subtle suggestions colored afresh the
faded dreams which she believed faintly remembered, and believed would
come no more.

Karl left them with the promise of a sitting on the morrow.

Karl's fitful slumber was disturbed that night by vague half dreams
which oppressed him when he arose. He was filled with misgiving, doubt,
uncertainty. His thoughts, half formed, disturbing, were of Olga.

He tried to think of marriage with Elsa, but it was without enthusiasm.
Warm, beautiful, affectionate, she made no impression on his heart,
which seemed like ice.

He looked around the studio with aversion.

The pictures on the walls seemed no longer to represent the aspiration
of the artist; they were mementos of the models who had posed and
flirted and talked scandal within his walls.

He paced the floor restlessly, nervously, twisting his unlighted
cigarette in his fingers until it crumbled, his mouth tight, his
eyebrows drawn together. Then he seized his hat and overcoat and flung
himself out of the door into the gathering winter storm.

For an hour he plunged through the snow, the chaos of the storm matching
his mood. Almost exhausted, he turned back toward his home and entered.
The room glowed warmly. In front of the inviting fire was the big
arm-chair with its wide seat, comfortable cushions and high pulpit back.
As he laid aside his greatcoat he stepped toward the chair, intending to
bury himself in its depths and surrender to his mood. A shudder ran over
him and he drew back, staring at the seat.

It was empty, his eyes assured him, but he could not rid himself of a
feeling that it was occupied. He pressed his hands to his eyes and then
flung them outward with the gesture of one distraught.

"I am going mad!" he thought.

He called loudly, harshly:

"Heinrich! Heinrich!"

His old servant, alarmed at the unwonted violence of his master's voice,
hastened into the room. Karl flung aside his coat and Heinrich held for
him his velvet dressing jacket. He slipped into it, shook himself, and
lighted a cigarette. His hands shook with nervousness, and he held them
out from him that he might look at them.

"Oh, what a terrible sight!" he groaned.

"Monsieur?" Heinrich said inquiringly.

"Has any one been here?" Karl asked.

"No, Monsieur, only Ma'm'selle Mimi. She is waiting in the studio to
pose."

With an impatient gesture Karl walked across the room, picked up a
newspaper, flung himself on a couch and held the sh