ical, and rang the changes
on the _I_ and the _my_ for a whole evening, without allowing any one
else to speak.

Unhappily, to be a good listener is a quality far above natures
like that of the countess; and the dinner was characterized by some
unfortunate incidents. D'Argenton was particularly fond of repeating the
replies he had made to the various editors and theatrical managers who
had declined his articles, and refused to print his prose or his verse.
His mots on these occasions had been clever and caustic; but with Madame
de Barancy he was never able to reach that point, preceded as it must
necessarily be with lengthy explanations. At the critical moment Ida
would invariably interrupt him,--always, to be sure, with some thought
for his comfort.

"A little more of this ice, M. d'Argenton, I beg of you."

"Not any, madame," the poet would answer with a frown, and continue,
"Then I said to him--"

"I am afraid you do not like it," urged the lady.

"It is excellent, madame,--and I said these cruel words--"

Another interruption from Ida; who, later, when she saw her poet in a
fit of the sulks, wondered what she had done to displease him. Two or
three times during dinner she was quite ready to weep, but did her best
to hide her feelings by urging all the delicacies of her table upon M.
and Madame Moronval. Dinner over, and the guests established in the well
warmed and lighted salon, the principal fancied he saw his way clear,
and said suddenly, in a half indifferent tone, to the countess,--

"I have thought much of our little matter of business. It will cost less
than I fancied."

"Indeed!" she answered absently,

"If, madame, you would accord to me a few moments of your attention--"

But madame was occupied in looking at her poet, who was walking up and
down the salon silent and preoccupied.

"Of what can he be thinking?" she said to herself.

Of his digestion only, dear reader. Suffering somewhat from dyspepsia,
and always anxious in regard to his health, he never failed, on leaving
the table, to walk for half an hour, no matter where he might chance to
be.

Ida watched him silently. For the first time in her life she loved,
really and passionately, and felt her heart beat as it had never beat
before. Foolish and ignorant, while at the same time credulous and
romantic; very near that fatal age--thirty years--which is almost
certain to create in woman a great transformation; she now, aided by the
memo