d, Narcissus-like, worshipped his own image which
he saw reflected in her clear eyes. But D'Argenton would have preferred
to be the first to disturb those depths.

But these regrets were useless, though Ida shared them. "Why did I not
know him earlier?" she said to herself over and over again.

"She ought to understand by this time," said D'Argenton, sulkily, "that
I do not wish to see that boy."

But even for her poet's sake Ida could not keep her child away from her
entirely. She did not, however, go so often to the academy, nor summon
Jack from school, as she had done, and this change was by no means the
smallest of the sacrifices she was called upon to make.

As to the hotel she occupied, her carriage, and the luxury in which she
lived, she was ready to abandon them all at a word from D'Argenton.

"You will see," she said, "how I can aid you. I can work, and, besides,
I shall not be completely penniless."

But D'Argenton hesitated. He was, notwithstanding his apparent
enthusiasm and recklessness, extremely methodical and clear-headed.

"No, we will wait a while. I shall be rich some day, and then--"

He alluded to his old aunt, who now made him an allowance and whose heir
he would unquestionably be. "The good old lady was very old," he added.
And the two, Ida and D'Argenton, made a great many plans for the days
that were to come. They would live in the country, but not so far away
from Paris that they would be deprived of its advantages. They would
have a little cottage, over the door of which should be inscribed this
legend: _Parva domus, magna quies_. There he could work, write a
book--a novel, and later, a volume of poems. The titles of both were in
readiness, but that was all.

Then the publishers would make him offers; he would be famous, perhaps
a member of the Academy--though, to be sure, that institution was
mildewed, moth-eaten, and ready to fall.

"That is nothing!" said Ida; "you must be a member!" and she saw herself
already in a corner on a reception-day, modestly and quietly dressed, as
befitted the wife of a man of letters. While they waited, however,
they regaled themselves on the pears sent by "the kind friend, who was
certainly the best and least suspicious of men."

D'Argenton found these pears, with their satiny skins, very delicious;
but he ate them with so many expressions of discontent, and with so many
little cutting remarks to Ida, that she spent much of her time in tears.

Week