up to ask about Frances's plans for the rest of
the winter, and Cenci had inquired, most pointedly, whether she already
had an engagement for next season and what operas she had studied, to
which she had replied that her arrangements were in Richetti's hands,
whereupon they had assaulted the _maestro_ and nearly torn him limb from
limb in their eagerness to engage her.

"The proudest man in the world, some day," said Frieda, "will be Baby
Paul. He will be going about boasting that Madame Francesca is his
mother, and people will love him for her sake."

Then Frances clasped as much of Frieda's form as she could possibly hold
in her arms, and kissed her, telling her that she was saying a lot of
nonsense, and finally our stout friend went away under Porter's
guidance, who had promised to see her home, and Frances and I were left
alone on the landing.

Here, a little yellow gas-jet was flickering, very small and poor, and
the balustrade upon which I leaned gave a crackling groan. We heard the
closing of the front door and turned to one another. Again her hand was
put forth and I took it and raised it to my lips. When I lifted my head
I dimly saw a tear shining upon her cheek.

"Dear friend," she said, "I owe it all to you."

With this she clasped my shoulders in both hands and, for an instant,
her lips touched the side of my face.

A second later she had closed her door behind her, and I feverishly
changed my coat. Then, I put on my heavy ulster and made my way to the
old square, where I sat down in the frosty air. That touch upon my cheek
had left my temples throbbing, my heart on fire. The whole world seemed
confused, the shining stars were dancing overhead, the noises of the
sleeping city buzzed in my head, maddeningly.

Finally, I began to feel the cold, and the earth grew stiller and more
peaceful. An instant later a great milk-dray rattled across the square,
going up Fifth Avenue, the usual alarm warning me of bedtime. So I went
home, collected again and tranquil. She had given me a tiny fragment of
herself, a reward perhaps too great for the little I had been able to do
for her. Peace had returned to me and I fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXII

GORDON RETURNS

And then, after a very short time, the parting came. I was the first to
advise it. She could no longer remain in the little, decrepit boarding
house. People would come to see her; she had to have a decent home, a
place in which she could receive som