<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575</id><updated>2011-04-21T10:41:17.140-07:00</updated><title type='text'>soul-riderz</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>88</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-1900321194930362217</id><published>2008-02-28T23:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T23:42:14.984-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----BLOG CHANGED-----&lt;br /&gt;BLOG 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type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=1900321194930362217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1900321194930362217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1900321194930362217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2008/02/blog-changed-blog-changed-blog-changed.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5575614780781076542</id><published>2008-02-22T07:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T07:27:17.045-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://piece-0f-shyt.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;font-size:180%;"&gt;I've moved!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5575614780781076542?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5575614780781076542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5575614780781076542' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5575614780781076542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5575614780781076542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2008/02/ive-moved.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4030883396281281184</id><published>2008-01-19T01:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-19T01:36:16.314-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ytd lessons were even mor boring than usual... then after sch went kfc wid mehn, nelson n angus.. then "coincidentally" darren n guys came too... then sec 1s FINALLY come to cca... they are a fun bunch of pple... made a game show wid them which went out okae.... then tats all for the dae liaoz..............................&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4030883396281281184?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4030883396281281184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4030883396281281184' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4030883396281281184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4030883396281281184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2008/01/ytd-lessons-were-even-mor-boring-than.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-599847005765951226</id><published>2008-01-14T04:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T04:39:37.134-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.ff-fan.com"target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.ff-fan.com/chartest/banners/squall.jpg" alt="Final Fantasy Character Test" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ff-fan.com/chartest" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ff-fan.com/final-fantasy-7" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-599847005765951226?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/599847005765951226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=599847005765951226' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/599847005765951226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/599847005765951226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2008/01/final-fantasy-character-test.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7032036154540757280</id><published>2008-01-11T00:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T00:59:59.503-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>so long nvr update le... nth special actually this few daes... awaitin for sec 1's to come next fridae... stil hav to do proposal of wat to do... haiz... dun noe how to do oso...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7032036154540757280?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7032036154540757280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7032036154540757280' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7032036154540757280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7032036154540757280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2008/01/so-long-nvr-update-le.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6506017871892550013</id><published>2007-12-26T18:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T18:46:17.776-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.ff-fan.com"target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.ff-fan.com/chartest/banners/cloud.jpg" alt="Final Fantasy Character Test"&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ff-fan.com/chartest" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;font face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" size="1"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.ff-fan.com/final-fantasy-7" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6506017871892550013?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6506017871892550013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6506017871892550013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6506017871892550013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6506017871892550013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/12/which-final-fantasy-character-are-you.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3154067060414108105</id><published>2007-12-25T17:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-25T17:38:04.898-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>bak from msia the dae b4 ytd... spent ard 4 daes thr... everydae thr is onli plae , eat , plae , eat onli... nvr do anything de.... then actually wanna buy tat bag de... RM 100 nia.. but parents dun let me buy .. sadded........ then actually todae nid go sch but then last minute cancelled le... aziz extractin two tooth todae so tat he can put on braces on fridae ....  JY manz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3154067060414108105?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3154067060414108105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3154067060414108105' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3154067060414108105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3154067060414108105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/12/bak-from-msia-dae-b4-ytd.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4188727183227196793</id><published>2007-12-03T21:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-03T21:48:34.796-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>wow.. juz return home frome chalet... ytd morning 8++ wake up then anjhana call.. ew.. then she wan folo me go then meet her at Boon lae mrt lor... took mrt to pasir ris...reach pasir ris abt 12++..  then sathia call sae can check in onli at 2.30 then anjana n me go White Sands walk walk.. she go her own wae ... lol .. then ard 2.30 we took bus to downtown then walk to our unit... saw kelly they all thr le... then me, kelly, anjana stae thr... darren n pple go beach plae... after awhile vathsala came running bak to take water coz eileen cut her feet... then they come bak every1 plae poker.... then we set up bbq pit le.... charcoal dunno siao siao de ... gt something wrong.. then at night mrs. tong brought her son along.. then every1 makan... then after every1 left le, we all go to room plae truth or dare... sian... every1 keep targeting me de.... then plae till ard 1 am ++ then every1 slp le ... bt me n kelly go plae darren com.. kelly plae til 2am++ then slp le.... i plae for awhile morethan him then slp .. lol... next morning i woke up last =X.... then pack up check out then go makan at mac.... makan le then darren , sathia , mr lam n his family went to wild wild wet... as for the rest of us, we went home of cuz.... then tats all fer todae liao lo...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4188727183227196793?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4188727183227196793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4188727183227196793' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4188727183227196793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4188727183227196793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/12/wow.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8713503457405932899</id><published>2007-11-29T16:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-29T16:58:05.572-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>past few daes nvr post... coz dunno wat to post oso lol.. ytd went to sch 10.30..  i was 30 minutes early... mr. lam and other guys all not ard coz gt Apicta...then saw kelly so folo him ard lo.. then we went to com lab.. aziz then come liao.. we plae com thr till mr. chen call us go down check equipments. then tok tok a while then took his car go NUS culture. thr lo... reach thr .. then find spot for cam.. then fix cam prob then went to mac.. shuqi help us look after things.. then finish liao went bak walk ard.. the museum dam sian... then do work till 6.00 liddat then went out slack ... slack till ard 7.00 then went to prepare le...prepare finish liao then zhenyuan came.. we played wid his cam lol..... then concert 7.30 start then gt CO n choir lor... then finished ard 9.45... then mr chen send all of us homw.. including ms wong.. then reach home ard 11pm liddat.. then go makan then slp le ...............&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8713503457405932899?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8713503457405932899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8713503457405932899' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8713503457405932899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8713503457405932899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/past-few-daes-nvr-post.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8640995169193481548</id><published>2007-11-27T00:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T00:27:44.665-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/clapperboard.jpg" border="0" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8640995169193481548?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8640995169193481548/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8640995169193481548' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8640995169193481548'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8640995169193481548'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/photo-sharing-and-video-hosting-at.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8890973221928497044</id><published>2007-11-25T19:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T19:34:34.717-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... juz gt my hair cut .. actually dun wan cut de.. bt mama insist so cut lo.... now its like dam short.. lol... everydae at home rot..  do nth... actually lata go out wid class watch movie de.. but then all oso cannot ... haiz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8890973221928497044?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8890973221928497044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8890973221928497044' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8890973221928497044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8890973221928497044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/haiz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4438400362660143453</id><published>2007-11-22T02:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T02:52:34.923-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sianz... todae suae until cannot suae anymor.... when goin home waited for 154 for ard half hr? then at boon lay thr c wrong bus.... then took bus 99 at bus stop opp. the temple thr... then while flagging the bus, gt one fkin blind cyclist knock into my hand.. then my wallet flew n i went to pick it up... then when board the bus liao .. when standing near the door thr... gt one guy dunno wat he doin oso .. almost fell dwn then grab my hand... then i almost fall oso ... then i was like WTF!@  then i look at him a while... then get down tat bus le... sianz... but at sch open hse dry run considered ok la... stil can manage.. tmr n sat. real thing le ... muz jy~~~~~~~`&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4438400362660143453?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4438400362660143453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4438400362660143453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4438400362660143453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4438400362660143453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/sianz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8330541404070643096</id><published>2007-11-20T03:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T03:40:31.645-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>PPLE, pls help us, Mediaworks, to vote at &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://sg.wowtv.com/vodmovie_ugc.aspx?vod_sid=20071114390885719799"&gt;WOWTV&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thanks alot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8330541404070643096?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8330541404070643096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8330541404070643096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8330541404070643096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8330541404070643096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/pple-pls-help-us-mediaworks-to-vote-at.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3676727059982978309</id><published>2007-11-20T03:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T03:15:37.667-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>todae at sch prepare open hse.. mr lam nvr cum... then do things .. plae game... sadly dunno why one of the laptops de screen spoil liao.... went home ard 5++ tats all fer todae le.. nth special..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3676727059982978309?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3676727059982978309/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3676727059982978309' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3676727059982978309'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3676727059982978309'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/todae-at-sch-prepare-open-hse.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6656240153882243302</id><published>2007-11-15T04:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T04:33:31.431-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Mondae&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;went to sch 8++ liddat i think. then pack equipments, n went to pple hse wif seniors n mr lam to take video fer community thingy. then went to kinokuniya cos seniors gt $200 bucks worth of vouchers... n they bought damn thick books... which i think if it was me i would hav to take years to finish. then went to mac makan . makan then go home le.. reach home abt 7++ pm ? lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tuesdae&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;wake up at 4.30am then reach sathia's hse at 5.45 liddat. then went to woodlands thr to film again... then nth special ... after tat went home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Wednesdae&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;meet aziz in the morning then went sch.. seniors call both of us to go mac buy breakfast... at tat time it was raining... then we lazy to walk thr so wait at bus stop.... budden be4 154 come, gt 1 bloody **** bus went past us fast fast and the rain wateer at the side of the road poured onto us .. we were dam wet. den bought 30++ bucks worth of food bak... then afternoon nvr rain le... we went shen shiong thr makan ... then do work till 6++ liddat then go home le.... sadded&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Todae&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;same- meet aziz, but aziz late like ****, then go sch prepare open hse thingy... i painted n aziz do his clay figurine lol ... quite fun. then went home abt 6 liddat. tmr dunid go sch.. considered a bad thing? sure need to do lots of qork de... haiz...&lt;br /&gt;sian diao... sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6656240153882243302?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6656240153882243302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6656240153882243302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6656240153882243302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6656240153882243302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/mondae-went-to-sch-8-liddat-i-think.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2758919433801758294</id><published>2007-11-14T03:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T03:17:50.312-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>WTF la..... why issit alwaes liddat de...... WALAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;giv up liao la..... ddun giv a damn le..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2758919433801758294?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2758919433801758294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2758919433801758294' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2758919433801758294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2758919433801758294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/wtf-la.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3491773625542866307</id><published>2007-11-08T04:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-08T04:33:53.477-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lol... blog finally revive le.....weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.....................&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3491773625542866307?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3491773625542866307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3491773625542866307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3491773625542866307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3491773625542866307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/11/lol.