some pain in the soul--and so that brute part of me spoke--.

"How dare you make this noise"?--I said rudely--"do you not know that I
have given orders for complete quiet"--.

She rose, holding the child with the greatest dignity--The picture she
made could be in the Sistine Chapel.

"I beg your pardon" she said in a voice which was not quite steady--"I
did not know you had returned, and Madame Bizot asked me to hold little
Augustine while she went to the next floor--it shall not occur again!"

I longed to stay and gaze at them both--I would have liked to have
touched the baby's queer little fat fingers--I would have liked--Oh--I
know not what--And all the time Miss Sharp held the child protectively,
as though something evil would come from me and harm it.--Then she
turned and carried it out of the room--and I went back into my
sitting-room and flung myself down in my chair--.

What had I done--Beast--brute--What had I done?

And will she never come back again?--and will life be emptier than
ever--?

I could kill myself--.

* * * * *

It shall not be only Suzette but six others for supper to-night--.

_Five a.m._--The dawn is here and it is not the rare sound of an August
pigeon that I am listening to, but the tender cooing of a woman and a
child--God, how can I get it out of my ears.

V

This morning I feel as if I could hardly bear it until Miss Sharp
arrives--I dressed early, ready to begin a new chapter although I have
not an idea in my head, and, as the time grows nearer, it is difficult
for me to remain still here in my chair.

Have I been too impossible?--Will she not turn up?--and if she does not,
what steps can I take to find her?--Maurice is at Deauville with the
rest, and I do not know Miss Sharp's home address--nor if she has a
telephone--probably not. My heart beats--I have every feeling of
excitement as stupid as a woman! I analyse it all now, how mental
emotion reacts on the physical--even the empty socket of my eye aches--I
could hardly control my voice when Burton began a conversation about my
orders for the day just now.

"You would not be wishin' for the company of your Aunt Emmeline, Sir
Nicholas"?--he asked me--.

"Of course not, Burton, you old fool--"

"You seem so much more restless, sir--lately--"

"I am restless--please leave me alone."

He coughed and retired.

Now I am listening again--it wants two minutes to the hour--she is nev