re me to change her
expression?"

"One question in the first place," I replied: "Will your work suffer by
such a change, supposing that I desire it?"

"Probably. If you cut the wings of a bird you hinder its flight."

"Another question: Is it I, or the _other person_ whom the statue best
represents?"

"You, madame; that goes without saying, for you are the present, she the
past."

"But, to desert the past for the present is a bad thing and goes by a
bad name, monsieur; and yet you proclaim it with a very easy air."

"True," said Monsieur Dorlange, laughing, "but art is ferocious;
wherever it sees material for its creations, it pounces upon it
desperately."

"Art," I replied, "is a great word under which a multitude of things
shelter themselves. The other day you told me that circumstances, too
long to relate at that moment, had contributed to fix the image of which
I was the reflection in your mind, where it has left a vivid memory; was
not that enough to excite my curiosity?"

"It was true, madame, that time did not allow of my making an
explanation of those circumstances; but, in any case, having the honor
of speaking to you for the first time, it would have been strange, would
it not, had I ventured to make you any confidences?"

"Well, but now?" I said, boldly.

"Now, unless I receive more express encouragement, I am still unable to
suppose that anything in my past can interest you."

"Why not? Some acquaintances ripen fast. Your devotion to my Nais
has advanced our friendship rapidly. Besides," I added, with affected
levity, "I am passionately fond of stories."

"But mine has no conclusion to it; it is an enigma even to myself."

"All the better; perhaps between us we might find the key to it."

Monsieur Dorlange appeared to take counsel with himself; then, after a
short pause he said:--

"It is true that women are admirably fitted to seize the lighter shades
of meaning in acts and sentiments which we men are unable to decipher.
But this confidence does not concern myself alone; I should have to
request that it remain absolutely between ourselves, not even excepting
Monsieur de l'Estorade from this restriction. A secret is never safe
beyond the person who confides it, and the person who hears it."

I was much puzzled, as you can well suppose, about what might follow;
still, continuing my explorations, I replied:--

"Monsieur de l'Estorade is so little in the habit of hearing everything
from me