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2648081311487374968</id><published>2007-08-30T05:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T05:36:30.924-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/daBQONBikQM"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/daBQONBikQM" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2648081311487374968?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2648081311487374968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2648081311487374968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2648081311487374968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2648081311487374968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/08/blog-post_30.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4761730489513872247</id><published>2007-08-15T03:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-15T03:32:32.255-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sianz... juz now gt councillor interview n i was like answer only 2,3 questions out of 15 liaddat ? sianz..... sianz... sianz..... bryan know how to answer all of them .... den went home with zheng kang n bryan... den too late le nvr go tuition ^^ ... results wld b out tmr...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4761730489513872247?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4761730489513872247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4761730489513872247' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4761730489513872247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4761730489513872247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/08/sianz_15.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3168642841713532983</id><published>2007-08-14T04:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-14T04:25:21.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sianz.... too lazy to post.... k... first... happy b'dae to darren!!! n tmr gt councillor dong dong..... dunno to b or not to be.... haiz.... den mehn become logistics..... yida wan me be event planner but i dun wan but he sae muz be... sianz......... sick n tired...... packed with alot of things to do.....sianz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3168642841713532983?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3168642841713532983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3168642841713532983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3168642841713532983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3168642841713532983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/08/sianz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5468569625624350848</id><published>2007-07-25T01:34:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T01:34:57.622-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,29,0" width="150" height="100"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.chocopets.com/chocopets.swf?pid=9098"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;param name=quality value=high&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;embed src="http://www.chocopets.com/chocopets.swf?pid=9098" wmode="transparent" quality=high pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="150" height="100"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5468569625624350848?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5468569625624350848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5468569625624350848' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5468569625624350848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5468569625624350848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/blog-post_25.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7411861255452073368</id><published>2007-07-24T00:10:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T00:11:46.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sianz....wtf la... mr sim anyhow punish go eat my shid la....... sianz... dun write liaoz...write for him once le... not writing anymor.... sianz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7411861255452073368?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7411861255452073368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7411861255452073368' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7411861255452073368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7411861255452073368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/sianz_24.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6700833203736352516</id><published>2007-07-24T00:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T00:10:27.596-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="768" height="576"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.skyalbum.com/album/yiongcs/46a5a4b019e/album_001.swf"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.skyalbum.com/album/yiongcs/46a5a4b019e/album_001.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="768" height="576"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6700833203736352516?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6700833203736352516/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6700833203736352516' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6700833203736352516'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6700833203736352516'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/blog-post_24.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3504824490342342810</id><published>2007-07-20T04:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-20T04:52:07.341-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>sianz.... todae gt vip come sch... pm.... lol .... considered a success fer the school?.... lol.. then took video of him n ms tham who was smiling ear to ear.... then ran ard the school.... after tat went to eat wid mr. lam, darren , sathia, eleen( dunno if spell correctly) n vasthala.... lol.... then when going back, saw nelson at bus stop ... then went back wid him... saw karna n then nelson n her was like "shoutin" on the bus wid her? lolx.... sianz.... stil gt 49 pages to copy..... aiya!!! dun copy le lar... i dun give a damn anymore....... hehe.... he wan scold let him scold lor.... i oso nvr plae.... =P...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3504824490342342810?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3504824490342342810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3504824490342342810' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3504824490342342810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3504824490342342810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/sianz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-1899568324106306647</id><published>2007-07-10T00:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T01:25:54.483-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>TOOK IT FROM LOO... =D &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's my mission:Name 20 people I can think of right now. Don't read the question until I have named the 20 of them. At the end of it all, choose 5 people to do this.&lt;br /&gt;Ready?Then Go Ahead!:D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 20 people:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#1 Mehn ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 Nelson ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3 Shan ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#4 Loo !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#5 Zavier ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#6 Jojo ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#7 LAobu ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#8 Nizam ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#9 Aziz !&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#10 Chee Seng ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#11 Syl ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#12 Gek Yang ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#13 Wang Da ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#14 Joseph ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#15 Samuel ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#16 Mr. G ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#17 Kelly ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#18 Papa ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#19 Mama ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#20 Chris ! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Erase after seeing this)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did you meet #14? Medai club =)! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would you do if you never met #1? dunno.. cnt be de... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would you do if #20 and #9 dated ? lol... gae?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you ever like #19? why not? mama!!!!woaini!!!=X &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would #6 and #7 make good couple? zzz... les?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Describe #3. heavenly... =P &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you think #8 is attractive? lolx.... why not??? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me something about #7. siao siao &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you know any of #12's family? ya! parents, bros, maids ... everyone!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are#8's favourite? Faridah? =X shhhh... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What would you do if #18 confesses that he/she likes you ? =.=" zzz.... i dun wan be gae!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What language does #15 speak? chinese . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is #9 going out with? dunno? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How old is #16 now? 30++ &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you spoke to #13? er.... few hrs ago? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who is #2's favourite singer or band? maeday?lol.. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you ever date #17? zzz.... she smaller than me 3 yrs sian n is my gd fren sis somemore!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is #15 single? ya... no one wans him =X&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is #10's last name? Seng!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would you ever be in a serious relationship with #11? zzz.... i c her one time siam 1 time lolx.. jkjk can onli be gd frenz...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What school does #3 goes to? JSSS &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where does #6 live? dunno???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's your favourite about #5? HE is er.... horny?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever seen #1 naked? zzz.... no way!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-1899568324106306647?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/1899568324106306647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=1899568324106306647' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1899568324106306647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1899568324106306647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/took-it-from-loo.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4933419201768104608</id><published>2007-07-05T04:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-05T04:55:32.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;embed src="http://widget-37.slide.com/widgets/slideticker.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" quality="high" scale="noscale" salign="l" wmode="transparent" flashvars="site=widget-37.slide.com&amp;channel=576460752304396599&amp;cy=be&amp;il=1" width="400" height="300" name="flashticker" align="middle"/&gt;&lt;div style="width:400px;text-align:left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?ad=0&amp;tt=5&amp;sk=13&amp;cy=be&amp;th=33&amp;id=576460752304396599&amp;map=1" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://widget-37.slide.com/p1/576460752304396599/be_t005_v000_a000_f00/images/xslide1.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.slide.com/pivot?ad=0&amp;tt=5&amp;sk=13&amp;cy=be&amp;th=33&amp;id=576460752304396599&amp;map=2" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://widget-37.slide.com/p2/576460752304396599/be_t005_v000_a000_f00/images/xslide2.gif" border="0" ismap="ismap" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4933419201768104608?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4933419201768104608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4933419201768104608' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4933419201768104608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4933419201768104608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6509178437275957095</id><published>2007-07-05T04:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-05T04:38:00.478-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.truefriendtest.com/friendtest/665024"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.truefriendtest.com/friend/665024/1.gif" alt="Leaderboard" border="0"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.truefriendtest.com"&gt;&lt;br &gt;Create your own Friend Test here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#EEE9E9" align=center&gt;&lt;font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'&gt;&lt;b&gt;Your Japanese Name Is...&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#FFFAFA"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.blogthings.com/japanesenamegenerator/boy.jpg" height="100" width="100"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;font color="#000000"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Kiyoshi Askikaga&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/japanesenamegenerator/"&gt;What's your Japanese Name?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#DDDDDD" align=center&gt;&lt;font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'&gt;&lt;b&gt;You Are Not a Cheapskate&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#EEEEEE"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.blogthings.com/areyouacheapskatequiz/cheapskate-2.jpg" height="100" width="100"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;font color="#000000"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it comes to money, you're very fair.&lt;br /&gt;You're generous when you can be, and you never cheat anyone out of what they deserve.&lt;br /&gt;If you have the money, you enjoy splurging. But you never overspend.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/areyouacheapskatequiz/"&gt;Are You a Cheapskate?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#EEEEEE" align=center&gt;&lt;font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'&gt;&lt;b&gt;You Are "Dizzy and Giddy"&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.blogthings.com/whatjapanesesmileyareyouquiz/giddy.gif" height="100" width="100"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/whatjapanesesmileyareyouquiz/"&gt;What Japanese Smiley Are You?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#999999" align=center&gt;&lt;font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'&gt;&lt;b&gt;You Should Be a Joke Writer&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#CCCCCC"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.blogthings.com/whattypeofwritershouldyoubequiz/joke.jpg" height="100" width="100"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;font color="#000000"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're totally hilarious, and you can find the humor in any situation.&lt;br /&gt;Whether you're spouting off zingers, comebacks, or jokes about life...&lt;br /&gt;You usually can keep a crowd laughing, and you have plenty of material.&lt;br /&gt;You have the makings of a great comedian - or comedic writer.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/whattypeofwritershouldyoubequiz/"&gt;What Type of Writer Should You Be?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;table width=350 align=center border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=2&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#FF9900" align=center&gt;&lt;font face="Georgia, Times New Roman, Times, serif" style='color:black; font-size: 14pt;'&gt;&lt;b&gt;You Are&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td bgcolor="#FFD79A"&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.blogthings.com/whatsyourpumpkinfacequiz/roboface.jpg" height="100" width="100"&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;font color="#000000"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A Robo Pumpkin Face&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You would make a good pumpkin cyborg.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogthings.com/whatsyourpumpkinfacequiz/"&gt;What's Your Pumpkin Face?&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6509178437275957095?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6509178437275957095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6509178437275957095' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6509178437275957095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6509178437275957095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/your-japanese-name-is.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8727335789489412438</id><published>2007-07-03T02:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T02:32:23.039-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx....juz now reach home ard 2 then bath le go slp till 5.13...=S  very sianz at home ... haaish&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8727335789489412438?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8727335789489412438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8727335789489412438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8727335789489412438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8727335789489412438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/07/lolx.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-86434520422428959</id><published>2007-06-18T17:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-18T17:54:35.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx...so long nvr blogged le... moulded liaoz... past few dae no time so nvr blog...went to jec wid cs, syl, kelly, mr.g n others to watch men in white... too bad mr. ferry cnt make it....then sat when m'sia again....sianz.. then ytd gt retest ... it was damn easy.. coz they give us the same paper n we memorised the previous paper's answer... SHHHH!!!=X...  then finished the paper within 15 minutes... lolx... =D... now rotting at home... nth to do........