f near
that ideal state of perfect freedom she had craved. There was now no
outside influence to check her movements. If she remained where she
was, there was no one to interrupt her in the solitary pursuit of her
own pleasure. Safe from any possibility of intrusion, she was at
liberty to remain in the seclusion of her room; but, if she preferred,
she could walk the quay without the slightest prospect in the world of
being forced to recognize the friendly greeting of any one.

Peter was gone; Beatrice was gone; and Monte was gone. There was no
one else--unless by some chance poor Teddy Hamilton should turn up,
which was so unlikely that she did not even consider it. Yet there
were moments when, if she had met Teddy, she would have smiled a
welcome. She would not have feared him. There was only one person in
the world now of whom she stood in fear, and he was somewhere along the
English coast, playing a poor game of golf.

She was free beyond her most extravagant dreams--absolutely free. She
was so free that it seemed aimless to rise in the morning, because
there was nothing awaiting her attention. She was so free that there
was no object in breakfasting, because there was no obligation
demanding her strength. She was so free that whether she should go out
or remain indoors depended merely upon the whim of the moment. There
was for her nothing either without or within.

For the first twenty-four hours she sat in a sort of stupor.

Marie became anxious.

"Madame is not well?" she asked solicitously.

"Perfectly well," answered Marjory dully.

"Madame's cheeks are very white," Marie ventured further.

Madame shrugged her shoulders.

"Is there any harm in that?" she demanded.

"It is such a beautiful day to walk," suggested Marie.

Marjory turned slowly.

"What do you mean by beautiful?"

"Ma foi, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, the birds singing,"
explained Marie.

"Do those things make a beautiful day?"

"What else, madame?" inquired the maid, in astonishment.

"I do not know," sighed madame. "All I know is that for me those
things do not count at all."

"Then," declared Marie, "it is time to call a doctor."

"For what?"

"To make madame see the blue sky again and hear the birds."

"But I do not care whether I see them or not," concluded madame,
turning away from the subject.

Here was the whole thing in a nutshell. There were some who might
consider this to be an ideal state.