f business, who stops just long enough to whisper in your
ear that "So-and-so, the famous critic, doesn't seem to be satisfied."
Felicia listened to it all with the utmost tranquillity, being raised by
her triumph above the petty slurs of envy, and glowed with pride when a
renowned veteran, some old associate of her father's, tossed her a "Well
done, little one!" which carried her back to the past, to the little
corner that was always reserved for her in the paternal studio in the
days when she was beginning to carve out a little glory for herself in
the renown of the great Ruys. But as a whole the congratulations left
her quite unmoved, because she missed one which was more desirable in
her eyes than all the rest, and which she was surprised that she had not
yet received. Clearly she thought of him more than she had ever thought
of any man before. Was this love at last, the great love that is so rare
in the heart of an artist, who is incapable of abandoning herself
unreservedly to a sentiment, or was it simply a dream of an honest,
bourgeois life, well protected against ennui, that vile ennui, the
precursor of storms, which she had so much reason to dread? In any
event, she suffered herself to be deceived and had been living for
several days in a state of delicious unrest, for love is so strong, so
beautiful, that its semblance, its mirage, takes us captive and may move
us as deeply as love itself.

Has it ever happened to you, as you walked along the street, thinking
intently of some absent person very dear to your heart, to be warned of
his approach by meeting one or more persons who bear a vague resemblance
to him, preparatory images, outline sketches of the face that is soon to
rise before you, which come forth from the crowd like successive appeals
to your overstrained attention? These are magnetic, nervous phenomena at
which we must not smile too broadly, because they constitute a
susceptibility to suffering. Several times Felicia had fancied that she
recognized Paul de Gery's curly head in the ever-moving, ever-changing
flow of visitors, when suddenly she uttered a cry of pleasure. It was
not he, however, but some one who much resembled him, whose regular,
tranquil face was always blended now in her thoughts with that of her
friend Paul, as the result of a resemblance rather moral than physical,
and of the mild influence they both exerted over her mind.

"Aline!"

"Felicia!"

Although nothing is more difficu