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-86434520422428959?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/86434520422428959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=86434520422428959' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/86434520422428959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/86434520422428959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/06/lolx.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2451905385863222221</id><published>2007-06-13T05:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T05:34:05.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>arloooo....looooong time since i posted.... very sianz at home .... 18jun stil have to go bak sch retest ... sobx.... goin m'sia again this sat... sadded&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2451905385863222221?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2451905385863222221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2451905385863222221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2451905385863222221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2451905385863222221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/06/arloooo.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-1957703164989545743</id><published>2007-06-05T19:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T19:50:29.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/TqxCwjpwXE/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/TqxCwjpwXE/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-1957703164989545743?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/1957703164989545743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=1957703164989545743' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1957703164989545743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1957703164989545743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-post_05.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7482771059696429621</id><published>2007-06-03T17:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-03T17:05:18.075-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! so sianz at home... everydae onli study, study n stil, study... haiz.... xiangnixiangdaofeng.....=X...... haiz.....ytd went to lib wid bro then do work when finish le planned to go wid him n his frenz to pool but i tooo small the pple dun let me in .. haiz... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/8u8UyWLa7S/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/8u8UyWLa7S/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7482771059696429621?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7482771059696429621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7482771059696429621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7482771059696429621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7482771059696429621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/06/ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh-so-sianz-at-home.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2483832441110024238</id><published>2007-06-01T18:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-01T18:33:00.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/Ux5Rv13stF/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/Ux5Rv13stF/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/JaJi-yFKt_/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/JaJi-yFKt_/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/jhlgP4Ibyh/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/jhlgP4Ibyh/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/kMz9RyxxBj/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/kMz9RyxxBj/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/qV4dV47c7F/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/qV4dV47c7F/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2483832441110024238?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2483832441110024238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2483832441110024238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2483832441110024238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2483832441110024238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-post_01.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-716797378023606251</id><published>2007-06-01T04:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-01T04:35:06.465-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/Jlvpdw3d_s/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/Jlvpdw3d_s/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-716797378023606251?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/716797378023606251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=716797378023606251' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/716797378023606251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/716797378023606251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-9111124378013337276</id><published>2007-05-30T03:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-30T03:51:12.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>wootz... finally back from camp le.... quite fun... but would be even more fun wid her thr...haiz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-9111124378013337276?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/9111124378013337276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=9111124378013337276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/9111124378013337276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/9111124378013337276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/wootz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4307958842727334974</id><published>2007-05-27T00:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-27T00:17:23.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz.... tmr till wed gt to go innova jc camp...haiz... will miss her de... dunno wat to post oso... haiz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4307958842727334974?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4307958842727334974/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4307958842727334974' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4307958842727334974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4307958842727334974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_27.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-979094492422887703</id><published>2007-05-18T00:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-18T23:45:16.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... ytd nvr blog coz reach home at 6.30 then change le then went to plae ball wid bro till 9 liddat.. haiz..... sadded...为什么???!!!haiz.... very sianz... thinking of youz....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/Rk6c2065ChI/AAAAAAAAABU/W8Anmk6aKzQ/s1600-h/bubble.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/Rk6c2065ChI/AAAAAAAAABU/W8Anmk6aKzQ/s200/bubble.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5066159096570907154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-979094492422887703?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/979094492422887703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=979094492422887703' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/979094492422887703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/979094492422887703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_18.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/Rk6c2065ChI/AAAAAAAAABU/W8Anmk6aKzQ/s72-c/bubble.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7637084560660261096</id><published>2007-05-16T01:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-16T01:45:07.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>ARGH!!!i m such a great dissapointment....i promised her tat i will pass everything yet i failed like shid!!!!!! argh!!!! haiz... sob.... haiz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7637084560660261096?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7637084560660261096/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7637084560660261096' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7637084560660261096'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7637084560660261096'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/arghi-m-such-great-dissapointment.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-1526004016464953226</id><published>2007-05-13T20:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T20:25:33.318-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... very sianz... wonderin wat u doin...... wan to go out but dunno go whr... sianz...... haiz.... papa confiscate phone... haiz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-1526004016464953226?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/1526004016464953226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=1526004016464953226' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1526004016464953226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1526004016464953226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_6356.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4034853848863345421</id><published>2007-05-13T20:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T20:25:16.425-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... very sianz... wonderin wat u doin...... wan to go out but dunno go whr... sianz...... haiz.... papa confiscate phone... haiz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4034853848863345421?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4034853848863345421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4034853848863345421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4034853848863345421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4034853848863345421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_1941.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7556047185064790085</id><published>2007-05-13T17:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-13T17:58:53.349-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz...sadded.... dun call or sms me anymore...... sob..... laopa confiscate my phone le........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7556047185064790085?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7556047185064790085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7556047185064790085' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7556047185064790085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7556047185064790085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_13.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7566982812624204156</id><published>2007-05-10T20:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T20:14:07.054-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Wooooootzzzzzzzz....exam finally over loooo..... hope can get gd results  then casn go out wid her anytime i wan ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ lolx......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7566982812624204156?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7566982812624204156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7566982812624204156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7566982812624204156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7566982812624204156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/wooooootzzzzzzzz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8202256812518472233</id><published>2007-05-09T02:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-09T02:36:16.335-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... very sianz..... dunno wad to do... went to jp todae , eat le then i go buy thing wid loo , nelson n jo... then went home straight.. halfwae through c mum.. sadded... haiz... wondering wat she doin now.... very sianz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8202256812518472233?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8202256812518472233/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8202256812518472233' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8202256812518472233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8202256812518472233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_09.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5382983705502739932</id><published>2007-05-05T15:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-05T15:57:00.299-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="width: 180px; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.metrolyrics.com/scroller/scroller2.swf?lyricid=1517090417&amp;border=2&amp;bordert=80&amp;bgfont=0xC0C0C0&amp;bg=http://www.metrolyrics.com/scroller/bgpic/bluedisco.jpg&amp;filter=0x000000&amp;filtert=25&amp;txt=0xFFFFFF&amp;fontname=arial&amp;fontsize=11&amp;speed=2" quality="high" bgcolor="#006666" width="180" height="210" name="scroll" align="middle" allowScriptAccess="sameDomain" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/O8EY9OqO_X/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/O8EY9OqO_X/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5382983705502739932?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5382983705502739932/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5382983705502739932' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5382983705502739932'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5382983705502739932'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/so-sick-lyrics.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7146093486664974745</id><published>2007-05-05T15:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-05T15:42:20.628-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz...ytd nite kena scolded by papa...why issit tat i m such a great dissapointment ???blah blah blah....sianz....hope tat can get gd results for mye!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7146093486664974745?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7146093486664974745/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7146093486664974745' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7146093486664974745'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7146093486664974745'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz_05.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6319553256942219807</id><published>2007-05-04T05:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T05:19:19.388-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>okaes.... i will take the initiative the next time when i gt the chance... haiz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6319553256942219807?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6319553256942219807/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6319553256942219807' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6319553256942219807'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6319553256942219807'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/okaes.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3625180121745062832</id><published>2007-05-04T00:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T00:42:15.939-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>arloooo....haiz... todae very sianz... had lunch... haiz nelson n i lightbulb...then went to toys r us to plae.... quite fun but kena scolded by pple....lolx.... then went library to chat n plae but zavier went home.... then oso kena warning for two times....haiz... sianz......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3625180121745062832?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3625180121745062832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3625180121745062832' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3625180121745062832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3625180121745062832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/arloooo.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6367606572974179834</id><published>2007-05-03T02:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-03T02:35:07.159-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... very sianz.... but lucky gt pple chat to mix...=) haiz... tmr gt maths test... hope she n i can pass loooo......jiayouz!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6367606572974179834?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6367606572974179834/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6367606572974179834' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6367606572974179834'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6367606572974179834'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/haiz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4177991457205034473</id><published>2007-05-02T00:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-03T03:41:17.271-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;center&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.truefriendtest.com/friendtest/322946"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.truefriendtest.com/friend/322946/1.gif" alt="Leaderboard" border="0"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.truefriendtest.com"&gt;&lt;br &gt;Create your own Friend Test here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/O8EY9OqO_X/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/O8EY9OqO_X/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4177991457205034473?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4177991457205034473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4177991457205034473' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4177991457205034473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4177991457205034473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/create-your-own-friend-test-here.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3725352077417922476</id><published>2007-05-01T23:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-01T23:46:08.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx... todae went to mc wid zavier, nelson ,loo n piggy =)....eat liao then went to library .... i gt study leh.. so guai!!! then, went to jp.. kiddypalace.. AGAIN!!!lolx... then went to kopitiam... then go home le.... lol...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(*eh piggy, dun keep saein jian fei leh... eat more!!!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3725352077417922476?