ubt to blame, though
against her will and by her mere existence.

Often, indeed, and by a hundred covert hints Dame Neforis gave Paula to
understand that she it was who had alienated her grandchild; there
was nothing for it but to keep the child for whom she yearned, at a
distance, and only rarely reveal to her the abundance of her love. At
last her life was so full of grievance that she was hardly able to be
innocent with the innocent--a child with the child; Mary was not slow to
note this, and ascribed Paula's altered manner to the suffering caused
by her grandmother's severity.

Mary's most frequent opportunities of speaking to her friend were
just before meals; for at that time no one was watching her, and her
grandmother had not forbidden her calling Paula to table. A visit to
her room was the child's greatest delight--partly because it was
forbidden--but no less because Paula, up in her own room, was quite
different from what she seemed with the others, and because they could
there look at each other and kiss without interference, and say what
ever they pleased. There Mary could tell her as much as she dared of the
events in their little circle, but the lively and sometimes hoydenish
little girl was often withheld from confessing a misdemeanor, or even
an inoffensive piece of childishness, by sheer admiration for one who to
her appeared nobler, greater and loftier than other beings.

Just as Paula had finished putting up her hair, Mary, who would rush
like a whirlwind even into her grandmother's presence, knocked humbly
at the door. She did not fly into Paula's arms as she did into those of
Susannah or her daughter Katharina, but only kissed her white arm with
fervent devotion, and colored with happiness when Paula bent down to
her, pressed her lips to her brow and hair, and wiped her wet, glowing
cheeks. Then she took Mary's head fondly between her hands and said:

"What is wrong with you, madcap?"

In fact the sweet little face was crimson, and her eyes swelled as if
she had been crying violently.

"It is so fearfully hot," said Mary. "Eudoxia"--her Greek
governess--"says that Egypt in summer is a fiery furnace, a hell upon
earth. She is quite ill with the heat, and lies like a fish on the sand;
the only good thing about it is..."

"That she lets you run off and gives you no lessons?"

Mary nodded, but as no lecture followed the confession she put her head
on one side and looked up into Paula's face wit