ars at the huge ivy-covered boulder within the enclosure.

"Was he burned _on_ this stone?" Molly called to the cabman in German;
"now why does he laugh, do you suppose?" she asked in English of Rosina.

"Oh," the latter replied wearily, "you used the word for 'fried,'
instead of the word 'burned,' but it doesn't matter," she added with a
heavy sigh.

"I wonder whether he was looking towards the woods or towards the town
when they lighted him!" Molly pursued with real interest.

Rosina felt that such talk was horribly frivolous, her own tale of woe
considered, and made no reply; so they went back to the cab, and then
Molly clasped her hands in her lap and became serious.

"I would forget all about him, if I was you," she said; "you will never
get any satisfaction out of a man who is always going in for jealous
rages like that."

Rosina felt with a shock that Molly was of a nature more intensely
unsympathetic than any which she had hitherto encountered. She looked at
the Rhine, wondered if it flowed past Leipsic, and wished that she had
kept to her original determination and said nothing at all about any of
it.

"I'm glad that I did as I did," she said, with an effort to speak in a
tone of indifference (the effort was a marked failure). "I'm sure that
I want to forget him badly enough," she added, and swallowed a choke.

Molly put her hand upon hers and nodded.

"Certainly, my dear; it was the only thing to do with a man like that.
You explained once, and once is enough, for one night, surely. Forget
him now and be happy again."

"Don't let us talk about it any more," said Rosina, feeling bitterly
that Molly lightly demanded oblivion of her when all her inclinations
were towards tears.

They drove some distance in silence, and then Rosina said slowly:

"Do you suppose that I shall ever see him again now?"

"Yes, if you want to. One always sees the men again that one wants to
see again."

"Are you sure?"

"I never knew it to fail."

"How does that happen?"

"I don't know why it is, but it always does happen. Effect of mental
telepathy, perhaps. The man knows that he is to be given another chance,
and comes to get it, I fancy."

"But Monsieur von Ibn is so _very_ singular!"

"Every man is singular!"

"My husband wasn't. And he wasn't ever the least bit jealous," she
stopped to sigh. "I like jealous men!" she added.

"Yes," said Molly, dryly, "so I observed."

"He never lost his temper either,"