said, "for he ever loved
the dog so much."

"No," replied Francezka, as if she were communicating some great
sorrow to me. "Gaston cares no more for Bold than Bold cares for
Gaston. What do you think--now, will you promise me to keep this a
secret?"

"Yes."

She came closer to me, and fixing her eyes on me with tragic
intensity, said in the voice of the broken-hearted:

"Gaston had forgotten his dog!"

It was like Francezka to make a huge mountain of a thing like this.
Therefore, I replied gravely:

"That is very sad and very bad, but at least, Gaston remembered you.
And after all, Madame, you _did_ attach a ridiculous consequence to
the dog."

"Did I?" cried Francezka, with the first flash of her old resentful
imperious spirit that I had yet seen breaking out. "A ridiculous
consequence to the creature my husband left me to be my friend and
companion during his absence? And told me whenever I looked into
Bold's faithful eyes I was to see his--Gaston's--faith reflected
there, for dogs never forget! And was not Bold the only living thing,
except yourself, who gave me any comfort in these last seven years?
Really, Babache, I can not love you any longer, if you say such
things."

It was a trifle, but I saw that the indifference between Bold and his
master troubled her.

"Do you know, Madame," said I, "that when one reaches the very heights
of happiness--near the blue heavens--the least little speck of
unhappiness is visible?"

"True," replied Francezka, her somber eyes brightening. "To
think, after what I have suffered for seven years that I let
this trifle--yes, Babache, your word was the right one--give me
one clouded moment. But--" her eyes were darkened again; "no one
walks those heights of happiness long. It is only for a short time
that one can live in that too pure air. The old Greeks knew this."

"Madame," said I, "give me leave to say that you have lived too much
with your own thoughts and emotions for your own good. No human being,
least of all a sensitive woman, could have endured what you have for
so long without retaining some marks of it. So, although I am only
Babache, a savage Tatar prince, the son of a poor notary in the
Marais, yet, take my advice: be happy when you have achieved your
heart's desire and trouble not yourself with old dogs or old Greeks,
either."

Francezka's face suddenly dimpled into smiles. The sun came out
radiantly at that moment, and the grass and trees, diamond hung