n as to _les convenances_.

Chapter Twelve

"BUDA-PESTH.

"DEAR ROSINA,--If you're laid up I might just as well take a
week more in this direction. Plenty to see, I find, and lots of
jolly company lying around loose. I'll get back about the
twelfth and we'll plan to skip then as fast as we can. Keep on
writing Poste Restante, Buda, and I'll have them forward. Don't
try to fool me any by being too sick to sail. I've got to go the
nineteenth and you must too.

"Lovingly,
"JACK."

She sat in the little salon the night of October fifth and read the
above affectionate epistle which the postman had brought to keep her
company, because every one else in the house was gone to the famous
concert of the famous pianist.

She could not go; that little episode in the Englischergarten and all
the attendant agitation had put her in bed for three days and rendered
her quite unable to go out for two or three more. She had been obliged
to write Jack that she was ill, with the above results, and she read his
answer with the sensation that life was long, the future empty, and
none of its vistas worth contemplating. Her heart ached dully--it was
forever aching dully these days, and she--

There was a tap at the door. Europe has no open-door policy, be it
known; all doors are always shut. Even those of _pension_ salons.

She looked up, and saw him coming in, his violin case in his hand. Then
life and its vistas underwent a great transformation, because he smiled
upon her and, putting the case down carefully, came eagerly to kiss her
hand.

"_Vous allez bien ce soir?_" he asked pleasantly, standing before her
chair and looking down into her face.

"Oh, I am almost well, thank you; but why are you not gone to the
concert?"

He pointed to his violin with a smile.

"It is a concert that I bring to you who may not go out," he said.

"But you are making a tremendous sacrifice for me, monsieur."

He stood before her, twisting his moustache.

"It is that I am regretful for the other night," he said briefly, "for
that I am glad to give the concert up and make you some pleasure. The
other night--"

"Don't," she pleaded uncomfortably; "never mind all that. Let it all
go."

"But I would ask your pardon. _J'etais tout-a-fait fou!_"

"If I have anything to forgive it shall be forgiven you when you play.
Do so now, please. Oh, you have no idea how impatient I am to hear you."

H