ian star must have five rays. The ancients
had never painted one otherwise nor graven it in stone; nay, they had
used it as the symbol for the number five.

At this Mary exclaimed: "But then I hope--I hope we shall make a
six-rayed star; for by that time poor Paula may be with us again!"

"God grant it!" sighed Dame Joanna. Pulcheria, however, asked the old man
what was wrong with him, for his face had suddenly clouded. His
cheerfulness had vanished, his tufted eyebrows were raised, and his
pinched lips seemed unwilling to part, when at length he reluctantly
said:

"Nothing--nothing is wrong. . . . At the same time; once for all--I loathe
that name."

"Paula?" cried the child in astonishment. "Oh! but if you knew. . ."

"I know more than enough," interrupted the old man. "I love you all--all;
my old heart expands as I sit in your midst; I am comfortable here, I
feel kindly towards you, I am grateful to you; every little attention you
show me does me good; for it comes from your hearts: if I could repay you
soon and abundantly--I should grow young again with joy. You may believe
me, as I can see indeed that you do. And yet," and again his brows went
up, "and yet, when I hear that name, and when you try to win me over to
that woman, or if you should even go so far as to assail my ears with her
praises--then, much as it would grieve me, I would go back again to the
place where I came from."

"Why, Horapollo, what are you saying?" cried Joanna, much distressed.

"I say," the old man went on, "I say that in her everything is
concentrated which I most hate and contemn in her class. I say that she
bears in her bosom a cold and treacherous heart; that she blights my days
and my nights; in short, that I would rather be condemned to live under
the same roof with clammy reptiles and cold-blooded snakes than. . ."

"Than with her, with Paula?" Mary broke in. The eager little thing sprang
to her feet, her eyes flashed lightnings and her voice quivered with
rage, as she exclaimed: "And you not only say it but mean it? Is it
possible?"

"Not only possible, but positive, sweetheart," replied the old man,
putting out his hand to take hers, but she shrank back, exclaiming
vehemently:

"I will not be your sweetheart, if you speak so of her! A man as old as
you are ought to be just. You do not know her at all, and what you say
about her heart. . ."

"Gently, gently, child," the widow put in; and Horapollo answered with
peculi