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3725352077417922476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3725352077417922476' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3725352077417922476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3725352077417922476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/05/lolx.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8373451295904015870</id><published>2007-04-30T20:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T20:02:09.194-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx..i promised her to do well in exam...soo i hope will do well ... JIAYOUZ....lol.... muz study fer exam liaoz....sianz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8373451295904015870?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8373451295904015870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8373451295904015870' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8373451295904015870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8373451295904015870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lolx_30.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-467393899354707021</id><published>2007-04-30T03:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T03:02:07.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... i m so dissapointed in myself... haiz..... why i so timid siaz.... hiaz.. shld have took initiative... haiz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-467393899354707021?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/467393899354707021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=467393899354707021' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/467393899354707021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/467393899354707021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/haiz_30.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2705308321786097759</id><published>2007-04-27T06:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-27T06:22:45.247-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>woaini!!!!!WOOT!!!lolx...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2705308321786097759?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2705308321786097759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2705308321786097759' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2705308321786097759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2705308321786097759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/woainiwootlolx.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7833508220756670044</id><published>2007-04-24T02:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-24T02:20:41.638-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... todae is a very sian dae.... nth fun happened todae... stil gt makeup lesson by mr sim haiz.... before lesson, nelson stil go smash the window, luckily mr sim nvr scold but then muz use class fund to pae.... =.= haiz... sianz.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7833508220756670044?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7833508220756670044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7833508220756670044' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7833508220756670044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7833508220756670044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/haiz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3001698031545810890</id><published>2007-04-23T02:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T02:30:43.707-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>WALAO!!!nabei la... bro go scold me vugalrity mom wan cane me ... fk them la ..................anyhow then scold scold scold.... sae wat alwaes complain of everythin... walao!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3001698031545810890?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3001698031545810890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3001698031545810890' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3001698031545810890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3001698031545810890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/walaonabei-la.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2545020643238040682</id><published>2007-04-23T01:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T01:26:24.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx.... juz now saw chee seng on the bus... lol... he stil very short and fat =X... went to jp to study lol... i very guai horx...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2545020643238040682?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2545020643238040682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2545020643238040682' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2545020643238040682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2545020643238040682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lolx_23.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5472246619264268277</id><published>2007-04-21T20:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-21T20:40:32.901-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx.... =D i passed my swimmin exam ytd..... finally it is over... then too lazy to turn on com so nvr blog for these few daes... =X....then parents keep naggin liaoz... haiz.......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5472246619264268277?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5472246619264268277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5472246619264268277' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5472246619264268277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5472246619264268277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lolx_21.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5998217623556962749</id><published>2007-04-20T03:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T03:49:41.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9xpAiLSLd6c"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9xpAiLSLd6c" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5998217623556962749?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5998217623556962749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5998217623556962749' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5998217623556962749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5998217623556962749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/blog-post_20.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8439626352123385615</id><published>2007-04-20T01:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T02:00:23.067-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolx....todae nvr go jp... XD.. phew =X..but stil had fun lahx... no photo to post....dunno wat to tok liaoz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8439626352123385615?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8439626352123385615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8439626352123385615' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8439626352123385615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8439626352123385615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lolx.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4480700040761488317</id><published>2007-04-18T03:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-18T03:39:58.913-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lol...todae went to jp, AGAIN!!!lolx... ate at mac, then went to plae ...lots of things lah!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiX1K--z9qI/AAAAAAAAABE/bp8xAyMqHsw/s1600-h/DSC03412.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiX1K--z9qI/AAAAAAAAABE/bp8xAyMqHsw/s200/DSC03412.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054715725847197346" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiX1Ze-z9rI/AAAAAAAAABM/slRqFuI3IYE/s1600-h/DSC03406.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiX1Ze-z9rI/AAAAAAAAABM/slRqFuI3IYE/s200/DSC03406.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5054715974955300530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4480700040761488317?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4480700040761488317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4480700040761488317' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4480700040761488317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4480700040761488317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lol.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiX1K--z9qI/AAAAAAAAABE/bp8xAyMqHsw/s72-c/DSC03412.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-4691714795190913304</id><published>2007-04-16T02:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T02:41:54.672-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolz.... todae had fun wid mama n frenz at jp....... stil gt som1 wack mama... *sob* =X...oops...lolz... reached home at bout 4... then kena nagged by real mom...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiNEvF276TI/AAAAAAAAAA8/fUfw3vXEkMA/s1600-h/me+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiNEvF276TI/AAAAAAAAAA8/fUfw3vXEkMA/s200/me+2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053958782656964914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiNEkV276SI/AAAAAAAAAA0/_CrsogHtl-s/s1600-h/me.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiNEkV276SI/AAAAAAAAAA0/_CrsogHtl-s/s200/me.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053958597973371170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-4691714795190913304?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/4691714795190913304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=4691714795190913304' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4691714795190913304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/4691714795190913304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lolz_16.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiNEvF276TI/AAAAAAAAAA8/fUfw3vXEkMA/s72-c/me+2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-791183920807739227</id><published>2007-04-14T19:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-14T20:25:08.308-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/6IOsaHcNHp/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/m/6IOsaHcNHp/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="80" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-791183920807739227?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/791183920807739227/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=791183920807739227' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/791183920807739227'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/791183920807739227'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/blog-post_14.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7222715909484528218</id><published>2007-04-14T18:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-14T18:02:27.199-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>WALAO!!!!ytd watch tv halfwae then bro dsiao, then shouted... then father go turn off tv... sianz... very bored.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7222715909484528218?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7222715909484528218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7222715909484528218' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7222715909484528218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7222715909484528218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/walaoytd-watch-tv-halfwae-then-bro.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3004736326947118530</id><published>2007-04-14T00:50:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-14T01:00:54.097-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>diaoz...mama break with papa =X...joseph le... diaoz...dun cry hor LAO BU!!!!=X&lt;br /&gt;ytd gt naffa..... haiz.... very tired... 2dae stil cnt plae or go out... sianz....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJgF276OI/AAAAAAAAAAU/B1NZT1HIDl0/s1600-h/nelson,+me.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJgF276OI/AAAAAAAAAAU/B1NZT1HIDl0/s200/nelson,+me.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053189966331111650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJsF276PI/AAAAAAAAAAc/V4KN26ffpAU/s1600-h/nelson+n+me2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJsF276PI/AAAAAAAAAAc/V4KN26ffpAU/s200/nelson+n+me2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053190172489541874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJ-l276QI/AAAAAAAAAAk/2xPK1JsL54o/s1600-h/joyce+n+me+1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJ-l276QI/AAAAAAAAAAk/2xPK1JsL54o/s200/joyce+n+me+1.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053190490317121794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCKGF276RI/AAAAAAAAAAs/dnSr20Tp52k/s1600-h/joyce+n+me+3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCKGF276RI/AAAAAAAAAAs/dnSr20Tp52k/s200/joyce+n+me+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053190619166140690" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3004736326947118530?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3004736326947118530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3004736326947118530' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3004736326947118530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3004736326947118530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/diaoz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_mnJrK2QOkKQ/RiCJgF276OI/AAAAAAAAAAU/B1NZT1HIDl0/s72-c/nelson,+me.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-781504147189297020</id><published>2007-04-14T00:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-14T00:50:29.199-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qEs3MciWwI4"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qEs3MciWwI4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-781504147189297020?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/781504147189297020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=781504147189297020' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/781504147189297020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/781504147189297020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-6591151204247971120</id><published>2007-04-13T03:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-13T03:54:41.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>lolz.... ytd went to rugby match go do photo......had a fun bt tiring dae...then 2dae lao bu go style my hair...lolx......like a pile of grass...=X.... haiz.... dunno wat tosae liaoz.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-6591151204247971120?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/6591151204247971120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=6591151204247971120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6591151204247971120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/6591151204247971120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/04/lolz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-1858959189762599347</id><published>2007-03-05T02:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-05T02:40:29.184-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/BEfA_1gCWVc"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/BEfA_1gCWVc" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-1858959189762599347?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/1858959189762599347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=1858959189762599347' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1858959189762599347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/1858959189762599347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5056006426341422120</id><published>2007-02-23T00:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T00:13:41.695-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... todae at school very sianz.... haiz.... haiz... mama sae maebe wun let me go JY again le.... haiz.... at school fren oso call me chao chee b_e sern....... but gd thing tat cca meetin cancelled 2dae .................... haiz......... dunnno wat to sae liaozzzzzzzzzzzz..............&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5056006426341422120?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5056006426341422120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5056006426341422120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5056006426341422120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5056006426341422120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/02/haiz_23.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-2721108195055478613</id><published>2007-02-15T02:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-15T02:57:40.682-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>diaoz.... lolz.... todae at school quarrel wif 1 fren.... wah!!!!!! at JSS very the lonely siaz.... everything very borin de.... haiz.... geography teacher teacher tok very soft then very monotonous de... i think even my grandmother can tok better than her siaz......... haiz..... aya!!! hope can c everyone from ex-6A go to JYPS tmr lor....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-2721108195055478613?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/2721108195055478613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=2721108195055478613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2721108195055478613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/2721108195055478613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/02/diaoz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-7016798123516811026</id><published>2007-02-12T23:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-06T23:30:02.167-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>hihi..... long time nvr blog liaoz.....lol....... common test juz over gt 25 / 32 for maths...... haiz....... argh!!!!!!!!!! i wan go juying!!!!!!!!!! but sadly stil cnt go.. lol... haiz....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-7016798123516811026?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/7016798123516811026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=7016798123516811026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7016798123516811026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/7016798123516811026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/02/hihi.