inna standing behind her in the shadow. In a
moment more the two ladies had left us.

Mr. Engelman's eyes followed the smoothly gliding figure of the widow,
until it was lost to view at the end of the bridge. He laid his hand
eagerly on my arm. "David!" he said, "who is that glorious creature?"

"Which of the two ladies do you mean?" I asked, mischievously.

"The one with the widow's cap, of course!"

"Do you admire the widow, sir?"

"Admire her!" repeated Mr. Engelman. "Look here, David!" He showed me the
long porcelain bowl of his pipe. "My dear boy, she has done what no woman
ever did with me yet--she has put my pipe out!"

CHAPTER XI

There was something so absurd in the association of Madame Fontaine's
charms with the extinction of Mr. Engelman's pipe, that I burst out
laughing. My good old friend looked at me in grave surprise.

"What is there to laugh at in my forgetting to keep my pipe alight?" he
asked. "My whole mind, David, was absorbed in that magnificent woman the
instant I set eyes on her. The image of her is before me at this
moment--an image of an angel in moonlight. Am I speaking poetically for
the first time in my life? I shouldn't wonder. I really don't know what
is the matter with me. You are a young man, and perhaps you can tell.
Have I fallen in love, as the saying is?" He took me confidentially by
the arm, before I could answer this formidable question. "Don't tell
friend Keller!" he said, with a sudden outburst of alarm. "Keller is an
excellent man, but he has no mercy on sinners. I say, David! couldn't you
introduce me to her?"

Still haunted by the fear that I had spoken too unreservedly during my
interview with the widow, I was in the right humor to exhibit
extraordinary prudence in my intercourse with Mr. Engelman.

"I couldn't venture to introduce you," I said; "the lady is living here
in the strictest retirement."

"At any rate, you can tell me her name," pleaded Mr. Engelman. "I dare
say you have mentioned it to Keller?"

"I have done nothing of the sort. I have reasons for saying nothing about
the lady to Mr. Keller."

"Well, you can trust me to keep the secret, David. Come! I only want to
send her some flowers from my garden. She can't object to that. Tell me
where I am to send my nosegay, there's a dear fellow."

I dare say I did wrong--indeed, judging by later events, I _know_ I did
wrong. But I could not view the affair seriously enough to hold out
against Mr. Eng