stole away and sent Antoinette to minister to her.

A year before I had raved and ranted, deeming life intolerable and
cursing the high gods; I suffered then, it is true; but I hope I may
never again go through the suffering of that first night of Carlotta's
return. Even now I can close my eyes and feel the icy grip on my heart.

She came down to dinner about an hour later, dressed in a pink wrapper,
one of the last things she had bought, which Antoinette (as she
explained to excuse her delay) had been airing before the fire. She sat
opposite me, in her old place, penitent, subdued, yet not shy or ill
at ease. Stenson waited on us, grave and imperturbable as if we had put
back the clock of time a twelvemonth. The only covert reference he made
to the event was to murmur discreetly in my ear:

"I have brought up a bottle of the Pommery, Sir Marcus, in the hope you
would drink some."

I was touched, for the good fellow had no other way of showing his
solicitude.

Carlotta allowed him to fill her glass. She sipped the wine, and
declared that it did her good. She was no longer a teetotaller, she
explained. Once she drank too much, and the next day had a headache.

"Why should one have a headache?"

"Nemesis," said I.

"What is Nemesis?"

I found myself answering her question in the old half-jesting way. And
in her old way she replied:

"I do not understand."

How vividly familiar it was, and yet how agonisingly strange!

"Where is Polyphemus?" she asked.

"Dead," said I.

"Oh-h! How did poor Polyphemus die?"

"He was smitten by Destiny at the end of the last act of a farcical
tragedy."

The ghost of a "_hou!_" came from Carlotta. She composed herself
immediately.

"I often used to think of Polyphemus and Seer Marcous and Antoinette,"
she said, musingly. "And then I wished I was back. I have been very
wicked."

She put her elbows on the table, and framing her face with her hands
looked at me, and shook her head.

"Oh, you are good! Oh, you are good!"

"Go on with your dinner, my child," said I, "and wonder at the genius
of Antoinette who has managed to cook it and look after you at the same
time."

She obeyed meekly. I watched her eat. She was famished. I learned that
she had had nothing since the early morning coffee and roll. In spite of
pain, I was curiously flattered by her return. I represented _something_
to her, after all--even though the instinct of the prodigal cat had
driven her hither.