tions of silk and
lace or silk and chiffon. It so happened that there was nowhere in
sight a single article of her apparel or for her toilet that was not
bought with the general's money. No, there were some hairpins that she
had paid for herself, and a comb with widely separated teeth that she
had chanced to see in a window when she was alone one day. Anything
else? Yes, a two-franc box of pins. And that was all. Everything else
belonged to the general. In the closets, in the trunks--all the
general's, part of the trousseau he had paid for. Not an undergarment;
not an outer garment; not a hat or a pair of shoes, not a wrap, not a
pair of gloves. All, the general's.

He was in the door of the dressing-room--the small wiry figure in
rose-silk pajamas. The mustache and imperial were carefully waxed as
always, day and night. On the little feet were high-heeled slippers. On
the head was a rose-silk Neapolitan nightcap with gay tassel. The
nightcap hid the bald spot from which the lofty toupee had been
removed. A grotesque little figure, but not grotesque to her. Through
the mask of the vain, boastful little face she saw the general watching
her, as she had seen him that afternoon when she came in--the
mysterious and terrible personality that had made the vast fortune,
that had ridden ruthlessly over friend and foe, over man and woman and
child--to the goal of its desires.

"It's late, my dear?" said the little man. "Come to bed."

She rose to obey--she in the general's purchases of filmy nightgown
under a pale-pink silk dressing-gown.

He smiled with that curious noiseless mumbling and smacking of the thin
lips. She sat down again.

"Don't keep me waiting. It's chilly," he said, advancing toward her.

"I shall sleep in here to-night--on the couch," said she. She was
trembling with fright at her own audacity. She could see a
fifty-centime piece and a copper dancing before her eyes. She felt
horribly alone and weak, but she had no desire to retract the words
with which she had thrown down the gauntlet.

The little general halted. The mask dropped; the man, the monster,
looked at her. "What's the matter?" said he in an ominously quiet
voice.

"Mr. Harding delivered your message to-day," said she, and her steady
voice astonished her. "So I am going back home."

He waited, looking steadily at her.

"After he told me and I thought about it, I decided to submit, but just
now I saw that I couldn't. I