. I had become
desperate.

"Alice," I said bluntly, "we are old friends. I have some things to say
to you of--of the utmost importance. You will listen, my friend, will
you not, until I am quite through, for I shall not mention it again?"

She leaned forward with a little start and gazed at me suddenly, with
dilated eyes--eyes that were the next minute lowered in painful
submission, the corners of her mouth contracting nervously.

"_Mon Dieu!_" she murmured, looking up. "_Mon Dieu!_ But you are cruel!"

"No," I replied calmly. "It is you who are cruel."

"No, no, you shall not!" she exclaimed, raising both ringless hands in
protest, her breath coming quick. "I--I know what you are going to say.
No, my dear friend--I beg of you--we are good comrades. Is it not so?
Let us remain so."

"Listen," I implored.

"Ah, you men with your idea of marriage!" she continued. "The wedding,
the aunts, the cousins, who come staring at you for a day and giving you
advice for years. A solemn apartment near the Etoile--madame with her
afternoons--monsieur with his club, his maitresse, his gambling and his
debts--the children with their English governess. A villa by the sea,
tennis, infants and sand-forts. The annual stupid _voyage en Suisse_.
The inane slavery of it all. _You_ who are a bohemian, you who
_live_--with all your freedom--all my freedom! _Non, merci!_ I have seen
all that! Bah! You are as crazy as Tanrade."

"Alice," I cried, "you think----"

"Precisely, my friend."

She rose swiftly, crossed the room, and before I knew it slipped back of
my chair, put both arms about my neck, kissed me, and burst into tears.

"There, there, _mon pauvre petit_," she whispered. "Forgive me--I was
angry--we are not so stupid as all that--eh? We are not like the stupid
_bourgeoisie_."

"But it is not I----" I stammered.

She caught her breath in surprise, straightened, and slowly retraced her
steps to her vacant chair.

"Ah! So it is that?" she said slowly, drawing her chair close to my own.
Then she seated herself, rested her chin in her hands, and regarded me
for some moments intently.

"So you have come for--for him?" she resumed, her breast heaving. "I am
right, am I not?"

"He loves you," I declared. "Do you think I am blind as to your love for
him? You who came to greet me to-night out of your suffering?"

For some moments she was silent, her fingers pressed over her eyes.

"Do you love him?" I insisted.

"No, no,"