panse which stretched beneath her, beyond
the darkness that curtained her sight. A loud rumbling arose, and
waves of life seemed to surge up and circle around her. Echoes, odors,
and even light streamed against her face, though her hands were still
nervously pressed to it. At times sudden gleams appeared to pierce her
closed eyelids, and amidst the radiance she imagined she saw
monuments, steeples, and domes standing out in the diffuse light of
dreamland. Then she lowered her hands and, opening her eyes, was
dazzled. The vault of heaven expanded before her, and Henri had
vanished.

A line of clouds, a seeming mass of crumbling chalk-hills, now barred
the horizon far away. Across the pure, deep blue heavens overhead,
merely a few light, fleecy cloudlets were slowly drifting, like a
flotilla of vessels with full-blown sails. On the north, above
Montmartre, hung a network of extreme delicacy, fashioned as it were
of pale-hued silk, and spread over a patch of sky as though for
fishing in those tranquil waters. Westward, however, in the direction
of the slopes of Meudon, which Helene could not see, the last drops of
the downpour must still have been obscuring the sun, for, though the
sky above was clear, Paris remained gloomy, dismal beneath the vapor
of the drying house-roofs. It was a city of uniform hue--the
bluey-grey of slate, studded with black patches of trees--but withal
very distinct, with the sharp outlines and innumberable windows of its
houses. The Seine gleamed with the subdued brightness of old silver.
The edifices on either bank looked as though they had been smeared
with soot. The Tower of St. Jacques rose up like some rust-eaten
museum curio, whilst the Pantheon assumed the aspect of a gigantic
catafalque above the darkened district which it overlooked. Gleams of
light peeped only from the gilding of the dome of the Invalides, like
lamps burning in the daytime, sad and vague amidst the crepuscular
veil of mourning in which the city was draped. All the usual effects
of distance had vanished; Paris resembled a huge yet minutely executed
charcoal drawing, showing very vigorously through its cloudy veil,
under the limpid heavens.

Gazing upon this dismal city, Helene reflected that she really knew
nothing of Henri. She felt strong and brave now that his image no
longer pursued her. A rebellious impulse stirred her soul to reject
the mastery which this man had gained over her within a few weeks. No,
she did no