t you can care for him at all as I do, who have known him
intimately and proved his loyalty and his nobility of nature. But I
think, I am certain, Maurice, that you will make his coming a festa for
my sake. He has suffered very much. He is as weak almost as a child
still. There's something tremendously pathetic in the weakness of body of
a man so brilliant in mind, so powerful of soul. It goes right to my
heart as I think it would go to yours. Let us make his return to life
beautiful and blessed. Sha'n't we? Put flowers in the rooms for me, won't
you? Make them look homey. Put some books about. But I needn't tell you.
We are one, you and I, and I needn't tell you any more. It would be like
telling things to myself--as unnecessary as teaching an organ-grinder how
to turn the handle of his organ! Oh, Maurice, I can laugh to-day! I could
almost--_I_--get up and dance the tarantella all alone here in my little,
bare room with no books and scarcely any flowers. And at the station show
Emile he is welcome. He is a little diffident at coming. He fancies
perhaps he will be in the way. But one look of yours, one grasp of your
hand will drive it all out of him! God bless you, my dearest. How he has
blessed me in giving you to me!"

As Maurice sat there, under his skin, burned deep brown by the sun, there
rose a hot flush of red! Yes, he reddened at the thought of what he was
going to do, but still he meant to do it. He could not forego his
pleasure. He could not. There was something wild and imperious within him
that defied his better self at this moment. But the better self was not
dead. It was even startlingly alive, enough alive to stand almost aghast
at that which was going, it knew, to dominate it--to dominate it for a
time, but only for a time. On that he was resolved, as he was resolved to
have this one pleasure to which he had looked forward, to which he was
looking forward now. Men often mentally put a period to their sinning.
Maurice put a period to his sinning as he sat staring at the letter on
his knees. And the period which he put was the day of the fair at San
Felice. After that day this book of his wild youth was to be closed
forever.

After the day of the fair he would live rightly, sincerely, meeting as it
deserved to be met the utter sincerity of his wife. He would be, after
that date, entirely straight with her. He loved her. As he looked at her
letter he felt that he did love, must love, such love as hers. He