of loss. We understood the pathos
of the scaldino. And swift upon this new interpretation we saw the
great dangers of such a life to a woman of imperfect culture, strong
passion and yet noble aspiration. We saw, too, another and more
particular tragedy possible to her, in being forever debarred from her
husband's innermost life. That vague look of distress was pregnant with
meaning. She wished to say--how much! Yet in English she had not the
words. For a moment there was a silence, and then once more she rose,
this time to bid us adieu. We were all under an impulse, I have since
learned, to press her to stay to dinner. Each was doubtful how the
others would take it, and with reason, for this one feast of the year
has taken on a sacramental character in recent times. We prefer, without
any diminution of our Christian charity and goodwill, to eat it by
ourselves. And so Mrs. Carville bade us good-bye, and was followed
unwillingly by two young gentlemen who wanted to stay.

"I'll come over this evening and bring Ben and Beppo for an hour, may
I?" I said.

"You must not let them be in your way," she replied. The smile of the
children was reward for a good deal of inconvenience.

"Mrs. Carville, you mustn't put it that way. We shall always be glad to
have them, out of business hours. And to-night is holy to children
everywhere. They shall light the candles on our tree. You know what
Flaubert once said of children--'a little thing like that in the house
is the only thing that matters.'"

Her eyes dropped to the heads of the children in front of her, and her
face became suddenly grave, set in a pose of quiet thought.

"Did he say so?" she remarked soberly. "Well, perhaps he was right." And
she took the children by the hand and went out.

And we had them back in the evening, which became uproarious. My friend
greeted them dressed up as Santa Claus, with an immense cotton-wool
beard and motor-goggles. We initiated them into the mysteries of Hunt
the Slipper and Musical Chairs. Indeed, when neighbours began to drop
in, as they did later on, they interrupted five children playing Nuts in
May. Foolish old parlour-tricks we had forgotten since our own early
childhood came back to memory and evoked shrieks of laughter. At ten,
when I took them, well wrapped up, down our snow-trench and along the
sidewalk to their own door, they were in a trance of mingled happiness
and fatigue.

"Here they are, safe, Mrs. Carville," I said a