at her lovely face became gradually distorted
until the expression it wore was precisely the same as that upon the
masks--an expression that had its audible equivalent in the laugh which
broke from her.

She lay back on her broad cushions. One of the strands of her splendid
hair had become loose, and after coiling over half a yard of the
brocaded silk of a cushion, twisted its way down to the floor. She lay
back, pointing one finger at the face on the vase and laughing that
satyr-laugh.

"We know--we know--we know!" she cried, and her voice was like that of
a drunken woman. "We know all--you and I--we know the hypocrisy--the
pretense of religion--of honor--duty--a husband! Ah, a husband! that is
the funniest of all--that husband! We know how little we care for them
all."

She continued laughing until her cushion slipped from under her head.
She half rose to straighten it, and at that instant she caught a glimpse
of her face in the center silvered panel of the Venetian mirror. The cry
of horror that broke from her at that instant seemed part of her laugh.
It would not have occurred to anyone who might have heard it that it
was otherwise than consistent with the incongruity, so to speak, of
the existing elements of the scene. The hideous leer of the thing
with horns, looking down at the exquisite picture of the _fete
champetre_--the distorted features of the woman's face in the center
of the ruby and emerald and sapphire of the Venetian mirror--the cry
of horror mixed with the laugh of the woman who mocked at religion and
honor and purity--all were consistently incongruous.

In another instant she was lying on the sofa with her face down to the
cushion, trying to forget all that she had seen in the mirror. She wept
her tears on the brocaded silk for half an hour, and then she slipped
from where she was lying till her knees were on the floor. With a hand
clutching each side of the cushion she got rid of her passion in prayer.

"Oh, God! God! keep him away from me! keep him away from me!" was her
prayer; and it was possibly the best that she could have uttered. "Keep
him away from me! keep him away from me! Don't let my soul be lost! Keep
him away from me!"

When she struggled to her feet, at last, she stood in front of the
mirror once again.

She now saw a face purified of all passion by tears and prayer, where
she had seen the soulless face of a Pagan's orgy.

She went upstairs to her bed and went asleep, thanki