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-8713672429113676977</id><published>2007-02-06T23:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-06T23:30:02.241-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>zzz..... haiz.... at school very sianz siaz...... common test gt a lot then very difficult then very tring oso....... ARGH!!!!!!!!!!!! haiz.... teacher teach oso a bit borin no jokes at all wan... haiz.... then chao da gal very infuriatin wan...... she so chao wan~~~~~~~~!!!! haiz.... she kana strike by lightnin best la..... tok about her then dun wan type liao .... haiz.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-8713672429113676977?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/8713672429113676977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=8713672429113676977' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8713672429113676977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/8713672429113676977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/02/zzz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-5138895937626888467</id><published>2007-02-01T00:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-01T00:35:45.290-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz....2dae hor the chao da gal very the noisy wan lor..... i told her to siam... n stop coming to my seat bt hor she very the bu yao lian wan leh... keep asking wan to go their house on cny not... then isae no,no,no liaoz... still come ask me ... haiz... dou guai wo tai you mei li lei...=X&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-5138895937626888467?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/5138895937626888467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=5138895937626888467' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5138895937626888467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/5138895937626888467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/02/haiz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-3564718312667739124</id><published>2007-01-31T01:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-31T01:23:01.654-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... 2dae horz... the black black chao da gal come to pester me again lorz.... i was like WALAO!!!!!!! haiz... she onli noe how to pester me...haiz..... wat to do siaz... she keep pestering me ....  is she is like chee seng then gooooooood.... siaz....... can bully her.... like using shoe to smack the mouth... hahaz.....lolz..... gt to go now liaoz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-3564718312667739124?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/3564718312667739124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=3564718312667739124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3564718312667739124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/3564718312667739124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/01/haiz_31.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-116972088356055445</id><published>2007-01-25T02:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-01-25T02:28:03.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz... soooooo long time nvr blog liaoz.... haiyo!!! in school , gt 1 gal keep pestering me 1 leh.... she always ask if i am staying back and can i do project wid her, i tell her tiam tiam she oso stil dun care, keep pestering me, but few days ago, i shout at her and tell her to stop disturbing me then she now keep quiet liaoz...phew... then hor beside me gt 1 guy... always wan to copy my work wan... bt everytime oso kana rejected wan la...haiz.... my teachr teach a bit boring la.... then my PE teachr is dm siaz... then when PE nid to run 2.4km at the jurong lake park htere... haiz..... sooooo tiring wan .... at jy at least better... class vry funny, interesting and still gt a lot of frens to talk to... now leh... haiya!!!! like shid liddat.... haiz... gtg now liaoz..... hope can go juying on the 16th lor....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-116972088356055445?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/116972088356055445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=116972088356055445' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116972088356055445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116972088356055445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2007/01/haiz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-116631910913190686</id><published>2006-12-16T16:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-22T03:38:38.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>haiz....few months nvr blog liaoz....&lt;br /&gt;juz return to singapor from langkawi on friday....took some photoz....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dineeeer.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dinneeer.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dineer.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dinner.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/pragnantladyhill.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/maygetstikedbylightning.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/insideofcablecar.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/Image033.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/bridge.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/cablecar.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/insideofcave.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/entrancetobatcave.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/batcave.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/cave.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/stingray.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/Piranha.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/ourboat.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/Jellyfish.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/Horseshoecrab.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/Grouper.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/fishfarm.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dinneeeeeeer.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dinneeeeeer.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img src="http://i118.photobucket.com/albums/o115/yiong/dinneeeeer.jpg" alt="Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-116631910913190686?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/116631910913190686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=116631910913190686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116631910913190686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116631910913190686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2006/12/haiz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-116317222608972892</id><published>2006-11-10T07:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T07:23:46.176-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>yoz...today n yesterday hor ...i really wan to explode cos of someone la... during robotics, huini actually  give me those kind of like i owe her millions of $$$ liddat kind of face manz.... i feel like giving her a tight slap sia.... then after tat particular day she go cry siaz.. n oso 4 no particular reason siaz... aiya even if she want to suicide ... juz tell me la ... i help her arh...this yime ms. tan oso nvr buy matress to 'houp' her ar ...then 2day , she give me the bue song bue song face, then i say to her u nt happy issit ... then she quiet 4 a while .... then few minutes lata she cry a bit then she quarrell for a while then laugh again...wa laoz ... gt this kind of pple wan ar? juz like a idiotic cameleon .... color change anytime... wa !!! this time fll team with her i suay siaz... everyday gt unlucky thungs happen to me 1 siaz....muz b bcos of her.. mm mmm mmm ....now tok abt her oso sian diao.... volcano erupt liao ar...... now gt heart attckz................... n if like last yr without her then song liaoz lor ...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-116317222608972892?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/116317222608972892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=116317222608972892' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116317222608972892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116317222608972892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2006/11/yoz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-116228901122987175</id><published>2006-10-31T02:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-10-31T02:03:31.486-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>yoz...long time no blog siaz... today the blender thing course quite fun siaz... bt oso gt 'sian' time la.tmr , we will b doing the clay thing liazo woot woot!!!&lt;br /&gt;lolz...juz download blender from the net... funz...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/31574575-116228901122987175?l=soul-riderz.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/feeds/116228901122987175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=31574575&amp;postID=116228901122987175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116228901122987175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/31574575/posts/default/116228901122987175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://soul-riderz.blogspot.com/2006/10/yoz.html' title=''/><author><name>soul-riderz</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17855273612262295143</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31574575.post-115934148288823149</id><published>2006-09-27T00:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2006-09-27T00:18:03.496-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>story: as strong as death&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part 1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 1&lt;br /&gt;A DUEL OF HEARTS&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Broad daylight streamed down into the vast studio through a skylight&lt;br /&gt;in the ceiling, which showed a large square of dazzling blue, a bright&lt;br /&gt;vista of limitless heights of azure, across which passed flocks of birds&lt;br /&gt;in rapid flight. But the glad light of heaven hardly entered this severe&lt;br /&gt;room, with high ceilings and draped walls, before it began to grow soft&lt;br /&gt;and dim, to slumber among the hangings and die in the portieres, hardly&lt;br /&gt;penetrating to the dark corners where the gilded frames of portraits&lt;br /&gt;gleamed like flame. Peace and sleep seemed imprisoned there, the peace&lt;br /&gt;characteristic of an artist's dwelling, where the human soul has&lt;br /&gt;toiled. Within these walls, where thought abides, struggles, and becomes&lt;br /&gt;exhausted in its violent efforts, everything appears weary and overcome&lt;br /&gt;as soon as the energy of action is abated; all seems dead after the&lt;br /&gt;great crises of life, and the furniture, the hangings, and the portraits&lt;br /&gt;of great personages still unfinished on the canvases, all seem to rest&lt;br /&gt;as if the whole place had suffered the master's fatigue and had toiled&lt;br /&gt;with him, taking part in the daily renewal of his struggle. A vague,&lt;br /&gt;heavy odor of paint, turpentine, and tobacco was in the air, clinging to&lt;br /&gt;the rugs and chairs; and no sound broke the deep silence save the sharp&lt;br /&gt;short cries of the swallows that flitted above the open skylight, and&lt;br /&gt;the dull, ceaseless roar of Paris, hardly heard above the roofs. Nothing&lt;br /&gt;moved except a little cloud of smoke that rose intermittently toward the&lt;br /&gt;ceiling with every puff that Olivier Bertin, lying upon his divan, blew&lt;br /&gt;slowly from a cigarette between his lips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With gaze lost in the distant sky, he tried to think of a new subject&lt;br /&gt;for a painting. What should he do? As yet he did not know. He was by&lt;br /&gt;no means resolute and sure of himself as an artist, but was of an&lt;br /&gt;uncertain, uneasy spirit, whose undecided inspiration ever hesitated&lt;br /&gt;among all the manifestations of art. Rich, illustrious, the gainer of&lt;br /&gt;all honors, he nevertheless remained, in these his later years, a man&lt;br /&gt;who did not know exactly toward what ideal he had been aiming. He had&lt;br /&gt;won the _Prix_ of Rome, had been the defender of traditions, and&lt;br /&gt;had evoked, like so many others, the great scenes of history; then,&lt;br /&gt;modernizing his tendencies, he had painted living men, but in a way that&lt;br /&gt;showed the influence of classic memories. Intelligent, enthusiastic, a&lt;br /&gt;worker that clung to his changing dreams, in love with his art, which&lt;br /&gt;he knew to perfection, he had acquired, by reason of the delicacy of his&lt;br /&gt;mind, remarkable executive ability and great versatility, due in some&lt;br /&gt;degree to his hesitations and his experiments in all styles of his art.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps, too, the sudden admiration of the world for his works, elegant,&lt;br /&gt;correct, and full of distinctions, influenced his nature and prevented&lt;br /&gt;him from becoming what he naturally might have been. Since the triumph&lt;br /&gt;of his first success, the desire to please always made him anxious,&lt;br /&gt;without his being conscious of it; it influenced his actions and&lt;br /&gt;weakened his convictions. This desire to please was apparent in him in&lt;br /&gt;many ways, and had contributed much to his glory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His grace of manner, all his habits of life, the care he devoted to&lt;br /&gt;his person, his long-standing reputation for strength and agility as&lt;br /&gt;a swordsman and an equestrian, had added further attractions to his&lt;br /&gt;steadily growing fame. After his _Cleopatra_, the first picture that&lt;br /&gt;had made him illustrious, Paris suddenly became enamored of him,&lt;br /&gt;adopted him, made a pet of him; and all at once he became one of those&lt;br /&gt;brilliant, fashionable artists one meets in the Bois, for whose presence&lt;br /&gt;hostesses maneuver, and whom the Institute welcomes thenceforth. He had&lt;br /&gt;entered it as a conqueror, with the approval of all Paris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus Fortune had led him to the beginning of old age, coddling and&lt;br /&gt;caressing him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Under the influence of the beautiful day, which he knew was glowing&lt;br /&gt;without, Bertin sought a poetic subject. He felt somewhat dreamy,&lt;br /&gt;however, after his breakfast and his cigarette; he pondered awhile,&lt;br /&gt;gazing into space, in fancy sketching rapidly against the blue sky the&lt;br /&gt;figures of graceful women in the Bois or on the sidewalk of a street,&lt;br /&gt;lovers by the water--all the pleasing fancies in which his thoughts&lt;br /&gt;reveled. The changing images stood out against the bright sky, vague and&lt;br /&gt;fleeting in the hallucination of his eye, while the swallows, darting&lt;br /&gt;through space in ceaseless flight, seemed trying to efface them as if&lt;br /&gt;with strokes of a pen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He found nothing. All these half-seen visions resembled things that&lt;br /&gt;he had already done; all the women appeared to be the daughters or the&lt;br /&gt;sisters of those that had already been born of his artistic fancy; and&lt;br /&gt;the vague fear, that had haunted him for a year, that he had lost the&lt;br /&gt;power to create, had made the round of all subjects and exhausted&lt;br /&gt;his inspiration, outlined itself distinctly before this review of his&lt;br /&gt;work--this lack of power to dream anew, to discover the unknown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He arose quietly to look among his unfinished sketches, hoping to find&lt;br /&gt;something that would inspire him with a new idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still puffing at his cigarette, he proceeded to turn over the sketches,&lt;br /&gt;drawings, and rough drafts that he kept in a large old closet; but, soon&lt;br /&gt;becoming disgusted with this vain quest, and feeling depressed by the&lt;br /&gt;lassitude of his spirits, he tossed away his cigarette, whistled a&lt;br /&gt;popular street-song, bent down and picked up a heavy dumb-bell that lay&lt;br /&gt;under a chair. Having raised with the other hand a curtain that draped a&lt;br /&gt;mirror, which served him in judging the accuracy of a pose, in verifying&lt;br /&gt;his perspectives and testing the truth, he placed himself in front of it&lt;br /&gt;and began to swing the dumb-bell, meanwhile looking intently at himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had been celebrated in the studios for his strength; then, in the gay&lt;br /&gt;world, for his good looks. But now the weight of years was making him&lt;br /&gt;heavy. Tall, with broad shoulders and full chest, he had acquired the&lt;br /&gt;protruding stomach of an old wrestler, although he kept up his fencing&lt;br /&gt;every day and rode his horse with assiduity. His head was still&lt;br /&gt;remarkable and as handsome as ever, although in a style different from&lt;br /&gt;that of his earlier days. His thick and short white hair set off&lt;br /&gt;the black eyes beneath heavy gray eyebrows, while his luxuriant&lt;br /&gt;moustache--the moustache of an old soldier--had remained quite dark, and&lt;br /&gt;it gave to his countenance a rare characteristic of energy and pride.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Standing before the mirror, with heels together and body erect, he went&lt;br /&gt;through the usual movements with the two iron balls, which he held out&lt;br /&gt;at the end of his muscular arm, watching with a complacent expression&lt;br /&gt;its evidence of quiet power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But suddenly, in the glass, which reflected the whole studio, he saw&lt;br /&gt;one of the portieres move; then appeared a woman's head--only a head,&lt;br /&gt;peeping in. A voice behind him asked:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Anyone here?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Present!" he responded promptly, turning around. Then, throwing his&lt;br /&gt;dumb-bell on the floor, he hastened toward the door with an appearance&lt;br /&gt;of youthful agility that was slightly affected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A woman entered attired in a light summer costume. They shook hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You were exercising, I see," said the lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes," he replied; "I was playing peacock, and allowed myself to be&lt;br /&gt;surprised."