vely:

"A great sorrow drove me there."

"A great sorrow? How strange! What sorrow could come to one so
beautiful, so gifted as you?"

"A sorrow that crushed all the natural life in me," said Leone; "but we
will not speak of it. I live more in my life on the stage than in my
home life; that is desolate always."

She spoke unconsciously, and the heart of the fair woman who believed
herself so entirely beloved warmed with pity and kindness to the one
whose heart was so desolate.

"A great sorrow taught you to find comfort in an artificial life," she
said, gently; "it would not do that to me."

And her white hand, on which the wedding-ring shone, caressed the
beautiful white arm of Madame Vanira.

"What would it do to you?" asked Leone, slightly startled.

"A really great trouble," replied Lady Chandos, musingly, "what would it
do for me? Kill me. I have known so little of it; I cannot indeed
remember what could be called trouble."

"You have been singularly fortunate," said Leone, half enviously.

And the fair face of the Queen of Blondes grew troubled.

"Perhaps," she said, "all my troubles are to come. I should not like to
believe that."

She was quite silent for some few minutes, then, with a sigh, she said:

"You have made me feel nervous, and I cannot tell why. What trouble
could come to me? So far as I see, humanly speakingly, none. No money
troubles could reach me; sickness would hardly be a trouble if those I
loved were round me. Ah, well, that is common to every one." A look of
startled intelligence came over her face. "I know one, and only one
source of trouble," she said; "that would be if anything happened to
Lord Chandos, to--to my husband; if he did not love me, or I lost him."

She sighed as she uttered the last words, and the heart of the gifted
singer was touched by the noblest, kindest pity; she looked into the
fair, flower-like face.

"You love your husband then?" she said, with a gentle, caressing voice.

"Love him," replied Lady Chandos, her whole soul flashing in her
eyes--"love him? Ah, that seems to me a weak word! My husband is all the
world, all life to me. It is strange that I should speak to you, a
stranger, in this manner; but, as I told you before, my heart warms to
you in some fashion that I do not myself understand. I am not like most
people. I have so few to love. No father, no mother, no sisters, or
brothers. I have no one in the wide world but my husband; he is more to