ssible. I am not
concerned to argue that the world is wrong; and the very best way to
advance a paradox is to look as though you were uttering a platitude. In
this art the wittiest writer cuts a poor figure beside the laws of
society.

The end of the week approached. Elsa was to go; Varvilliers was to go.
So the arrangement stood; Elsa was to return, about Varvilliers' return
nothing had been said. The bandage was still over the eyes of all of us;
we had not perceived the need of settling anything about him. He was
still as insignificant to us as he was to Princess Heinrich herself.

This being the state of the case, there enters to me one morning my good
Cousin Elizabeth, tearfully radiant and abundantly maternal. The reason
was soon declared. Elsa had been found crying again, and wondering
vaguely what she was crying about. It was suggested to her that her
grief was due to approaching departure; Elsa embraced the idea at once.
It was pointed out that a month's absence from me was involved; Elsa
sighed deeply and dabbed her eyes. Cousin Elizabeth dabbed hers as she
told the story; then she caught me in her arms, kissed me, and said that
her happiness was complete. What was I to do? I was profoundly
surprised, but any display of that emotion would have been
inappropriate and ungracious. I could appear only compassionate and
gratified.

"Things do happen right sometimes, you see," pursued Cousin Elizabeth,
triumphing in this refutation of some little sneer of mine which she had
contested the day before. "I knew you had come to care for her, and now
she cares for you. I never was indifferent to that side of it. I always
hoped. And now it really is so! Kiss me, Augustin dear."

I kissed Cousin Elizabeth. I was miles away in thought, lost in
perplexed musings.

"I comforted her, and told her that the time would soon pass, and that
then she would have you all to herself, with no tiresome people to
interrupt. But the poor darling still cried a little. But one can't
really grieve, can one? A little sorrow means so much happiness later
on, doesn't it? And though I couldn't comfort her, you'll be able to, I
daresay. What's a month?"

"Nothing," said I. I was conscious of realizing that it was at all
events very little.

"I shall expect to see her quite smiling after she's had a little talk
with you," was Cousin Elizabeth's parting speech. It won from me a very
reassuring nod, and left me in mazes of bewilderment. There