ain thing in the end. The few moments in
life that satisfy our innermost desires are, after all, those only in
which we almost believe we are dying. Enjoyment of art, enthusiasm, a
great deed, a passion--in the main they all have the same ending. Or do
not you agree, dear friend?"

He indicated his assent by a gesture, though he had only caught a few
stray words. This woman interested him so little that his thoughts,
even when he was at her side, secretly flew away to her whose image
filled his heart.

She took his silence as a sign that she had made a deep impression upon
him.

"You see," she continued, "it is a satisfaction to me to tell you this.
It is so seldom one finds people capable of comprehending one, and from
whom one need have no secrets. It is a privilege of all sovereign
natures that they dare to confess all to one another--the highest as
well as the lowest thoughts--for, even when we confess our weakness, we
are ennobled by the boldness and daring with which we do it. Oh, my
dear friend! if you knew how hard a woman has to struggle to attain
that freedom which you men claim as a birthright! For how long a time
do we throw away the best years of our life because of false shame, and
a thousand other considerations! It is only since I acknowledged it as
a moral duty toward my own nature to possess myself of anything toward
which I felt drawn, to dare anything which was not beyond my powers, to
say anything for which I could find a sympathetic listener--it is only
since that time that I can say I have learned to respect myself. But I
forget; it does not follow that these confessions interest you, no
matter how much sympathy you may feel for them. I am, doubtless, not
the first woman who has given you similar confidences. The world in
which you live is used to seeing fall the veils and coverings with
which we drape ourselves in the prudish society of ordinary mortals.
Nor would I, perhaps, have detained you here with me merely to talk to
you of such feelings and thoughts, if I had not besides something very
particular at heart, a great, great favor--"

She had thrown herself down on a sofa and rested there in a careless,
picturesque attitude, her arms thrown back gracefully behind her head.
Her face was pale as marble, and her lips were slightly parted--but not
with a smile.

"A favor?" he asked, absently. "You know, countess, I was prepared to
receive a penance. How much sooner--"

"Who knows whether