hank you for asking me." There was not a tinge of sarcasm or
bitterness in these words, nothing but gratitude. "I am getting on
perfectly well. I have worked, have made myself independent, and am
now employing eight or ten workwomen, I am well-off, almost rich."

She divined a question in the expression of his eyes, and said quickly:

"Always, Rudolf, I have always remained faithful to you. I did not
lack offers, you can understand that--but I would not accept. I was
ashamed. And I wanted to have only your memory in my heart. Does that
surprise you? I suppose you don't believe it? Of course. It isn't to
be believed. A girl is courted. What else is there. When one has
wearied of her, she is abandoned. But she was so foolish as to love
sincerely and can never, never console herself." This time she was
growing bitter. Her lips quivered, and she passed her hand across her
eyes, once she sobbed softly. Suddenly she drew from her pocket an old
leather book, which she gave him. While, with emotion, he recognized
it as his own note-book, and found on the first page his half effaced
caricature which a comrade in the _Ecole Centrale_ had once sketched,
she took from her bosom an enamelled locket, opened it, and held it
before his eyes. It was a gift from him, and contained a lock of brown
hair--his hair! He could not resist the impulse and clasped her
passionately to his breast, in spite of the people who were passing to
and fro outside of the circle of flowers.

"Do you believe me now?" she asked releasing herself.

His sole answer was to raise her hand to his lips.

She held his right hand firmly. "And you, Rudolf?"

With an involuntary movement, he tried to draw it from her grasp. This
led her to glance quickly at it. The third finger bore a wedding ring.

Pauline uttered a deep sigh, let his hand fall, closed her eyes, and
tottered a moment. Then she suddenly sank upon her knees in the same
spot where she had knelt before, and her lips began to murmur a prayer.

"Pauline!" he cried imploringly.

She shook her head gently, as though to drive away an inner vision, and
turned entirely away from him.

"Pauline! Let me at least have your address! I will not leave you so
again!"

She bowed her head upon her clasped hands, and neither moved nor
answered.

Rudolf went close to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. A long
shudder passed visibly and perceptibly through her whole frame, and she