n many years; not in fact since nineteen-thirteen. She assumed the
city must have changed greatly.

Duchemin thought it was never the same, but forever changing itself
overnight, so to speak; and yet always itself, always like no other
city in the world, fascinating....

"Fascinating? But irresistible! How I long for it!" She was distrait
for an instant. "My New York! Monsieur--would you believe?--I dream of
it!"

He had found a key to one chamber in the mansion of her confidence. As
much to herself as to him, unconsciously dropping into English, she
began to talk of her life "at home"....

Her father had been a partner in a great jewellery house, Cottier's, of
Paris, London, and New York. (So that explained it! She was wearing the
blue diamond again tonight, with other jewels worth, in the judgment of
a keen connoisseur, a king's ransom.) Schooled at an exclusive
establishment for the daughters of people of fashion, Eve at an early
age had made her debut; but within the year her father died, and her
mother, whose heart had always been in the city of her nativity, closed
the house on East Fifty-seventh street and removed with her daughter to
Paris. There Eve had met her future husband. Shortly after, her mother
died. Eve returned to New York to attend to some business in connection
with her estate, remaining only a few weeks, leaving almost
reluctantly; but the new love was very sweet, she had looked forward
joyfully to the final transplanting of her affections.

And then the War, the short month of long, long days in the apartment
on the avenue des Champs-Elysees, waiting, waiting, while the earth
trembled to the tramp of armed men and the tireless rumbling of
caissons and camions, and the air was vibrant with the savage dialogue
of cannon, ever louder, daily more near....

She fell silent, sitting with bowed head and gaze remote.

From the splendid jewels that adorned the fingers twisting together in
her lap, the firelight struck coruscant gleams.

"Now I hate Paris, I wish never to see it again."

Duchemin uttered a sympathetic murmur.

"But New York--?"

"Ah, but sometimes I think I would give anything to be there once
more!"

The animation with which this confession was delivered proved
transient.

"Then I remind myself I have no one there--a few friends, yes,
acquaintances; but no family ties, no one dear to me."

"But--pardon--you stay here?"

"It is beautiful here, monsieur."

"But such sol