o came
rather to see the fair sculptress than her sculpture, so that they
would have the right to say that evening at the club: "I was at
Felicia's to-day." Among them Paul de Gery, silent, engrossed by an
admiration which sank a little deeper in his heart day by day, strove
to comprehend the beautiful sphinx, arrayed in purple cashmere and
unbleached lace, who worked bravely away in the midst of her clay, a
burnisher's apron--reaching nearly to the neck--leaving naught visible
save the proud little face with those transparent tones, those gleams
as of veiled rays with which intellect and inspiration give animation
to the features. Paul never forgot what had been said of her in his
presence, he tried to form an opinion for himself, was beset by doubt
and perplexity, yet fascinated; vowed every time that he would never
come again, yet never missed a Sunday. There was another fixture,
always in the same spot, a little woman with gray, powdered hair and a
lace handkerchief around her pink face; a pastel somewhat worn by
years, who smiled sweetly in the discreet light of a window recess, her
hands lying idly upon her lap, in fakir-like immobility. Jenkins,
always in good humor, with his beaming face, his black eyes, and his
apostolic air, went about from one to another, known and loved by all.
He too never missed one of Felicia's days; and in very truth he
displayed great patience, for all the sharp words of the artist and of
the pretty woman as well were reserved for him alone. Without seeming
to notice it, with the same smiling indulgent serenity, he continued to
court the society of the daughter of his old friend Ruys, of whom he
had been so fond and whom he had attended until his last breath.

On this occasion, however, the question that Felicia propounded to him
on the subject of his son seemed to him extremely disagreeable; and
there was a frown upon his face, a genuine expression of ill-humor, as
he replied:

"Faith, I know no more than you as to what has become of him. He has
turned his back upon us altogether. He was bored with us. He cares for
nothing but his Bohemia--"

Felicia gave a bound which made them all start, and with flashing eye
and quivering nostril retorted:

"That is too much. Look you, Jenkins, what do you call Bohemia? A
charming word, by the way, which should evoke visions of long wandering
jaunts in the sunlight, halting in shady nooks, the first taste of
luscious fruits and sparkling founta