e that she should not belong to the accursed list of women who
gave up their art for "_la famille_."

The more Hadria tried to discover what had happened and what he meant,
the faster he spoke and the more wildly he gesticulated.

He had seen how she was drifting away from her work and becoming
entangled in little affairs of no importance, and he would not permit
it. He cared not what her circumstances might be; she had a great talent
that she had no right to sacrifice to any circumstances whatever. He
had come to save her. Not finding her at her _apartement_, he had
concluded that she had taken refuge at her beloved St. Cloud. _Mon
Dieu!_ was he to allow her to be taken away from her work, dragged back
to a narrow circle, crushed, broken, ruined--she who could give such a
sublime gift to her century--but it was impossible! It would tear his
heart. He would not permit it; she must promise him not to allow herself
to be persuaded to abandon her purpose, no matter on what pretext they
tried to lure her. Hadria, in vain, enquired the cause of this sudden
excitement. Jouffroy only repeated his exhortations. Why did she not cut
herself entirely adrift from her country, her ties?

"They are to you, Madame, an oppression, a weariness, a----"

"M. Jouffroy, I have never spoken to you about these things. I cannot
see how you are in a position to judge."

"Ah, but I know. Have I not heard _cette chere Madame Bertaux_ describe
the life of an English village? And have I not seen----?"

"Seen what?"

"_Cette dame._ I have seen her at your apartment this afternoon. Do not
annihilate me, Madame; I mean not to offend you. The lady has come from
England on purpose to entrap you; she came last night, and she stays at
the Hotel du Louvre. She spoke to me of you." Jouffroy raised his hands
to heaven. "Ha! then I understood, and I fled hither to save you."

"Tell me, tell me quickly, Monsieur, has she fair hair and large grey
eyes. Is she tall?"

No, the lady was small, with dark hair, and brown, clever eyes.

"A lady, elegant, well-dressed, but, ah! a woman to destroy the soul of
an artist merely by her presence. I told her that you had decided to
remain in France, to adopt it as your country, for it was the country of
your soul!"

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Hadria, unable to repress a little burst of
laughter, in spite of her disappointment and foreboding.

"I told her that your friends would not let you go back to England, to