'About a year, madame. You have, perhaps, not seen him since a long time.
An old friend?'

'It is ten years ago,' I replied.

'Ah! Ten years! In England, without doubt?'

'In England, yes.'

'Ten years!' she repeated, musing.

'I am certain she has a kind heart,' I said to myself, and I decided to
question her: 'Will you not sit down, madame?' I invited her.

'Ah, madame! it is you who should sit down,' she said quickly. 'You must
have suffered.'

We both sat down. There were only two chairs in the room.

'I would like to ask you,' I said, leaning forward towards her, 'have
you ever seen him--drunk--before?'

'No,' she replied instantly; 'never before yesterday evening.'

'Be frank,' I urged her, smiling sadly.

'Why should I not be frank, madame?' she said, with a grave,
gentle appeal.

It was as if she had said: 'We are talking woman to woman. I know one of
your secrets. You can guess mine. The male is present, but he is deaf.
What reason, therefore, for deceit?'

'I am much obliged to you,' I breathed.

'Not at all,' she said. 'Decidedly he is alcoholic--that sees itself,'
she proceeded. 'But drunk--no!... He was always alone.'

'Always alone?'

'Always.'

Her eyes filled. I thought I had never seen a creature more gentle,
delicate, yielding, acquiescent, and fair. She was not beautiful, but she
had grace and distinction of movement. She was a Parisienne. She had won
my sympathy. We met in a moment when my heart needed the companionship of
a woman's heart, and I was drawn to her by one of those sudden impulses
that sometimes draw women to each other. I cared not what she was.
Moreover, she had excited my curiosity. She was a novelty in my life.
She was something that I had heard of, and seen--yes, and perhaps envied
in secret, but never spoken with. And she shattered all my preconceptions
about her.

'You are an old tenant of this house?' I ventured.

'Yes,' she said; 'it suits me. But the great heats are terrible here.'

'You do not leave Paris, then?'

'Never. Except to see my little boy.'

I started, envious of her, and also surprised. It seemed strange that
this ribboned and elegant and plastic creature, whose long, thin arms
were used only to dalliance, should be a mother.

'So you have a little boy?'

'Yes; he lives with my parents at Meudon. He is four years old.

'Excuse me,' I said. 'Be frank with me once again. Do you love your
child, honestly? So many women don't, it appe