lants will wither and rot and stink. But we
who see Life in forms of Art are the only ones who feel that; and we are
so few. The natural shape of things is lost. There is a mist of blood
before all eyes. Men are afraid of being fair. See how we all hate not
only our enemies, but those who differ from us. Look at the streets
too--see how men and women rush together, how Venus reigns in this
forcing-house. Is it not natural that Youth about to die should yearn
for pleasure, for love, for union, before death?"

Noel stared up at him. 'Now!' she thought: I will.'

"Yes," she said, "I know that's true, because I rushed, myself. I'd
like you to know. We couldn't be married--there wasn't time. And--he was
killed. But his son is alive. That's why I've been away so long. I want
every one to know." She spoke very calmly, but her cheeks felt burning
hot.

The painter had made an upward movement of his hands, as if they had
been jerked by an electric current, then he said quite quietly:

"My profound respect, mademoiselle, and my great sympathy. And your
father?"

"It's awful for him."

The painter said gently: "Ah! mademoiselle, I am not so sure. Perhaps he
does not suffer so greatly. Perhaps not even your trouble can hurt him
very much. He lives in a world apart. That, I think, is his true tragedy
to be alive, and yet not living enough to feel reality. Do you know
Anatole France's description of an old woman: 'Elle vivait, mais si
peu.' Would that not be well said of the Church in these days: 'Elle
vivait, mais si peu.' I see him always like a rather beautiful dark
spire in the night-time when you cannot see how it is attached to the
earth. He does not know, he never will know, Life."

Noel looked round at him. "What do you mean by Life, monsieur? I'm
always reading about Life, and people talk of seeing Life! What is
it--where is it? I never see anything that you could call Life."

The painter smiled.

"To 'see life'!" he said. "Ah! that is different. To enjoy yourself!
Well, it is my experience that when people are 'seeing life' as they
call it, they are not enjoying themselves. You know when one is very
thirsty one drinks and drinks, but the thirst remains all the same.
There are places where one can see life as it is called, but the only
persons you will see enjoying themselves at such places are a few
humdrums like myself, who go there for a talk over a cup of coffee.
Perhaps at your age, though, it is different."