imself, repeated those lines of Ronsard's about Mary
Stuart:

Elle etait de ce monde ou les plus belles choses
Ont le pire destin;
Et, rose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses,
L'espace d'un matin.

His voice was music when he spoke these words, for he felt them. I
remained silent, and, after a while, he turned to me and taking me by
the arm, said:

"Babache, you are an honest man. Come with me."

CHAPTER XVI

THE SETTING OF A STAR

We returned arm in arm to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's house. It had not
occurred to me to present myself uninvited, but without a word I
followed this man, who had something compelling about him. We went
straight to Mademoiselle Lecouvreur's door, and the maid, who was
watching, let us in.

Adrienne lay in her great purple silk bed, pale, but looking more
weary and sad than ill. I had often seen her look worse. She greeted
us kindly, and the shadow of a smile came into her face when she saw
Monsieur Voltaire bringing me in. He seated himself by her, and tried
by gentle raillery to interest her, but it was in vain. For the first
and last time, she let fall some words of lamentation about the fate
which was coming upon her with giant strides. But she made a brave
effort to rally her soul, and even forced a smile to her pale lips.
The curtains were withdrawn from the window, and the soft beauty of
the spring night shone in the half-darkened room. Monsieur Voltaire
began to describe this soft beauty to her as only he could describe
it; but she seemed careless of it and said:

"I saw it but a little while ago--and thought how unlovely it was--the
moon looked brazen and haughty, like some of those fine ladies who
come to see me act when they have nothing better to do. The stars
seemed more unfeeling and farther off than ever, and they are always
unfeeling and far off--and the first object that met my eyes was an
enemy in health and beauty and splendor--while I lie here dying."

Then I knew she had seen Count Saxe beguiled into Madame de Bouillon's
coach.

"But," she cried, her voice ringing sweet and clear, as if in perfect
health, and raising herself with surprising strength, "they will see
that I am not yet gone. I will act once more. Yes, Voltaire, the good
God will let me act once again. I know, I feel it. Do you hear me,
good Babache?"

Monsieur Voltaire replied to her that he hoped the good God in which
s