im all her rapture in the book; no
one else could understand.

But all the day through he never came.

Bebee sat with a sick heart and a parched little throat, selling her
flowers and straining her eyes through the tumult of the square.

The whole day went by, and there was no sign of him.

The flowers had sold well: it was a feast day; her pouch was full of
pence--what was that to her?

She went and prayed in the cathedral, but it seemed cold, and desolate,
and empty; even the storied windows seemed dark.

"Perhaps he is gore out of the city," she thought; and a terror fell on
her that frightened her, it was so unlike any fear that she had ever
known--even the fear when she had seen death on old Antoine's face had
been nothing like this.

Going home through the streets, she passed the cafe of the Trois Freres
that looks out on the trees of the park, and that has flowers in its
balconies, and pleasant windows that stand open to let the sounds of the
soldiers' music enter. She saw him in one of the windows. There were
amber and scarlet and black; silks and satins and velvets. There was a
fan painted and jewelled. There were women's faces. There was a heap of
purple fruit and glittering sweetmeats. He laughed there. His beautiful
Murillo head was dark against the white and gold within.

Bebee looked up,--paused a second,--then went onward, with a thorn in her
heart.

He Had not seen her.

"It is natural, of course--he has his world--he does not think often of
me--there is no reason why he should be as good as he is," she said to
herself as she went slowly over the stones.

She had the dog's soul--only she did not know it.

But the tears Fell down her cheeks, as she walked.

It looked so bright in there, so gay, with the sound of the music coming
in through the trees, and those women,--she had seen such women before;
sometimes in the winter nights, going home from the lacework, she had
stopped at the doors of the palaces, or of the opera house, when the
carriages were setting down their brilliant burdens; and sometimes on the
great feast days she had seen the people of the court going out to some
gala at the theatre, or some great review of troops, or some ceremonial
of foreign sovereigns; but she had never thought about them before; she
had never wondered whether velvet was better to wear than woollen serge,
or-diamonds lighter on the head than a little cap of linen.

But now--

Those women seemed to h