oked back to where, through the long
French windows, he could see the music-room with the palms and gilt
furniture. Mary Faversham was already surrounded by the Comte de B----
and the Baron de F----. He knew them vaguely. Before going to get his
hat and stick from the vestibule, he watched her for a few moments, with
a strange adoration in his heart. She was his, she was ready to give up
everything for the sake of his ideals. He thought he could never love
more than at this moment. He believed that he was not asking her to make
a ridiculous sacrifice, but on the contrary to accept a spiritual
gain--a sacrifice of all for love and art and honour, too! As he looked
across the room a distinguished figure came to Mary Faversham. He was
welcomed very cordially. It was Cedersholm. He had been in Russia for
months. Fairfax's heart grew cold.

As though Mary fancied that her mad lover might linger, she came over to
the window and drew down the Venetian shade. It fell, rippling softly,
and blotted out the room for Fairfax. A wave of anger swept him, a
sudden uncertainty regarding the woman herself followed, and immediately
he saw himself ridiculous, crude and utterly fantastical in his
ultimatum. The egoism and childishness of what he had done stood out to
him, and in that second he knew that he had lost her--lost her for
ever.

CHAPTER XXI

He did not go home. He went into the Bois and walked for miles. His
unequal, limping strides tired him to death and he was finally the only
wanderer there. Over the exquisite forest of new-leaf trees the stars
came out at length, and the guardians began to observe him. At eight
o'clock in the morning he had not eaten. He went into a small restaurant
and made a light meal. For the first time since Albany, when he had
drank too much in despair and grief, he took now too much red wine. He
walked on feathers and felt his blood dance. He rang the bell at Mary
Faversham's at nine-thirty in the morning, and the butler, intensely
surprised, informed him that Mary had gone out riding in the Bois with
Monsieur Cedersholm. Antony had given this servant more fees that he
could afford. He found a piece of money in his pocket and gave it to
Ferdinand.

"But, monsieur," said the man, embarrassed, and handled the piece. It
was a louis. Antony waved magnificently and started away. He took a cab
back to the studio, but could not pay the cabman, for the louis was his
last piece of money. He waked