child, heard of it from some one--they say it was Krafft. Without
thinking twice--you know her ... or rather you don't--she went straight
to Schilsky and confronted him. I can't tell you what took place
between them, but I can imagine something of it, for when Louise lets
herself go, she knows no bounds, and this was a matter of life and
death to her."

Madeleine rose, blew out the flame of the spirit-lamp, and refilled the
teapot.

"Fraulein Grunhut, her landlady, heard her go out yesterday afternoon,
but didn't hear her come in, so it must have been late in the evening.
Louise hates to be pried on, and the old woman is lazy, so she didn't
go to her room till about half-past eight this morning, when she took
in the hot water. Then she found Louise stretched on the floor, just as
she had come in last night, her hat lying beside her. She was
conscious, and her eyes were open, but she was stiff and cold, and
wouldn't speak or move. Grunhut couldn't do anything with her, and was
mortally afraid. She sent for me; and between us we got her to bed, and
I went for a doctor. That was at nine, and I have been on my feet ever
since."

"It's awfully good of you."

"No, she won't die," continued Madeleine meditatively, stirring her
tea. "She's too robust a nature for that. But I shouldn't wonder if it
affected her mind. As I say, she knows no bounds, and has never learnt
self-restraint. It has always been all or nothing with her. And this I
must say: however foolish and wrong the whole thing was, she was
devoted to Schilsky, and sacrificed everything--work, money and
friends--to her infatuation. She lived only for him, and this is a
moral judgment on her. Excess of any kind brings its own punishment
with it."

She rose and smoothed her hair before the mirror.

"And now I really must get to work, and make up for the lost morning. I
haven't touched a note to-day. As for you, Maurice, if you take my
advice, you'll go home and go to bed. A good sleep is what you're
needing. Come to-morrow, if you like, for further news. I shall go back
after supper, and hear what the doctor says. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Madeleine. You're a brick."

Having returned to his room, he lay face downwards on the sofa. He was
sick at heart. Viewed in the light of the story he had heard from
Madeleine, life seemed too unjust to be endured. It propounded riddles
no one could answer; the vast output of energy that composed it, was
misdirected; on ever