fingers on the arms of her chair. Finally I
heard, as from far away, the words: "Butterfly dust is very beautiful,
though." And then some time afterward there glided forth from the midst
of a long chain of thought which she did not reveal, the query,
"refracted rays--the various prismatic colors--?" She paused, listened,
rose to her feet; she had heard Atlung's step in the front room.

I also rose.

[4] Fru corresponds to the German Frau, and means Mrs.--Translator.

CHAPTER IV.

The door was thrown wide open, and Atlung came lounging in. This tall,
slender man, in these capacious clothes that showed many a trace of the
factories he had been visiting, bore in his face, his movements, his
bearing, the unconcerned ease of several generations.

The gray eyes, beneath the invisible eyebrows, blinked a little when he
saw me, and then the long face broadened into a smile. His superb teeth
glittered between the full, short lips, as he exclaimed: "Is that you!"
He took both my hands between his hard, freckled ones, then dropping one
of them threw his arm around his wife's waist. "Was not _that_
delightful, Amalie? What? Those days in Dresden, my dear?"

When he had relaxed his hold, he made eager inquiries about myself and
my journey,--he knew I was to make a short trip abroad. Then he began
to tell me what occupied _him_ the most, and meanwhile he strolled up
and down the room, took up one article between his fingers, handled it,
then took up another. He did not hold any little thing as others do with
the extreme tips of his fingers; he firmly grasped it in his hand so
that his fingers closed over it. In conversation, too, it was just the
same: there was a certain fullness in the way he took up each subject
and flung it away again at once for something else.

His wife had left the room, but returned very soon and invited us to
dinner. Just at that moment Atlung was sauntering past the piano, on
which was open a new musical composition, whose character he described
in a few words. Then he began to play and sing verse after verse of a
long song. When he was through, his wife again reminded him of the meal.
This probably first called his attention to her presence in the room.

"See here, Amalie, let us try this duet!" he cried, and struck up the
accompaniment.

Looking at me with a smile, she took her place at his side and joined in
the song. Her somewhat veiled, sweet soprano blended with his rich
baritone