ishing that she had some glaring fault. And at the same time I
am angry with myself for not appreciating the exclusiveness of her
affection better. I am actually beginning to think that this extravagant
sentiment is fatal to her. I look upon it in her heart as I look upon
the great tree in my garden, which interferes with the growth of
everything around it: fond as I am of that tree, I consider it something
of an enemy.

CHAPTER IX

1

This afternoon, the whole atmosphere of the house is changed. There is
no silence, no work. The maid fusses about, spreading out my dresses
before Rose and me. We cannot settle upon anything.

"We shall have to try them on you," I say.

But at the very first our choice is made.

A cry of admiration escapes me at the sight of Rose sheathed from head
to foot in a long green-velvet tunic that falls heavily around her,
without ornament or jewellery. From the high velvet collar, her head
rises like a flower from its calyx; and I have never beheld a richer
harmony than that of her golden hair streaming over the emerald green.

While I finish dressing her, we talk:

"You are having all your friends," she says.

"Some of them, those who live in Paris at this season. I have done for
you to-day what I seldom care to do: I have asked them all together. But
I have made a point of insisting that the strictest isolation shall be
maintained."

Rose laughed as she asked me what I meant.

"It's quite simple," I answered. "We shall throw open all the doors; and
there will be no crowding permitted! No general conversation, no loud
talking ..."

"In short," she exclaimed, "the exact opposite to the convent, where we
were forbidden to talk in twos."

"That is to say, where you were forbidden to talk at all; for there is
no real conversation with more than one. As long as you have not spoken
to a person alone, can you say that you have ever seen her?"

She did not appear convinced; and I continued:

"But just think! Conversation in pairs, when two people are in
sympathy--and they are nearly always in sympathy when they are face to
face--can be as sincere as lonely meditations."

I felt that she shared my sentiment; but her reasonable nature makes her
always steer a middle course, never leaning to either side.

2

The pale winter sun is beginning to wane, but there is still plenty of
daylight in the white drawing-room. And I look at my friends, who have
formed little groups in