d his secret.

M. Joyeuse understood, and in a low voice said, "Thank you, oh, thank
you," so deeply moved that words failed him. Life! it meant life,
several months of life, the time to turn round, to find another place.
His darlings would want for nothing. They would have their New Year's
presents. Oh, the mercy of Providence!

"Till Wednesday, then, M. Joyeuse."

"Till Wednesday, monsieur--"

"De Gery--Paul de Gery."

And they separated, both delighted, fascinated, the one by the
apparition of this unexpected saviour, the other by the adorable picture
of which he had only a glimpse, all those young girls grouped round the
table covered with books, exercise-books, and skeins of wool, with an
air of purity, of industrious honesty. This was a new Paris for Paul de
Gery, a courageous, home-like Paris, very different from that which he
already knew, a Paris of which the writers of stories in the newspapers
and the reporters never speak, and which recalled to him his own country
home, with an additional charm, that charm which the struggle and tumult
around lend to the tranquil, secured refuge.

FELICIA RUYS

"And your son, Jenkins. What are you doing with him? Why does one never
see him now at your house? He seemed a nice fellow."

As she spoke in that tone of disdainful bluntness which she almost
always used when speaking to the Irishman, Felicia was at work on the
bust of the Nabob which she had just commenced, posing her model, laying
down and taking up the boasting-tool, quickly wiping her fingers with
the little sponge, while the light and peace of a fine Sunday afternoon
fell on the top-light of the studio. Felicia "received" every Sunday,
if to receive were to leave her door open to allow people to come in,
go out, sit down for a moment, without stirring from her work or even
interrupting the course of a discussion to welcome the new arrivals.
They were artists, with refined heads and luxuriant beards; here and
there you might see among them white-haired friends of Ruys, her father;
then there were society men, bankers, stock-brokers, and a few young men
about town, come to see the handsome girl rather than her sculpture, in
order to be able to say at the club in the evening, "I was at Felicia's
to-day." Among them was Paul de Gery, silent, absorbed in an admiration
which each day sunk into his heart a little more deeply, trying to
understand the beautiful sphinx draped in purple cashmere and ecru la