tige of the Nikitenko
steadily increased in brilliance. Then, suddenly, as it were in a night,
the shadows began to gather round her. Whence the first rumor rose, none
ever knew. But it ran round the _salons_, down the Cascine, through the
town, like a circle of fire. Immediately the watch was set: and
immediately the reports began to come in.

Yes, unquestionably it was true. The Princess and Lodi were constantly
together. In the morning he was unfailingly to be found in her boudoir,
practising, perhaps, his role or his songs for the evening. In the
afternoon he had a place in her victoria, and they paid their calls
together, or he sat beside her at her own tea-table. Every evening that
he was free Lodi spent in her _salon_. And on those evenings when he
sang, people found Madame Nikitenko "not at home till twelve."

Soon, inevitably, the world began to draw a little away from the woman,
while it courted the man. Immediately, to the general indignation, she
withdrew herself, positively, from the world; and Vittorio refused most
of his invitations. Then, as the season drooped and died, and spring
swept up from the south, the beautiful Alexandrine became invisible to
every eye but that of the devoted tenor.

Thenceforth it is a stupid tale. "For her sins," the Russian lady made
a long retreat in a neighboring convent; whence she did not emerge until
November was sweeping the leaves down the Cascine, and the world was
once more at home. When she returned to the city of her former triumph,
it was to find every door shut against her, every face averted as she
passed. As for the Lodi, he was now in Milan, at La Scala, at a
phenomenal salary.

That, behold, was eighteen years ago! Still, inexplicably, Alexandrine
returned, winter after winter, to the city of her loneliness. There
continued to be stories of regular visits to the convent outside the
walls, where, in the odor of sanctity, was growing up a little girl with
Nikitenko eyes of purple-blue, and the darkest of waving, Italian hair.
None had ever heard of any attempt either at divorce or at
reconciliation on the part of the husband, now a man high in the
councils of the Reactionary party. Nor was scandal ever again able to
couple any name with that of the solitary woman, upon whom a change had
been gradually creeping. Many had heard her cough, and perceived the
nature of it. A few charitable souls would have relaxed towards her now,
had she herself permitted it; bu