f her bedchamber, till the approach of late-rising dawn
brought a brief forgetfulness of her unquestionably ridiculous little
trial.

Perhaps, after all, it is rather pitiful that this calf-love, confidently
derided by omniscient, sensible middle-age, should be so tender and so
beautiful a thing. Once it is crushed out of us, we are not likely ever
again to be burdened with a feeling at all similar to it. Nor is it
often tough-fibred enough to weather the stress of the first years of
married life; and come through the equinoctials of the inevitable
adjustment unshattered and unwrecked. And yet--how much would not most
women give to feel once more the fine, ecstatic shiver of that first,
foolish kiss? And the dreams of this period--how fair, how delicate, how
fragile--how utterly impractical they are! What beauties are not
conjured up by the imagination, during those delicious, sleepless
nights; only to be dissipated into chilling mist by the stern realities
of the relentless morning?

There is a very old, very trite philosophy that can be made to replace
such a state of mind. Most young men of twenty-five are gloating over
it: feeling themselves sad cynics, suffering from a tragic past.
Unbearable to others this stage may be. But it is a pleasant haven to
the individual anchored there, safe from the recent storms of
disillusionment. By January, poor Vladimir de Windt began to long for
the first signs of this state in his companion. Ivan was, certainly, in
a preposterous mood; and had not even grace enough to appreciate the
long-suffering patience of his friend, who listened, with unfailing
courtesy, to his eternal ravings over the nameless but perfectly
well-known object of his undying adoration. There did, however, finally
come a day when Vladimir's despairing wishes met with a kind of
fulfilment.

About noon on January 16th, Ivan, returning from a morning at the
riding-school, passed the church of St. Simeon. Noting the effect of the
candle-flames on the velvet darkness of that part of the interior
visible through the open portals, and remembering that it was an
especial saint's day, he entered, thinking to kneel for a moment behind
the throng of men and women by whom the church was nearly filled.
Suddenly, before he had chosen his place, he was aware of an intense
emotion. Ere he had time to analyze it, there came a light touch on his
arm, and he turned to face his cousin, Nathalie, wrapped in the soft
sables tha