maddened by pain, has bitten the hand of a beloved master. Her anger
died away in the face of that overwhelming remorse. She herself had
learned to know the illimitable bitterness of self-reproach.

"Antoine----" Her voice had grown very gentle.

He swung round on her.

"And I can't undo it!" he exclaimed desperately. "I can't undo it! . . .
Magda, will you believe me--will you _try_ to believe that, if my life
could undo the harm I've done, I'd give it gladly?"

"I believe you would, Antoine," she replied simply.

With a stifled exclamation he turned away and, dropping into a chair,
leaned his arms on the table and hid his face. Once, twice she heard
the sound of a man's hard-drawn sob, and the dry agony of it wrung her
heart. All that was sweet and compassionate in her--the potential mother
that lies in every woman--responded to his need. She ran to him and,
kneeling at his side, laid a kind little hand on his shoulder.

"Don't Antoine!" she said pitifully. "Ah, don't, my dear!"

He caught the hand and held it against his cheek.

"It's unforgivable!" he muttered.

"No, no. I do forgive you."

"You can't forgive! . . . Impossible!"

"I think I can, Antoine. You see, I need forgiveness so badly myself.
I wouldn't want to keep anyone else without it. Besides, Michael would
have been bound to learn--what you told him--sooner or later." She rose
to her feet, pushing back the hair from her forehead rather wearily.
"It's better as it is--that he should know now. It--it would have been
unbearable if it had come later--when I was his wife."

Antoine stumbled to his feet. His beautiful face was marred with grief.

"I wish I were dead!"

The words broke from him like an exceeding bitter cry. To Magda they
seemed to hold some terrible import.

"Not that, Antoine!" she answered in a frightened voice. "You're not
thinking--you're not meaning----"

He shook his head, smiling faintly.

"No," he said quietly. "The Davilofs have never been cowards. I shan't
take that way out. You need have no fears, Magda." The sudden tension
in her face relaxed. "But I shall not stay in England. England--without
you--would be hell. A hell of memories."

"What shall you do, then, Antoine? You won't give up playing?"

He made a fierce gesture of distaste.

"I couldn't play in public! Not now. Not for a time. I think I shall go
to my mother. She always wants me, and she sees me very little."

Magda nodded. Her eyes were wistful.