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady laughed, and continued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your concierge's lodge was vacant, and as I know you are always alone&lt;br /&gt;at this hour I came up without being announced."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked at her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Heavens, how beautiful you are! What chic!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I have a new frock. Do you think it pretty?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Charming, and perfectly harmonious. We can certainly say that nowadays&lt;br /&gt;it is possible to give expression to the lightest textiles."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He walked around her, gently touching the material of the gown,&lt;br /&gt;adjusting its folds with the tips of his fingers, like a man that knows&lt;br /&gt;a woman's toilet as the modiste knows it, having all his life employed&lt;br /&gt;his artist's taste and his athlete's muscles in depicting with slender&lt;br /&gt;brush changing and delicate fashions, in revealing feminine grace&lt;br /&gt;enclosed within a prison of velvet and silk, or hidden by snowy laces.&lt;br /&gt;He finished his scrutiny by declaring: "It is a great success, and it&lt;br /&gt;becomes you perfectly!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lady allowed herself to be admired, quite content to be pretty and&lt;br /&gt;to please him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No longer in her first youth, but still beautiful, not very tall,&lt;br /&gt;somewhat plump, but with that freshness which lends to a woman of forty&lt;br /&gt;an appearance of having only just reached full maturity, she seemed like&lt;br /&gt;one of those roses that flourish for an indefinite time up to the moment&lt;br /&gt;when, in too full a bloom, they fall in an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beneath her blonde hair she possessed the shrewdness to preserve all the&lt;br /&gt;alert and youthful grace of those Parisian women who never grow old; who&lt;br /&gt;carry within themselves a surprising vital force, an indomitable&lt;br /&gt;power of resistance, and who remain for twenty years triumphant and&lt;br /&gt;indestructible, careful above all things of their bodies and ever&lt;br /&gt;watchful of their health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She raised her veil and murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, you do not kiss me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have been smoking."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pooh!" said the lady. Then, holding up her face, she added, "So much&lt;br /&gt;the worse!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their lips met.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took her parasol and divested her of her spring jacket with the&lt;br /&gt;prompt, swift movement indicating familiarity with this service. As she&lt;br /&gt;seated herself on the divan, he asked with an air of interest:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is all going well with your husband?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well; he must be making a speech in the House at this very&lt;br /&gt;moment."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah! On what, pray?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh--no doubt on beets or on rape-seed oil, as usual!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her husband, the Comte de Guilleroy, deputy from the Eure, made a&lt;br /&gt;special study of all questions of agricultural interest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perceiving in one corner a sketch that she did not recognize, the lady&lt;br /&gt;walked across the studio, asking, "What is that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A pastel that I have just begun--the portrait of the Princesse de&lt;br /&gt;Ponteve."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know," said the lady gravely, "that if you go back to painting&lt;br /&gt;portraits of women I shall close your studio. I know only too well to&lt;br /&gt;what that sort of thing leads!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, but I do not make twice a portrait of Any!" was the answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I hope not, indeed!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She examined the newly begun pastel sketch with the air of a woman that&lt;br /&gt;understands the technic of art. She stepped back, advanced, made a shade&lt;br /&gt;of her hand, sought the place where the best light fell on the sketch,&lt;br /&gt;and finally expressed her satisfaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is very good. You succeed admirably with pastel work."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you think so?" murmured the flattered artist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes; it is a most delicate art, needing great distinction of style. It&lt;br /&gt;cannot be handled by masons in the art of painting."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For twelve years the Countess had encouraged the painter's leaning&lt;br /&gt;toward the distinguished in art, opposing his occasional return to&lt;br /&gt;the simplicity of realism; and, in consideration of the demands of&lt;br /&gt;fashionable modern elegance, she had tenderly urged him toward an ideal&lt;br /&gt;of grace that was slightly affected and artificial.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is the Princess like?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was compelled to give her all sorts of details--those minute details&lt;br /&gt;in which the jealous and subtle curiosity of women delights, passing&lt;br /&gt;from remarks upon her toilet to criticisms of her intelligence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly she inquired: "Does she flirt with you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He laughed, and declared that she did not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, putting both hands on the shoulders of the painter, the Countess&lt;br /&gt;gazed fixedly at him. The ardor of her questioning look caused a quiver&lt;br /&gt;in the pupils of her blue eyes, flecked with almost imperceptible black&lt;br /&gt;points, like tiny ink-spots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again she murmured: "Truly, now, she is not a flirt?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, indeed, I assure you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I am quite reassured on another account," said the Countess. "You&lt;br /&gt;never will love anyone but me now. It is all over for the others. It is&lt;br /&gt;too late, my poor dear!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter experienced that slight painful emotion which touches&lt;br /&gt;the heart of middle-aged men when some one mentions their age; and he&lt;br /&gt;murmured: "To-day and to-morrow, as yesterday, there never has been in&lt;br /&gt;my life, and never will be, anyone but you, Any."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She took him by the arm, and turning again toward the divan made him sit&lt;br /&gt;beside her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of what were you thinking?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am looking for a subject to paint."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, pray?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know, you see, since I am still seeking it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What have you been doing lately?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was obliged to tell her of all the visits he had received, about&lt;br /&gt;all the dinners and soirees he had attended, and to repeat all the&lt;br /&gt;conversations and chit-chat. Both were really interested in all these&lt;br /&gt;futile and familiar details of fashionable life. The little rivalries,&lt;br /&gt;the flirtations, either well known or suspected, the judgments, a&lt;br /&gt;thousand times heard and repeated, upon the same persons, the same&lt;br /&gt;events and opinions, were bearing away and drowning both their minds in&lt;br /&gt;that troubled and agitated stream called Parisian life. Knowing everyone&lt;br /&gt;in all classes of society, he as an artist to whom all doors were open,&lt;br /&gt;she as the elegant wife of a Conservative deputy, they were experts&lt;br /&gt;in that sport of brilliant French chatter, amiably satirical, banal,&lt;br /&gt;brilliant but futile, with a certain shibboleth which gives a particular&lt;br /&gt;and greatly envied reputation to those whose tongues have become supple&lt;br /&gt;in this sort of malicious small talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When are you coming to dine?" she asked suddenly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whenever you wish. Name your day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Friday. I shall have the Duchesse de Mortemain, the Corbelles, and&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu, in honor of my daughter's return--she is coming this evening.&lt;br /&gt;But do not speak of it, my friend. It is a secret."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yes, I accept. I shall be charmed to see Annette again. I have not&lt;br /&gt;seen her in three years."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, that is true. Three years!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though Annette, in her earliest years, had been brought up in Paris in&lt;br /&gt;her parents' home, she had become the object of the last and passionate&lt;br /&gt;affection of her grandmother, Madame Paradin, who, almost blind,&lt;br /&gt;lived all the year round on her son-in-law's estate at the castle of&lt;br /&gt;Roncieres, on the Eure. Little by little, the old lady had kept the&lt;br /&gt;child with her more and more, and as the De Guilleroys passed almost&lt;br /&gt;half their time in this domain, to which a variety of interests,&lt;br /&gt;agricultural and political, called them frequently, it ended in taking&lt;br /&gt;the little girl to Paris on occasional visits, for she herself preferred&lt;br /&gt;the free and active life of the country to the cloistered life of the&lt;br /&gt;city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For three years she had not visited Paris even once, the Countess having&lt;br /&gt;preferred to keep her entirely away from it, in order that a new taste&lt;br /&gt;for its gaieties should not be awakened in her before the day fixed for&lt;br /&gt;her debut in society. Madame de Guilleroy had given her in the country&lt;br /&gt;two governesses, with unexceptionable diplomas, and had visited her&lt;br /&gt;mother and her daughter more frequently than before. Moreover, Annette's&lt;br /&gt;sojourn at the castle was rendered almost necessary by the presence of&lt;br /&gt;the old lady.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Formerly, Olivier Bertin had passed six weeks or two months at Roncieres&lt;br /&gt;every year; but in the past three years rheumatism had sent him to&lt;br /&gt;watering-places at some distance, which had so much revived his love for&lt;br /&gt;Paris that after his return he could not bring himself to leave it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a matter of custom, the young girl should not have returned home&lt;br /&gt;until autumn, but her father had suddenly conceived a plan for her&lt;br /&gt;marriage, and sent for her that she might meet immediately the Marquis&lt;br /&gt;de Farandal, to whom he wished her to be betrothed. But this plan was&lt;br /&gt;kept quite secret, and Madame de Guilleroy had told only Olivier Bertin&lt;br /&gt;of it, in strict confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then your husband's idea is quite decided upon?" said he at last.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes; I even think it a very happy idea."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then they talked of other things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She returned to the subject of painting, and wished to make him decide&lt;br /&gt;to paint a Christ. He opposed the suggestion, thinking that there&lt;br /&gt;was already enough of them in the world; but she persisted, and grew&lt;br /&gt;impatient in her argument.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, if I knew how to draw I would show you my thought: it should be&lt;br /&gt;very new, very bold. They are taking him down from the cross, and the&lt;br /&gt;man who has detached the hands has let drop the whole upper part of the&lt;br /&gt;body. It has fallen upon the crowd below, and they lift up their arms to&lt;br /&gt;receive and sustain it. Do you understand?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, he understood; he even thought the conception quite original; but&lt;br /&gt;he held himself as belonging to the modern style, and as his fair friend&lt;br /&gt;reclined upon the divan, with one daintily-shod foot peeping out,&lt;br /&gt;giving to the eye the sensation of flesh gleaming through the almost&lt;br /&gt;transparent stocking, he said: "Ah, that is what I should paint! That is&lt;br /&gt;life--a woman's foot at the edge of her skirt! Into that subject one may&lt;br /&gt;put everything--truth, desire, poetry. Nothing is more graceful or more&lt;br /&gt;charming than a woman's foot; and what mystery it suggests: the hidden&lt;br /&gt;limb, lost yet imagined beneath its veiling folds of drapery!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sitting on the floor, _a la Turque_, he seized her shoe and drew it off,&lt;br /&gt;and the foot, coming out of its leather sheath, moved about quickly,&lt;br /&gt;like a little animal surprised at being set free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Isn't that elegant, distinguished, and material--more material than the&lt;br /&gt;hand? Show me your hand, Any!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She wore long gloves reaching to the elbow. In order to remove one she&lt;br /&gt;took it by the upper edge and slipped it down quickly, turning it inside&lt;br /&gt;out, as one would skin a snake. The arm appeared, white, plump, round,&lt;br /&gt;so suddenly bared as to produce an idea of complete and bold nudity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gave him her hand, which drooped from her wrist. The rings sparkled&lt;br /&gt;on her white fingers, and the narrow pink nails seemed like amorous&lt;br /&gt;claws protruding at the tips of that little feminine paw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin handled it tenderly and admiringly. He played with the&lt;br /&gt;fingers as if they were live toys, while saying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What a strange thing! What a strange thing! What a pretty little&lt;br /&gt;member, intelligent and adroit, which executes whatever one&lt;br /&gt;wills--books, laces, houses, pyramids, locomotives, pastry, or caresses,&lt;br /&gt;which last is its pleasantest function."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He drew off the rings one by one, and as the wedding-ring fell in its&lt;br /&gt;turn, he murmured smilingly:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The law! Let us salute it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nonsense!" said the Countess, slightly wounded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin had always been inclined to satirical banter, that tendency of&lt;br /&gt;the French to mingle irony with the most serious sentiments, and he had&lt;br /&gt;often unintentionally made her sad, without knowing how to understand&lt;br /&gt;the subtle distinctions of women, or to discern the border of sacred&lt;br /&gt;ground, as he himself said. Above all things it vexed her whenever he&lt;br /&gt;alluded with a touch of familiar lightness to their attachment, which&lt;br /&gt;was an affair of such long standing that he declared it the most&lt;br /&gt;beautiful example of love in the nineteenth century. After a silence,&lt;br /&gt;she inquired:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Will you take Annette and me to the varnishing-day reception?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Certainly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she asked him about the best pictures to be shown in the next&lt;br /&gt;exposition, which was to open in a fortnight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, however, she appeared to recollect something she had&lt;br /&gt;forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come, give me my shoe," she said. "I am going now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was playing dreamily with the light shoe, turning it over&lt;br /&gt;abstractedly in his hands. He leaned over, kissed the foot, which&lt;br /&gt;appeared to float between the skirt and the rug, and which, a little&lt;br /&gt;chilled by the air, no longer moved restlessly about; then he slipped&lt;br /&gt;on the shoe, and Madame de Guilleroy, rising, approached the table,&lt;br /&gt;on which were scattered papers, open letters, old and recent, beside&lt;br /&gt;a painter's inkstand, in which the ink had dried. She looked at it all&lt;br /&gt;with curiosity, touched the papers, and lifted them to look underneath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin approached her, saying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You will disarrange my disorder."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without replying to this, she inquired:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who is the gentleman that wishes to buy your _Baigneuses_?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"An American whom I do not know."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Have you come to an agreement about the _Chanteuse des rues_?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes. Ten thousand."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You did well. It was pretty, but not exceptional. Good-by, dear."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She presented her cheek, which he brushed with a calm kiss; then she&lt;br /&gt;disappeared through the portieres, saying in an undertone:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Friday--eight o'clock. I do not wish you to go with me to the door--you&lt;br /&gt;know that very well. Good-by!