e had, he heard, left his box of flowers at the village infirmary. He
knew that that day it was to have been full of verbena, sweet geranium,
sweet briar, thyme, myrtle, lavender and single roses....

* * * * *

Marthe had insisted that he should come with her to Lally. He was
feeling foolish and fascinated--dressing was evidently a religion with
the most solemn rites in the world. The gravity and concentration of
every one astounded him--the firm vendeuse refusing to allow her cliente
any freedom of choice. The pathetic cliente pining in vain for forbidden
fruit--the hopelessly ugly and unrewarding, who alone were permitted to
follow their fancies. Patterns were discussed in hushed but intense
undertones, faint but all-important modifications were offered by the
vendeuse to bridge the gulf between the figures of the mannequins and
those of the clients. The brave longing of a squat pigeon to have the
model reproduced "textuellement" was resolutely suppressed.

Marthe was discussing her vendeuse's child....

And then suddenly Maurice saw Madame Marly. She was without a hat and
scattering her terrified staff with her eye.

She came straight to him, her voice was mocking.

"Maintenant, je peux donner des renseignements a Monsieur."

"I did not know," he blurted, "I had no idea," and then as the ultimate
significance of their meeting disentangled itself from the immediate
embarrassment,

"Thank God, I have found you."

* * * * *

Mlle. de Marveau married the Comte de Cely.

The Comtesse de Cely wanted an escape and became Madame Lalli.

Madame Lalli wanted an escape and became Madame Marly--for Paula was
always Paula.

And then she met Maurice and her youth. Twenty-five years of age and
experience and disappointment fell from her. But to keep her great
illusion she offered her big resistance....

And then the tiny knife turned in the tiny wound. The unconscious
buzzing machine touched the exposed nerve--the silly, absurd, irrelevant
name.

The lover in pursuit of the beloved became the novelist examining the
dressmaker, seeking for information. When professional meets
professional.

This time she capitulated for she ran away.

* * * * *

That night Maurice wrote to her.

"Paula, I love you. I loved you always. I loved you invulnerable, wise,
fortified beyond the wiles of men. How much more do I love you now w