dominating way of
hers; "and when you wake you will be Eugene Brassfield just as he used
to be, and the room and all the surroundings, and myself--all will seem
familiar, and you will be quite at home with me. Sleep, sleep!"

Her hand swept down and closed his eyes, and he lay back in his chair
entranced. Madame le Claire sat long and looked at him yearningly.
She smoothed back the hair from his brow with many soft touches, and
stooped and softly kissed his forehead. Then she lightly tapped his
wrist, and sharply said, "Wake!"

Eugene Brassfield opened his eyes with a smile. There was something
still faintly suggestive of tenderness in the look with which Madame le
Claire regarded him, and he returned it with the air of a man to whom
such looks are neither unusual nor repugnant.

"We were just talking," said she, with the air of reminding him of a
topic from which he had wandered, "about your wedding. When is it to
be?"

"The appointed date," said he, "is April the fifth; but, of course, I
shall move for an earlier one if possible."

"I should think," remarked Madame le Claire, "that the date fixed would
give Miss Waldron all too short a time for preparation."

"From a woman's standpoint," said Mr. Brassfield, "it probably seems
so. But you and I can surely find matters of more mutual interest to
talk about, can't we?"

"Perhaps," said the girl, "but I don't think of anything just now. Do
you?"

"Well, for one thing," said he, "I have just found out what makes your
eyes so beautiful."

"Wouldn't it be just as well to cease discovering things of that kind?
It's so short a time to the fifth of April, you know."

"I've made all my money," said Brassfield, "by never quitting
discovering. I like it. And this last find especially."

"I think there are other lines of investigation," said she, "which
demand your time and attention."

"Oh, pshaw!" said he. "Don't be so prudish. You know that your eyes
are beautiful, and you are not really offended when I tell you so.
Such eyes are the books in which I like to read--I can understand them
better than Browning, or the old Persian soak. It's not unpleasant to
get a volume you understand--at times."

"Why, Mr. Amidon--Brassfield, I mean--aren't you ashamed of yourself!"

"A little," said