they make up to him when he meets them in society."

Ermentrude shivered. The princess also! And with all her warning about
the Superman! Now she understood. Then she took the hand of Mrs.
Sheldam, and, stroking it, whispered:--

"Auntie, I'm so glad I am going to Havre, going to see Charlie soon."
The lids of her eyes were wet. Mrs. Sheldam had never been so motherly.

"You _are_ a darling!" she answered, as she squeezed Ermentrude's arm.
"But there is some one who doesn't seem to care much for Havre." She
pointed out Mr. Sheldam, who, oblivious of picturesque Normandy through
which the train was speeding, slept serenely. Ermentrude envied him his
repose. He had never stared into the maddening mirror which turned poets
into Supermen and--sometimes monsters. Had she herself not gazed into
this distorting glass? The tune of her life had never sounded so
discouragingly faint and inutile. Perhaps she did not posses the higher
qualities that could extort from a nature so rich and various as Octave
Keroulan's its noblest music! Perhaps his wife had told the truth to
Mrs. Sheldam and had lied to her! And then, through a merciful mist of
tears, Ermentrude saw Havre, saw her future.

VII

ANTICHRIST

To wring from man's tongue the denial of his existence is proof of
Satan's greatest power.--PERE RAVIGNAN.

The most learned man and the most lovable it has been my good fortune to
know is Monsignor Anatole O'Bourke--alas! I should write, was, for his
noble soul is gathered to God. I met him in Paris, when I was a music
student. He sat next to me at a Pasdeloup concert in the Cirque d'Hiver,
how many years ago I do not care to say. A casual exclamation betrayed
my nationality, and during the intermission we drifted into easy
conversation. Within five minutes he held me enthralled, did this
big-souled, large-brained Irishman from the County Tipperary. We
discussed the programme--a new symphonic poem by Rimski-Korsakoff,
Sadko, had been alternately hissed and cheered--and I soon learned that
my companion mourned a French mother and rejoiced in the loving presence
of a very Celtic father. From the former he must have inherited his
vigorous, logical intellect; the latter had evidently endowed him with a
robust, jovial temperament, coupled with a wonderful perception of
things mystical.

After the concert we walked slowly along the line of the boulevards. It
was early May, and the wheel of green which we trave