e play of the flames. For some minutes we had been
silent.

"In Paris, perhaps--" she began suddenly, then stopped short and became
again silent.

But I was fast dropping into melancholy and wanted to hear her voice,
and I said:

"Well? In Paris--"

She looked at me, her eyes curiously somber, but did not speak. I
insisted:

"You were saying, Desiree, in Paris--"

She made a quick movement and laughed unpleasantly.

"Yes, my friend--but it is useless. I was thinking of you. 'Ah! A
card! Mr. Paul Lamar. Show him in, Julie. But no, let him wait--I am
not at home.' That, my friend, would be in Paris."

I stared at her.

"For Heaven's sake, Desiree, what nonsense is this?"

She disregarded my question as she continued:

"Yes, that is how it would be. Why do I talk thus? The mountains
hypnotize me. The snow, the solitude--for I am alone. Your brother,
what is he? And you, Paul, are scarcely aware of my existence.

"I had my opportunity with you, and I laughed it away. And as for the
future--look! Do you see that waste of snow and ice, glittering, cold,
pitiless? Ha! Well, that is my grave."

I tried to believe that she was merely amusing herself, but the glow in
her eyes did not proceed from mirth. I followed her fixed gaze across
the trackless waste and, shivering, demanded:

"What morbid fancy is this, Desiree? Come, it is scarcely pleasant."

She rose and crossed the yard or so of ground between us to my side. I
felt her eyes above me, and try as I would I could not look up to meet
them. Then she spoke, in a voice low but curiously distinct:

"Paul, I love you."

"My dear Desiree!"

"I love you."

At once I was myself, calm and smiling. I was convinced that she was
acting, and I dislike to spoil a good scene. So I merely said:

"I am flattered, senora."

She sighed, placing her hand on my shoulder.

"You laugh at me. You are wrong. Have I chosen this place for a
flirtation? Before, I could not speak; now you must know. There have
been many men in my life, Paul; some fools, some not so, but none like
you. I have never said, 'I love you.' I say it now. Once you held my
hand--you have never kissed me."

I rose to my feet, smiling, profoundly fatuous, and made as if to put
my arm around her.

"A kiss? Is that all, Desiree? Well--"

But I had mistaken her tone and overreached. Not a muscle did she
move, but I felt myself repulsed as by a barrier of steel. She