her at last?" thought Ashe. "Poor devil!"

Meanwhile Madame d'Estrees chattered away as though nothing could be
more natural than their meeting, or more perfect than the relations
between herself and her daughter and son-in-law.

As they all strolled down the church she looked keenly at Kitty.

"My dear child, how ill you look!--and your mourning! Ah, yes, of
course!"--she bit her lip--"I remember--the poor, poor boy--"

"Thank you!" said Kitty, hastily. "I got your letter--thank you very
much. Where are you staying? We've got rooms on the Grand Canal."

"Oh, but, Kitty!" cried Madame d'Estrees--"I was so sorry for you!"

"Were you?" said Kitty, under her breath. "Then, please, never speak of
him to me again!"

Startled and offended, Madame d'Estrees looked at her daughter. But what
she saw disarmed her. For once even she felt something like the pang of
a mother. "You're <i>dreadfully</i> thin, Kitty!"

Kitty frowned with annoyance.

"It's not my fault," she said, pettishly. "I live on cream, and it's no
good. Of course, I know I'm an object and a scarecrow; but I'd rather
people didn't tell me."

"What nonsense, <i>chere enfant!</i> You're much prettier than you ever
were."

A wild and fugitive radiance swept across the face beside her.

"Am I?" said Kitty, smiling. "That's all right! If I had died it
wouldn't matter, of course. But--"

"Died! What do you mean, Kitty?" said Madame d'Estrees, in bewilderment.
"When William wrote to me I thought he meant you had overtired
yourself."

"Oh, well, the doctors said it was touch and go," said Kitty,
indifferently. "But, of course, it wasn't. I'm much too tough. And then
they fussed about one's heart. And that's all nonsense, too. I couldn't
die if I tried."

But Madame d'Estrees pondered--the bright, intermittent color, the
emaciation, the hollowness of the eyes. The effect, so far, was to add
to Kitty's natural distinction, to give, rather, a touch of pathos to a
face which even in its wildest mirth had in it something alien and
remote. But she, too, reflected that a little more, a very little more,
and--in a night--the face would have dropped its beauty, as a rose its
petals.

The group stood talking awhile on the steps outside the church. Kitty
and her mother exchanged addresses, Donna Laura opened her mouth once or
twice, and produced a few contorted smiles for Kitty's benefit, while
Colonel Warington tipped the sacristan, found the gondolier, and st