and her relation, Alice Clerc, drove down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne
towards the gilded entrance gate. The two had made each other's
acquaintance in America, and had met again a year ago in Paris. Alice
Clerc lived in Paris now with her father. Mr. Clerc had been the
principal dealer in works of art in New York. His wife was a Norwegian
lady of the Krog family. After her death he sold his enormous business.
The daughter had been brought up in art surroundings, and her art
training had been thorough. She had seen the picture-galleries and
museums of all countries--had dragged her father as far as Japan. Their
house in the Champs Elysees was full of works of art. And she had her
own studio there; she modelled. Alice was no longer young; she was a
stout, strong person, good-natured and lively.

Anders Krog and his companions had this year come from Spain. The two
friends were talking of a portrait of Mary which had been sent from
Spain to Alice, and afterwards to Norway. Alice maintained that the
artist had plainly intended to produce a resemblance to Donatello's St.
Cecilia--in the position of the head, in the shape of the eye, in the
line of the neck, and the half-open mouth. But, interesting as this
experiment might be, it took away from the likeness. It was, for
instance, a loss to the portrait that the eyes were not seen; they were
cast down, as in Donatello's work. Mary laughed. It was on purpose to
have this resemblance brought out that she had sat for it.

Alice now began to talk about a Norwegian engineer officer whom she had
known since the days when she went to Norway in summer with her mother.
He had seen Mary's portrait at the Clercs' house, and had fallen in love
with it.

"Really?" answered Mary absently.

"He is not the ordinary man, I assure you, nor is it the ordinary
falling in love."

"Indeed?"

"I am preparing you. You will of course meet at our house."

"Is that necessary?"

"Very. At least I shall be made to pay for it if you don't."

"Dear me! is he dangerous?"

Alice laughed: "I find him so, at any rate."

"O ho! that alters the situation."

"Now you are misunderstanding me. Wait till you see him."

"Is he so very good-looking?"

Alice laughed. "No, he is positively ugly. Just wait."

As they drove on, the Avenue became more crowded; it was one of the
great days.

"What is his name?"

"Frans Roey."

"Roey? That is our lady doctor's name--Miss Roey."

"Yes, she is his s