she dwelt without
companionship and almost unknown, with scarcely sufficient bread to eat.
Ah! that dear son of hers, whom she loved so well; however much he might
neglect her, she had placed her only remaining hope in him: he was her
last dream, and would some day lavish all kinds of happiness upon her!

At that moment Mere-Grand came downstairs again, laden with a bundle of
linen and woollen clothing, and Madame Theodore and little Celine
withdrew while pouring forth their thanks. For a long time after they had
gone Guillaume, unable to resume work, continued walking to and fro in
silence, with a frown upon his face.

When Pierre, still hesitating and still tortured by conflicting feelings,
returned to Montmartre on the following day he witnessed with much
surprise a visit of a very different kind. There was a sudden gust of
wind, a whirl of skirts and a ring of laughter as little Princess
Rosemonde swept in, followed by young Hyacinthe Duvillard, who, on his
side, retained a very frigid bearing.

"It's I, my dear master," exclaimed the Princess. "I promised you a
visit, you remember, for I am such a great admirer of your genius. And
our young friend here has been kind enough to bring me. We have only just
returned from Norway, and my very first visit is for you."

She turned as she spoke, and bowed in an easy and gracious way to Pierre
and Marie, Francois and Antoine, who were also there. Then she resumed:
"Oh! my dear master, you have no idea how beautifully virginal Norway is!
We all ought to go and drink at that new source of the Ideal, and we
should return purified, rejuvenated and capable of great renunciations!"

As a matter of fact she had been well-nigh bored to death there. To make
one's honeymoon journey to the land of the ice and snow, instead of to
Italy, the hot land of the sun, was doubtless a very refined idea, which
showed that no base materialism formed part of one's affections. It was
the soul alone that travelled, and naturally it was fit that only kisses
of the soul should be exchanged on the journey. Unfortunately, however,
Hyacinthe had carried his symbolism so far as to exasperate Rosemonde,
and on one occasion they had come to blows over it, and then to tears
when this lover's quarrel had ended as many such quarrels do. Briefly,
they had no longer deemed themselves pure enough for the companionship of
the swans and the lakes of dreamland, and had therefore taken the first
steamer that was