charge of canvases, easels, paintboxes, and other utensils of the
painter's craft, and he came out gleefully from his lodge as soon as
their vehicle rumbled under the deep arch of the outer porch.

Usually, Joan had a word and a smile for him, though the extent of her
Greek conversation was a phrase or two learned from Felix; but to-day
she hardly seemed to see him, and lost not a moment in settling down to
work. She had not much to do; in fact, so far as Felix took note of her
action, after adjusting the canvas and mixing some colors on the
palette, she sat idle for a long time, and even then occupied herself
with an unnecessary deepening of tints in the picture, which already
displayed an amazing resemblance to its stilted and highly colored
prototype.

At last she spoke, and Felix, perched on a platform above her head, was
almost startled by the sorrow laden cadence of her voice.

"I did not really come here to-day to paint," she said. "The picture is
finished; my work in Delgratz is ended. You and Pauline are the only two
people in the world whom I can trust, and I have brought you here,
Felix, to tell you that I am leaving Delgratz to-night."

The hunchback slid down from the little scaffolding he had constructed
to enable him to survey the large area covered by the frescoes. "I
suppose I have understood what you said," he cried. "It is impossible to
focus one's thoughts properly on the spoken word when a huge dome adds
vibrations of its own, and I admit that I am invariably irritated myself
when I state a remarkable fact with the utmost plainness and people
pretend to be either deaf or dull of comprehension."

That was Poluski's way. He never would take one seriously; but Joan
merely sighed and bent her head.

"You say you are leaving Delgratz to-night! May one ask why?" he went
on, dropping his bantering manner at once.

"No," she said.

Felix bassooned a few deep notes between his lips. "You have some good
reason for telling me that, I presume?" he muttered, uttering the first
words that occurred to his perplexed brain.

"Yes, the very best of reasons, or at least the most convincing. I
cannot remain here unless I marry Alec, and as I have absolutely
determined not to marry him, it follows that I must go."

"Ah, you are willing to give some sort of reason, then," he said. "At
present I am muddled. One grasps that unless you marry Alec you must go;
but why not marry Alec? It sounds like a proposition