re
in its deeper causes. She felt herself abandoned without explanation.
But she did not suspect him. What she wanted was to learn almost at any
cost how she could remain faithful to his departed spirit.

IV

Several days elapsed before I met Nathalie Haldin again. I was crossing
the place in front of the theatre when I made out her shapely figure
in the very act of turning between the gate pillars of the unattractive
public promenade of the Bastions. She walked away from me, but I knew
we should meet as she returned down the main alley--unless, indeed, she
were going home. In that case, I don't think I should have called on her
yet. My desire to keep her away from these people was as strong as ever,
but I had no illusions as to my power. I was but a Westerner, and it was
clear that Miss Haldin would not, could not listen to my wisdom; and as
to my desire of listening to her voice, it were better, I thought, not
to indulge overmuch in that pleasure. No, I should not have gone to the
Boulevard des Philosophes; but when at about the middle of the principal
alley I saw Miss Haldin coming towards me, I was too curious, and too
honest, perhaps, to run away.

There was something of the spring harshness in the air. The blue sky was
hard, but the young leaves clung like soft mist about the uninteresting
range of trees; and the clear sun put little points of gold into the
grey of Miss Haldin's frank eyes, turned to me with a friendly greeting.

I inquired after the health of her mother.

She had a slight movement of the shoulders and a little sad sigh.

"But, you see, I did come out for a walk...for exercise, as you
English say."

I smiled approvingly, and she added an unexpected remark--

"It is a glorious day."

Her voice, slightly harsh, but fascinating with its masculine and
bird-like quality, had the accent of spontaneous conviction. I was glad
of it. It was as though she had become aware of her youth--for there was
but little of spring-like glory in the rectangular railed space of
grass and trees, framed visibly by the orderly roof-slopes of that town,
comely without grace, and hospitable without sympathy. In the very air
through which she moved there was but little warmth; and the sky, the
sky of a land without horizons, swept and washed clean by the April
showers, extended a cold cruel blue, without elevation, narrowed
suddenly by the ugly, dark wall of the Jura where, here and there,
lingered yet a few mi