any--the first days in Baden-baden,
and each morning had been awakened by a Chorale played down in the
gardens of the Kurhaus, a gentle, beautiful tune, to remind them that
they were in heaven. And softly, so softly that the tunes seemed to be
but dreams he began playing those old Chorales, one after another, so
that the stilly sounds floated out, through the opened window, puzzling
the early birds and cats and those few humans who were abroad as
yet.....

He received the telegram from Noel in the afternoon of the same day,
just as he was about to set out for Leila's to get news of her; and
close on the top of it came Lavendie. He found the painter standing
disconsolate in front of his picture.

"Mademoiselle has deserted me?"

"I'm afraid we shall all desert you soon, monsieur."

"You are going?"

"Yes, I am leaving here. I hope to go to France."

"And mademoiselle?"

"She is at the sea with my son-in-law."

The painter ran his hands through his hair, but stopped them half-way,
as if aware that he was being guilty of ill-breeding.

"Mon dieu!" he said: "Is this not a calamity for you, monsieur le cure?"
But his sense of the calamity was so patently limited to his unfinished
picture that Pierson could not help a smile.

"Ah, monsieur!" said the painter, on whom nothing was lost. "Comme je
suis egoiste! I show my feelings; it is deplorable. My disappointment
must seem a bagatelle to you, who will be so distressed at leaving
your old home. This must be a time of great trouble. Believe me; I
understand. But to sympathise with a grief which is not shown would
be an impertinence, would it not? You English gentlefolk do not let us
share your griefs; you keep them to yourselves."

Pierson stared. "True," he said. "Quite true!"

"I am no judge of Christianity, monsieur, but for us artists the doors
of the human heart stand open, our own and others. I suppose we have no
pride--c'est tres-indelicat. Tell me, monsieur, you would not think
it worthy of you to speak to me of your troubles, would you, as I have
spoken of mine?"

Pierson bowed his head, abashed.

"You preach of universal charity and love," went on Lavendie; "but
how can there be that when you teach also secretly the keeping of your
troubles to yourselves? Man responds to example, not to teaching; you
set the example of the stranger, not the brother. You expect from others
what you do not give. Frankly, monsieur, do you not feel that with every
revel