as such."

"In that case, I should be at liberty to marry again," coolly remarked
Francezka. "Would your Grace recommend me to that?"

The bishop fairly jumped from his chair.

"Great God! No, Madame! It would give frightful scandal!"

"But, Monseigneur, you say that I am a widow--that I should wear
mourning. At least be consistent."

The bishop, swelling with wrath, rose and walked twice, thrice up and
down the room. I fancied he was saying in his mind--Was there ever so
vexatious a creature as this Francezka? She never had any proper
respect for authority! And there sat that easy young brother of his,
smiling at his discomfiture--the discomfiture of a bishop!

Francezka remained silent for a little while, and when she spoke it
was with seriousness.

"Your Grace asks me to give up the hope on which I live. I can not do
it. My husband may be dead, but I have not been able to secure the
smallest proof of it. It has been four years since he disappeared.
But we know of strange disappearances lasting much longer. And can you
ask me--his wife, who adores him--to believe him dead unless I have
proof of it? No! a thousand times no!"

She rose and her face and eyes were flooded with color and light, as
she stood facing the bishop.

"Do not again speak to me of putting on mourning. When I do that, then
indeed is life over for me--all hope, all joy, forever dead. And do
you suppose I care that idle people wonder at me? I am too busy to
care for anything but my husband's return; I have my estates to
manage--a heavy task for a woman. And I am determined that if my
husband returns, he shall find not only a great estate to his hand,
but an accomplished wife to his mind. Look at this proof of my study
and endeavor!"

She threw open the door which communicated with the little yellow
room, where she spent most of her time. The walls were lined with
books, and there were several musical instruments in the room.

"There do I read and study daily. Gaston Cheverny was ever fond of
books--fonder than I, carried away as I was with the pleasures of
life. He must often have felt the want of knowledge on my part. He
shall not feel it so, when he returns. And does your Grace see yonder
harpsichord? When my husband last saw me, I played but fairly well on
it. Now, I spend a part of every day before it, and I am a skilled
performer. And I dress every day in silk--for Gaston's sake. For he
may come to me at any moment, and I do not wi