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she had gone he first lighted another cigarette, then he began&lt;br /&gt;to pace slowly to and fro in his studio. All the past of this liaison&lt;br /&gt;unrolled itself before him. He recalled all its details, now long&lt;br /&gt;remote, sought them and put them together, interested in this solitary&lt;br /&gt;pursuit of reminiscences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was at the moment when he had just risen like a star on the horizon&lt;br /&gt;of artistic Paris, when the painters were monopolizing the favor of the&lt;br /&gt;public, and had built up a quarter with magnificent dwellings, earned by&lt;br /&gt;a few strokes of the brush.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After his return from Rome, in 1864, he had lived for some years without&lt;br /&gt;success or renown; then suddenly, in 1868, he exhibited his _Cleopatra_,&lt;br /&gt;and in a few days was being praised to the skies by both critics and&lt;br /&gt;public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 1872, after the war, and after the death of Henri Regnault had made&lt;br /&gt;for all his brethren, a sort of pedestal of glory, a _Jocaste_ a bold&lt;br /&gt;subject, classed Bertin among the daring, although his wisely original&lt;br /&gt;execution made him acceptable even to the Academicians. In 1873 his&lt;br /&gt;first medal placed him beyond competition with his _Juive d'Alger_,&lt;br /&gt;which he exhibited on his return from a trip to Africa, and a portrait&lt;br /&gt;of the Princesse de Salia, in 1874, made him considered by the&lt;br /&gt;fashionable world the first portrait painter of his day. From that time&lt;br /&gt;he became the favorite painter of Parisian women of that class, the most&lt;br /&gt;skilful and ingenious interpreter of their grace, their bearing, and&lt;br /&gt;their nature. In a few months all the distinguished women in Paris&lt;br /&gt;solicited the favor of being reproduced by his brush. He was hard to&lt;br /&gt;please, and made them pay well for that favor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he had become the rage, and was received everywhere as a man of&lt;br /&gt;the world he saw one day, at the Duchesse de Mortemain's house, a young&lt;br /&gt;woman in deep mourning, who was just leaving as he entered, and who, in&lt;br /&gt;this chance meeting in a doorway, dazzled him with a charming vision of&lt;br /&gt;grace and elegance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On inquiring her name, he learned that she was the Comtesse de&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy, wife of a Normandy country squire, agriculturist and deputy;&lt;br /&gt;that she was in mourning for her husband's father; and that she was very&lt;br /&gt;intellectual, greatly admired, and much sought after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Struck by the apparition that had delighted his artist's eye, he said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, there is some one whose portrait I should paint willingly!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This remark was repeated to the young Countess the next day; and that&lt;br /&gt;evening Bertin received a little blue-tinted note, delicately perfumed,&lt;br /&gt;in a small, regular handwriting, slanting a little from left to right,&lt;br /&gt;which said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MONSIEUR:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The Duchesse de Mortemain, who has just left my house, has assured&lt;br /&gt;me that you would be disposed to make, from my poor face, one of your&lt;br /&gt;masterpieces. I would entrust it to you willingly if I were certain that&lt;br /&gt;you did not speak idly, and that you really see in me something that you&lt;br /&gt;could reproduce and idealize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Accept, Monsieur, my sincere regards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"ANNE DE GUILLEROY."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He answered this note, asking when he might present himself at the&lt;br /&gt;Countess's house, and was very simply invited to breakfast on the&lt;br /&gt;following Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was on the first floor of a large and luxurious modern house in the&lt;br /&gt;Boulevard Malesherbes. Traversing a large salon with blue silk walls,&lt;br /&gt;framed in white and gold, the painter was shown into a sort of boudoir&lt;br /&gt;hung with tapestries of the last century, light and coquettish, those&lt;br /&gt;tapestries _a la Watteau_, with their dainty coloring and graceful&lt;br /&gt;figures, which seem to have been designed and executed by workmen&lt;br /&gt;dreaming of love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had just seated himself when the Countess appeared. She walked so&lt;br /&gt;lightly that he had not heard her coming through the next room, and was&lt;br /&gt;surprised when he saw her. She extended her hand in graceful welcome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And so it is true," said she, "that you really wish to paint my&lt;br /&gt;portrait?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I shall be very happy to do so, Madame."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her close-fitting black gown made her look very slender and gave her a&lt;br /&gt;youthful appearance though a grave air, which was belied, however,&lt;br /&gt;by her smiling face, lighted up by her bright golden hair. The Count&lt;br /&gt;entered, leading by the hand a little six-year-old girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Madame de Guilleroy presented him, saying, "My husband."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count was rather short, and wore no moustache; his cheeks were&lt;br /&gt;hollow, darkened under the skin by his close-shaven beard. He had&lt;br /&gt;somewhat the appearance of a priest or an actor; his hair was long and&lt;br /&gt;was tossed back carelessly; his manner was polished, and around the&lt;br /&gt;mouth two large circular lines extended from the cheeks to the chin,&lt;br /&gt;seeming to have been acquired from the habit of speaking in public.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He thanked the painter with a flourish of phrases that betrayed the&lt;br /&gt;orator. He had wished for a long time to have a portrait of his wife,&lt;br /&gt;and certainly he would have chosen M. Olivier Bertin, had he not feared&lt;br /&gt;a refusal, for he well knew that the painter was overwhelmed with&lt;br /&gt;orders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was arranged, then, with much ceremony on both sides, that the Count&lt;br /&gt;should accompany the Countess to the studio the next day. He asked,&lt;br /&gt;however, whether it would not be better to wait, because of the&lt;br /&gt;Countess's deep mourning; but the painter declared that he wished to&lt;br /&gt;translate the first impression she had made upon him, and the striking&lt;br /&gt;contrast of her animated, delicate head, luminous under the golden hair,&lt;br /&gt;with the austere black of her garments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She came, then, the following day, with her husband, and afterward&lt;br /&gt;with her daughter, whom the artist seated before a table covered with&lt;br /&gt;picture-books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin, following his usual custom, showed himself very&lt;br /&gt;reserved. Fashionable women made him a little uneasy, for he hardly knew&lt;br /&gt;them. He supposed them to be at once immoral and shallow, hypocritical&lt;br /&gt;and dangerous, futile and embarrassing. Among the women of the&lt;br /&gt;demi-monde he had had some passing adventures due to his renown, his&lt;br /&gt;lively wit, his elegant and athletic figure, and his dark and animated&lt;br /&gt;face. He preferred them, too; he liked their free ways and frank speech,&lt;br /&gt;accustomed as he was to the gay and easy manners of the studios and&lt;br /&gt;green-rooms he frequented. He went into the fashionable world for the&lt;br /&gt;glory of it, but his heart was not in it; he enjoyed it through his&lt;br /&gt;vanity, received congratulations and commissions, and played the gallant&lt;br /&gt;before charming ladies who flattered him, but never paid court to any.&lt;br /&gt;As he did not allow himself to indulge in daring pleasantries and spicy&lt;br /&gt;jests in their society, he thought them all prudes, and himself was&lt;br /&gt;considered as having good taste. Whenever one of them came to pose at&lt;br /&gt;his studio, he felt, in spite of any advances she might make to please&lt;br /&gt;him, that disparity of rank which prevents any real unity between&lt;br /&gt;artists and fashionable people, no matter how much they may be thrown&lt;br /&gt;together. Behind the smiles and the admiration which among women are&lt;br /&gt;always a little artificial, he felt the indefinable mental reserve of&lt;br /&gt;the being that judges itself of superior essence. This brought about in&lt;br /&gt;him an abnormal feeling of pride, which showed itself in a bearing of&lt;br /&gt;haughty respect, dissembling the vanity of the parvenu who is treated&lt;br /&gt;as an equal by princes and princesses, who owes to his talent the&lt;br /&gt;honor accorded to others by their birth. It was said of him with slight&lt;br /&gt;surprise: "He is really very well bred!" This surprise, although it&lt;br /&gt;flattered him, also wounded him, for it indicated a certain social&lt;br /&gt;barrier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The admirable and ceremonious gravity of the painter a little annoyed&lt;br /&gt;Madame de Guilleroy, who could find nothing to say to this man, so cold,&lt;br /&gt;yet with a reputation for cleverness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After settling her little daughter, she would come and sit in an&lt;br /&gt;armchair near the newly begun sketch, and tried, according to the&lt;br /&gt;artist's recommendation, to give some expression to her physiognomy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the midst of the fourth sitting, he suddenly ceased painting and&lt;br /&gt;inquired:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What amuses you more than anything else in life?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She appeared somewhat embarrassed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why, I hardly know. Why this question?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I need a happy thought in those eyes, and I have not seen it yet."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, try to make me talk; I like very much to chat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you gay?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very gay."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, then, let us chat, Madame."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had said "Let us chat, Madame," in a very grave tone; then, resuming&lt;br /&gt;his painting, he touched upon a variety of subjects, seeking something&lt;br /&gt;on which their minds could meet. They began by exchanging observations&lt;br /&gt;on the people that both knew; then they talked of themselves--always the&lt;br /&gt;most agreeable and fascinating subject for a chat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they met again the next day they felt more at ease, and Bertin,&lt;br /&gt;noting that he pleased and amused her, began to relate some of the&lt;br /&gt;details of his artist life, allowing himself to give free scope to his&lt;br /&gt;reminiscences, in a fanciful way that was peculiar to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Accustomed to the dignified presence of the literary lights of the&lt;br /&gt;salons, the Countess was surprised by this almost wild gaiety, which&lt;br /&gt;said unusual things quite frankly, enlivening them with irony; and&lt;br /&gt;presently she began to answer in the same way, with a grace at once&lt;br /&gt;daring and delicate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a week's time she had conquered and charmed him by her good humor,&lt;br /&gt;frankness, and simplicity. He had entirely forgotten his prejudices&lt;br /&gt;against fashionable women, and would willingly have declared that they&lt;br /&gt;alone had charm and fascination. As he painted, standing before his&lt;br /&gt;canvas, advancing and retreating, with the movements of a man fighting,&lt;br /&gt;he allowed his fancy to flow freely, as if he had known for a long&lt;br /&gt;time this pretty woman, blond and black, made of sunlight and mourning,&lt;br /&gt;seated before him, laughing and listening, answering him gaily with so&lt;br /&gt;much animation that she lost her pose every moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes he would move far away from her, closing one eye, leaning over&lt;br /&gt;for a searching study of his model's pose; then he would draw very near&lt;br /&gt;to her to note the slightest shadows of her face, to catch the most&lt;br /&gt;fleeting expression, to seize and reproduce that which is in a woman's&lt;br /&gt;face beyond its more outward appearance; that emanation of ideal beauty,&lt;br /&gt;that reflection of something indescribable, that personal and intimate&lt;br /&gt;charm peculiar to each, which causes her to be loved to distraction by&lt;br /&gt;one and not by another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One afternoon the little girl advanced, and, planting herself before the&lt;br /&gt;canvas, inquired with childish gravity:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That is mamma, isn't it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The artist took her in his arms to kiss her, flattered by that naïve&lt;br /&gt;homage to the resemblance of his work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another day, when she had been very quiet, they suddenly heard her say,&lt;br /&gt;in a sad little voice:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mamma, I am so tired of this!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter was so touched by this first complaint that he ordered a&lt;br /&gt;shopful of toys to be brought to the studio the following day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Annette, astonished, pleased, and always thoughtful, put them in&lt;br /&gt;order with great care, that she might play with them one after another,&lt;br /&gt;according to the desire of the moment. From the date of this gift,&lt;br /&gt;she loved the painter as little children love, with that caressing,&lt;br /&gt;animal-like affection which makes them so sweet and captivating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Madame de Guilleroy began to take pleasure in the sittings. She was&lt;br /&gt;almost without amusement or occupation that winter, as she was in&lt;br /&gt;mourning; so that, for lack of society and entertainments, her chief&lt;br /&gt;interest was within the walls of Bertin's studio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was the daughter of a rich and hospitable Parisian merchant, who had&lt;br /&gt;died several years earlier, and of his ailing wife, whose lack of health&lt;br /&gt;kept her in bed six months out of the twelve, and while still very young&lt;br /&gt;she had become a perfect hostess, knowing how to receive, to smile, to&lt;br /&gt;chat, to estimate character, and how to adapt herself to everyone; thus&lt;br /&gt;she early became quite at her ease in society, and was always far-seeing&lt;br /&gt;and compliant. When the Count de Guilleroy was presented to her as her&lt;br /&gt;betrothed, she understood at once the advantages to be gained by such a&lt;br /&gt;marriage, and, like a sensible girl, admitted them without constraint,&lt;br /&gt;knowing well that one cannot have everything and that in every situation&lt;br /&gt;we must strike a balance between good and bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Launched in the world, much sought because of her beauty and brilliance,&lt;br /&gt;she was admired and courted by many men without ever feeling the least&lt;br /&gt;quickening of her heart, which was as reasonable as her mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She possessed a touch of coquetry, however, which was nevertheless&lt;br /&gt;prudent and aggressive enough never to allow an affair to go too far.