r night mingling in gay crowds,
listening to honied words that fall unheeded on my ear; wearing smiles
that come not from the heart, but help to break it; exposed to
temptation, that makes me fear to mix with those of my own age; bound
forever to a man whose only sentiment for me is one of pride--what
part of happiness is mine?"

A sudden step aroused her, and her husband entered unannounced. He
looked but little older. Time had dealt lightly with _him_, and with
the aid of cosmetics and a perfect toilette, M. de Vaissiere stood a
remarkable looking man--for his age.

"How is this, madame--not dressed yet! Have you no anxiety to see
Mademoiselle Mars to night?"

"I have, indeed," said Pauline, starting up and forcing a smile. "Is
it so late, that I see you ready?"

"You must hasten Marie, or we shall be too late. How provoking! What
can you do with that dishevelled hair? You have a bad habit of
thinking--that is actually sinful. Why do you not take my example; I
never reflect--it makes one grow old!"

She might have told him how her young life was embittered by the
memory of days that were gone never to return; how she had grown old
with thinking, and wore but the semblance of youth over a withered
heart. But she had schooled herself to serenity with an effort almost
superhuman--and seizing a silver bell at her side, she rang for her
waiting woman.

"You must hasten, Marie--Monsieur de Vaissiere is already dressed.
Bind up this hair beneath some net-work, my good girl; I have no time
for embellishing this evening."

"Madame is more beautiful without her usual coiffure," said the girl,
as she gathered up the dark tresses of her mistress. "I shall place
her diamond _aigrette_ in her hair, and she will turn all heads."

"I have no such ambition, my good Marie," said Pauline, laughing.
"Give me my fan and gloves, and fasten this bracelet for me."

"_Tenez, madame_," said Marie, handing them; and Pauline ran down
stairs, where her husband awaited her. He had just been fretted
sufficiently to find fault with her dress.

"You never wear jewels enough. Do you think I bought them to ornament
your boudoir?"

"I did not like to keep you waiting, _mon ami_. Shall I return and
tell Marie to give me my necklace?"

"Yes, and your bracelet to match. Your white arm, madame, was made to
ornament," added M. de Vaissiere, assuming an air of gallantry.

Pauline smiled, and ran back to her boudoir. In a few moments she
retu