"ELENE VON BARWIG."

"Well, that's conclusive, isn't it?" asked Von Barwig grimly as soon as
Poons finished reading.

Poons's voice failed him. Hot, scalding tears were fairly raining down
his cheeks as the letter fell out of his trembling hands and fluttered
to the floor.

"Well, what's to be done; what's to be done?"

"Then she has gone?"

Von Barwig nodded. "I suppose so! I don't know, I can't tell," he
said helplessly. "I didn't try to stop her," he went on after a pause.
"What's the use, to what end? Oh, I don't want the entire blame to
rest on her shoulders! A beautiful woman, twenty-five years of age, a
pampered, petted, spoiled child, craving constant excitement; and he, a
handsome, young American, rich and romantic. I, as you know, am a
mature man of forty, devoted to an art in which she takes little
interest. I introduced them. Ha! that's the irony of it! I brought
them together, I left them together, I--it's my fault, Poons--my fault!
I neglected her for my work. With me, all was music: the compositions,
the rehearsal, the concert, the pupil, the conservatory, the opera, the
singer, the player. He used to take her to my concerts; and I,--fool,
fool--encouraged him, for it gave me more time to devote to my art. An
artist is a selfish dog! He must be, or there is no art. What could I
expect? I am fifteen years older than she; ugly----"

"No, no!" blurted out Poons.

"Misshapen, undersized----"

"No, no!"

"My friend can lie, but my looking-glass doesn't. I know, I know!
God, how will it all end? How will it all end?"

At this point the door shook a little as though some one were trying to
get in.

"She's come back!" almost gasped Anton, and walking firmly to the door,
he unlocked and opened it. As he did so, a little fairy creature
between three and four years of age, with golden, flaxen curls and blue
eyes, bounded into the room, calling out, "Papa! Papa! Where is oo?
Where is oo?"

Von Barwig was on his knees in a moment, and the child threw her left
arm around his neck and hugged him so tightly that the little doll she
held in her right hand was almost crushed between them.

"Helene, Helene! my poor, motherless little baby!" And then for the
first time Von Barwig gave way to tears.

"We are alone, alone, alone! Oh, God! Oh, God!" he sobbed as he
rocked from side to side in his agony. Poons crept softly out of the
room and closed the door gently after him.