of work and music, of joint dreams and unrestrained youthful
chatter. "Oh! when she talked to me about her art, with the ardor which
she put into everything, how delighted I was to hear her! How many
things she enabled me to understand of which I never should have had
the slightest idea! Even now, when we go to the Louvre with papa, or to
the Exhibition of the first of May, the peculiar emotion that one feels
at the sight of a beautiful bit of sculpture or a fine painting, makes
me think instantly of Felicia. In my young days she represented art,
and it went well with her beauty, her somewhat reckless but so kindly
nature, in which I was conscious of something superior to myself, which
carried me away to a great height without frightening me. Suddenly we
ceased to see each other. I wrote to her--no reply. Then fame came to
her, great sorrow and engrossing duties to me. And of all that
friendship, and very deep-rooted it must have been, for I cannot speak
of it without--three, four, five--nothing is left but old memories to
be poked over like dead ashes."

Leaning over her work, the brave girl hastily counted her stitches,
concealing her grief in the fanciful designs of her embroidery, while
de Gery, deeply moved to hear the testimony of those pure lips in
contradiction of the calumnies of a few disappointed dandies or jealous
rivals, felt relieved of a weight and once more proud of his love. The
sensation was so sweet to him that he came very often to seek to renew
it, not only on lesson evenings, but on other evenings as well, and
almost forgot to go and see Felicia for the pleasure of hearing Aline
speak of her.

One evening, when he left the Joyeuse apartment, he found waiting for
him on the landing M. Andre, the neighbor, who took his arm feverishly.

"Monsieur de Gery," he said, in a trembling voice, his eyes flashing
fire behind their spectacles, the only part of his face one could see
at night, "I have an explanation to demand at your hands. Will you come
up to my room a moment?"

Between that young man and himself there had been only the usual
relations of two frequent visitors at the same house, who are attached
by no bond, who seem indeed to be separated by a certain antipathy
between their natures and their modes of life. What could there be for
them to explain? Sorely puzzled, he followed Andre.

The sight of the little studio, cold and cheerless under its glass
ceiling, the empty fireplace, the wind b