seated herself in the chair. She held in her hand a bowl of beef broth.
From this she fed me in silence, and when she left she commanded me to
sleep informing me that she would be on the gallery within call.

But I did not sleep at once. Nick's words had brought back a fact which
my returning consciousness had hitherto ignored. The birds sang in the
court-yard, and when the breeze stirred it was ever laden with a new
scent. I had been snatched from the jaws of death, my life was before
me, but the happiness which had thrilled me was gone, and in my weakness
the weight of the sadness which had come upon me was almost unbearable.
If I had had the strength, I would have risen then and there from my
bed, I would have fled from the city at the first opportunity. As it
was, I lay in a torture of thought, living over again every part of my
life which she had touched. I remembered the first long, yearning look I
had given the miniature at Madame Bouvet's. I had not loved her then.
My feeling rather had been a mysterious sympathy with and admiration for
this brilliant lady whose sphere was so far removed from mine. This was
sufficiently strange. Again, in the years of my struggle for livelihood
which followed, I dreamed of her; I pictured her often in the midst of
the darkness of the Revolution. Then I had the miniature again, which
had travelled to her, as it were, and come back to me. Even then it was
not love I felt but an unnamed sentiment for one whom I clothed with
gifts and attributes I admired: constancy, an ability to suffer and
to hide, decision, wit, refuge for the weak, scorn for the false. So I
named them at random and cherished them, knowing that these things were
not what other men longed for in women. Nay, there was another quality
which I believed was there--which I knew was there--a supreme tenderness
that was hidden like a treasure too sacred to be seen.

I did not seek to explain the mystery which had brought her across the
sea into that little garden of Mrs. Temple's and into my heart. There
she was now enthroned, deified; that she would always be there I
accepted. That I would never say or do anything not in consonance with
her standards I knew. That I would suffer much I was sure, but the lees
of that suffering I should hoard because they came from her.

What might have been I tried to put away. There was the moment, I
thought, when our souls had met in the little parlor in the Rue Bourbon.
I should neve