&lt;br /&gt;Compliments pleased her, awakened desires, fed her vanity, provided she&lt;br /&gt;might seem to ignore them; and when she had received for a whole evening&lt;br /&gt;the incense of this sort of homage, she slept quietly, as a woman who&lt;br /&gt;has accomplished her mission on earth. This existence, which lasted&lt;br /&gt;seven years, did not weary her nor seem monotonous, for she adored the&lt;br /&gt;incessant excitement of society, but sometimes she felt that she&lt;br /&gt;desired something different. The men of her world, political advocates,&lt;br /&gt;financiers, or wealthy idlers, amused her as actors might; she did not&lt;br /&gt;take them too seriously, although she appreciated their functions, their&lt;br /&gt;stations, and their titles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter pleased her at first because such a man was entirely a&lt;br /&gt;novelty to her. She found the studio a very amusing place, laughed&lt;br /&gt;gaily, felt that she, too, was clever, and felt grateful to him for the&lt;br /&gt;pleasure she took in the sittings. He pleased her, too, because he was&lt;br /&gt;handsome, strong, and famous, no woman, whatever she may pretend, being&lt;br /&gt;indifferent to physical beauty and glory. Flattered at having been&lt;br /&gt;admired by this expert, and disposed, on her side, to think well of him,&lt;br /&gt;she had discovered in him an alert and cultivated mind, delicacy, fancy,&lt;br /&gt;the true charm of intelligence, and an eloquence of expression that&lt;br /&gt;seemed to illumine whatever he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A rapid friendship sprang up between them, and the hand-clasp exchanged&lt;br /&gt;every day as she entered seemed more and more to express something of&lt;br /&gt;the feeling in their hearts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, without deliberate design, with no definite determination, she&lt;br /&gt;felt within her heart a growing desire to fascinate him, and yielded to&lt;br /&gt;it. She had foreseen nothing, planned nothing; she was only coquettish&lt;br /&gt;with added grace, as a woman always is toward a man who pleases her more&lt;br /&gt;than all others; and in her manner with him, in her glances and smiles,&lt;br /&gt;was that seductive charm that diffuses itself around a woman in whose&lt;br /&gt;breast has awakened a need of being loved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said flattering things to him which meant "I find you very&lt;br /&gt;agreeable, Monsieur;" and she made him talk at length in order to show&lt;br /&gt;him, by her attention, how much he aroused her interest. He would cease&lt;br /&gt;to paint and sit beside her; and in that mental exaltation due to an&lt;br /&gt;intense desire to please, he had crises of poetry, of gaiety or of&lt;br /&gt;philosophy, according to his state of mind that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was merry when he was gay; when he became profound she tried to&lt;br /&gt;follow his discourse, though she did not always succeed; and when her&lt;br /&gt;mind wandered to other things, she appeared to listen with so perfect&lt;br /&gt;an air of comprehension and such apparent enjoyment of this initiation,&lt;br /&gt;that he felt his spirit exalted in noting her attention to his words,&lt;br /&gt;and was touched to have discovered a soul so delicate, open, and docile,&lt;br /&gt;into which thought fell like a seed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The portrait progressed, and was likely to be good, for the painter had&lt;br /&gt;reached the state of emotion that is necessary in order to discover all&lt;br /&gt;the qualities of the model, and to express them with that convincing&lt;br /&gt;ardor which is the inspiration of true artists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Leaning toward her, watching every movement of her face, all the tints&lt;br /&gt;of her flesh, every shadow of her skin, all the expression and the&lt;br /&gt;translucence of her eyes, every secret of her physiognomy, he had&lt;br /&gt;become saturated with her personality as a sponge absorbs water; and, in&lt;br /&gt;transferring to canvas that emanation of disturbing charm which his eye&lt;br /&gt;seized, and which flowed like a wave from his thought to his brush,&lt;br /&gt;he was overcome and intoxicated by it, as if he had drunk deep of the&lt;br /&gt;beauty of woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She felt that he was drawn toward her, and was amused by this game, this&lt;br /&gt;victory that was becoming more and more certain, animating even her own&lt;br /&gt;heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A new feeling gave fresh piquancy to her existence, awaking in her a&lt;br /&gt;mysterious joy. When she heard him spoken of her heart throbbed faster,&lt;br /&gt;and she longed to say--a longing that never passed her lips--"He is in&lt;br /&gt;love with me!" She was glad when people praised his talent, and perhaps&lt;br /&gt;was even more pleased when she heard him called handsome. When she was&lt;br /&gt;alone, thinking of him, with no indiscreet babble to annoy her, she&lt;br /&gt;really imagined that in him she had found merely a good friend, one that&lt;br /&gt;would always remain content with a cordial hand-clasp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Often, in the midst of a sitting, he would suddenly put down his palette&lt;br /&gt;on the stool and take little Annette in his arms, kissing her tenderly&lt;br /&gt;on her hair, and his eyes, while gazing at the mother, said, "It is you,&lt;br /&gt;not the child, that I kiss in this way."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Occasionally Madame de Guilleroy did not bring her daughter, but came&lt;br /&gt;alone. On these days he worked very little, and the time was spent in&lt;br /&gt;talking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One afternoon she was late. It was a cold day toward the end of&lt;br /&gt;February. Olivier had come in early, as was now his habit whenever she&lt;br /&gt;had an appointment with him, for he always hoped she would arrive before&lt;br /&gt;the usual hour. While waiting he paced to and fro, smoking, and asking&lt;br /&gt;himself the question that he was surprised to find himself asking for&lt;br /&gt;the hundredth time that week: "Am I in love?" He did not know, never&lt;br /&gt;having been really in love. He had had his caprices, certainly, some of&lt;br /&gt;which had lasted a long time, but never had he mistaken them for love.&lt;br /&gt;To-day he was astonished at the emotion that possessed him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did he love her? He hardly desired her, certainly, never having dreamed&lt;br /&gt;of the possibility of possessing her. Heretofore, as soon as a woman&lt;br /&gt;attracted him he had desired to make a conquest of her, and had held out&lt;br /&gt;his hand toward her as if to gather fruit, but without feeling his heart&lt;br /&gt;affected profoundly by either her presence or her absence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desire for Madame de Guilleroy hardly occurred to him; it seemed to be&lt;br /&gt;hidden, crouching behind another and more powerful feeling, which was&lt;br /&gt;still uncertain and hardly awakened. Olivier had believed that love&lt;br /&gt;began with reveries and with poetic exaltations. But his feeling, on the&lt;br /&gt;contrary, seemed to come from an indefinable emotion, more physical&lt;br /&gt;than mental. He was nervous and restless, as if under the shadow of&lt;br /&gt;threatening illness, though nothing painful entered into this fever of&lt;br /&gt;the blood which by contagion stirred his mind also. He was quite aware&lt;br /&gt;that Madame de Guilleroy was the cause of his agitation; that it was due&lt;br /&gt;to the memories she left him and to the expectation of her return. He&lt;br /&gt;did not feel drawn to her by an impulse of his whole being, but he&lt;br /&gt;felt her always near him, as if she never had left him; she left to&lt;br /&gt;him something of herself when she departed--something subtle and&lt;br /&gt;inexpressible. What was it? Was it love? He probed deep in his heart in&lt;br /&gt;order to see, to understand. He thought her charming, but she was not&lt;br /&gt;at all the type of ideal woman that his blind hope had created. Whoever&lt;br /&gt;calls upon love has foreseen the moral traits and physical charms of her&lt;br /&gt;who will enslave him; and Madame de Guilleroy, although she pleased him&lt;br /&gt;infinitely, did not appear to him to be that woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But why did she thus occupy his thought, above all others, in a way so&lt;br /&gt;different, so unceasing? Had he simply fallen into the trap set by her&lt;br /&gt;coquetry, which he had long before understood, and, circumvented by his&lt;br /&gt;own methods, was he now under the influence of that special fascination&lt;br /&gt;which gives to women the desire to please?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He paced here and there, sat down, sprang up, lighted cigarettes and&lt;br /&gt;threw them away, and his eyes every instant looked at the clock, whose&lt;br /&gt;hands moved toward the usual hour in slow, unhurried fashion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Several times already he had almost raised the convex glass over the&lt;br /&gt;two golden arrows turning so slowly, in order to push the larger one on&lt;br /&gt;toward the figure it was approaching so lazily. It seemed to him that&lt;br /&gt;this would suffice to make the door open, and that the expected one&lt;br /&gt;would appear, deceived and brought to him by this ruse. Then he smiled&lt;br /&gt;at this childish, persistent, and unreasonable desire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last he asked himself this question: "Could I become her lover?"&lt;br /&gt;This idea seemed strange to him, indeed hardly to be realized or even&lt;br /&gt;pursued, because of the complications it might bring into his life. Yet&lt;br /&gt;she pleased him very much, and he concluded: "Decidedly I am in a very&lt;br /&gt;strange state of mind."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The clock struck, and this reminder of the hour made him start, striking&lt;br /&gt;on his nerves rather than his soul. He awaited her with that impatience&lt;br /&gt;which delay increases from second to second. She was always prompt, so&lt;br /&gt;that before ten minutes should pass he would see her enter. When the ten&lt;br /&gt;minutes had elapsed, he felt anxious, as at the approach of some grief,&lt;br /&gt;then irritated because she had made him lose time; finally, he realized&lt;br /&gt;that if she failed to come it would cause him actual suffering. What&lt;br /&gt;should he do? Should he wait for her? No; he would go out, so that if,&lt;br /&gt;by chance, she should arrive very late, she would find the studio empty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He would go out, but when? What latitude should he allow her? Would&lt;br /&gt;it not be better to remain and to make her comprehend, by a few coldly&lt;br /&gt;polite words, that he was not one to be kept waiting. And suppose she&lt;br /&gt;did not come? Then he would receive a despatch, a card, a servant or&lt;br /&gt;a messenger. If she did not come, what should he do? It would be a day&lt;br /&gt;lost; he could not work. Then? Well, then he would go to seek news of&lt;br /&gt;her, for see her he must!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was quite true; he felt a profound, tormenting, harassing necessity&lt;br /&gt;for seeing her. What did it mean? Was it love? But he felt no mental&lt;br /&gt;exaltation, no intoxication of the senses; it awakened no reverie of&lt;br /&gt;the soul, when he realized that if she did not come that day he should&lt;br /&gt;suffer keenly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The door-bell rang on the stairway of the little hotel, and Olivier&lt;br /&gt;Bertin suddenly found himself somewhat breathless, then so joyous that&lt;br /&gt;he executed a pirouette and flung his cigarette high in the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She entered; she was alone! Immediately he was seized with a great&lt;br /&gt;audacity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you know what I asked myself while waiting for you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, indeed, I do not."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I asked myself whether I were not in love with you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In love with me? You must be mad!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she smiled, and her smile said: That is very pretty; I am glad to&lt;br /&gt;hear it! However, she said: "You are not serious, of course; why do you&lt;br /&gt;make such a jest?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On the contrary, I am absolutely serious," he replied. "I do not&lt;br /&gt;declare that I am in love with you; but I ask myself whether I am not&lt;br /&gt;well on the way to become so."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What has made you think so?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My emotion when you are not here; my happiness when you arrive."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She seated herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, don't disturb yourself over anything so trifling! As long as you&lt;br /&gt;sleep well and have an appetite for dinner, there will be no danger!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He began to laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And if I lose my sleep and no longer eat?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let me know of it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And then?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I will allow you to recover yourself in peace."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A thousand thanks!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And on the theme of this uncertain love they spun theories and fancies&lt;br /&gt;all the afternoon. The same thing occurred on several successive days.&lt;br /&gt;Accepting his statement as a sort of jest, of no real importance, she&lt;br /&gt;would say gaily on entering: "Well, how goes your love to-day?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He would reply lightly, yet with perfect seriousness, telling her of the&lt;br /&gt;progress of his malady, in all its intimate details, and of the depth of&lt;br /&gt;the tenderness that had been born and was daily increasing. He analyzed&lt;br /&gt;himself minutely before her, hour by hour, since their separation the&lt;br /&gt;evening before, with the air of a professor giving a lecture; and she&lt;br /&gt;listened with interest, a little moved, and somewhat disturbed by this&lt;br /&gt;story which seemed that in a book of which she was the heroine. When&lt;br /&gt;he had enumerated, in his gallant and easy manner, all the anxieties of&lt;br /&gt;which he had become the prey, his voice sometimes trembled in expressing&lt;br /&gt;by a word, or only by an intonation, the tender aching of his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she persisted in questioning him, vibrating with curiosity, her eyes&lt;br /&gt;fixed upon him, her ear eager for those things that are disturbing to&lt;br /&gt;know but charming to hear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when he approached her to alter a pose he would seize her&lt;br /&gt;hand and try to kiss it. With a swift movement she would draw away her&lt;br /&gt;fingers from his lips, saying, with a slight frown:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come, come--work!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He would begin his work again, but within five minutes she would ask&lt;br /&gt;some adroit question that led him back to the sole topic that interested&lt;br /&gt;them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By this time she began to feel some fear deep in her heart. She longed&lt;br /&gt;to be loved--but not too much! Sure of not being led away, she yet&lt;br /&gt;feared to allow him to venture too far, thereby losing him, since&lt;br /&gt;then she would be compelled to drive him to despair after seeming to&lt;br /&gt;encourage him. Yet, should it become necessary to renounce this tender&lt;br /&gt;and delicate friendship, this stream of pleasant converse which rippled&lt;br /&gt;along bearing nuggets of love like a river whose sand is full of gold,&lt;br /&gt;it would cause her great sorrow--a grief that would be heart-breaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she set out from her own home to go to the painter's studio, a wave&lt;br /&gt;of joy, warm and penetrating, overflowed her spirit, making it light and&lt;br /&gt;happy. As she laid her hand on Olivier's bell, her breast throbbed with&lt;br /&gt;impatience, and the stair-carpet seemed the softest her feet ever had&lt;br /&gt;pressed. But Bertin became gloomy, a little nervous, often irritable. He&lt;br /&gt;had his moments of impatience, soon repressed, but frequently recurring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, when she had just entered, he sat down beside her instead of&lt;br /&gt;beginning to paint, saying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Madame, you can no longer ignore the fact that what I have said is not&lt;br /&gt;a jest, and that I love you madly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Troubled by this beginning and seeing that the dreaded crisis had&lt;br /&gt;arrived, she tried to stop him, but he listened to her no longer.&lt;br /&gt;Emotion overflowed his heart, and she must hear him, pale, trembling,&lt;br /&gt;and anxious as she listened. He spoke a long time, demanding nothing,&lt;br /&gt;tenderly, sadly, with despairing resignation; and she allowed him to&lt;br /&gt;take her hands, which he kept in his. He was kneeling before her without&lt;br /&gt;her taking any notice of his attitude, and with a far-away look upon&lt;br /&gt;his face he begged her not to work him any harm. What harm? She did not&lt;br /&gt;understand nor try to understand, overcome by the cruel grief of seeing&lt;br /&gt;him suffer, yet that grief was almost happiness. Suddenly she saw tears&lt;br /&gt;in his eyes and was so deeply moved that she exclaimed: "Oh!"--ready to&lt;br /&gt;embrace him as one embraces a crying child. He repeated in a very soft&lt;br /&gt;tone: "There, there! I suffer too much;" then, suddenly, won by his&lt;br /&gt;sorrow, by the contagion of tears, she sobbed, her nerves quivering, her&lt;br /&gt;arms trembling, ready to open.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she felt herself suddenly clasped in his embrace and kissed&lt;br /&gt;passionately on the lips, she wished to cry out, to struggle, to repulse&lt;br /&gt;him; but she judged herself lost, for she consented while resisting, she&lt;br /&gt;yielded even while she struggled, pressing him to her as she cried: "No,&lt;br /&gt;no, I will not!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she was overcome with the emotion of that moment; she hid her face&lt;br /&gt;in her hands, then she suddenly sprang to her feet, caught up her hat&lt;br /&gt;which had fallen to the floor, put it on her head and rushed away, in&lt;br /&gt;spite of the supplications of Olivier, who held a fold of her skirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as she was in the street, she had a desire to sit down on the&lt;br /&gt;curbstone, her limbs were so exhausted and powerless. A cab was passing;&lt;br /&gt;she called to it and said to the driver: "Drive slowly, and take me&lt;br /&gt;wherever you like." She threw herself into the carriage, closed the&lt;br /&gt;door, sank back in one corner, feeling herself alone behind the raised&lt;br /&gt;windows--alone to think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For some minutes she heard only the sound of the wheels and the jarring&lt;br /&gt;of the cab. She looked at the houses, the pedestrians, people in cabs&lt;br /&gt;and omnibuses, with a blank gaze that saw nothing; she thought of&lt;br /&gt;nothing, as if she were giving herself time, granting herself a respite&lt;br /&gt;before daring to reflect upon what had happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, as she had a practical mind and was not lacking in courage, she&lt;br /&gt;said to herself: "I am a lost woman!" For some time she remained under&lt;br /&gt;that feeling of certainty that irreparable misfortune had befallen her,&lt;br /&gt;horror-struck, like a man fallen from a roof, knowing that his legs are&lt;br /&gt;broken but dreading to prove it to himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, instead of feeling overwhelmed by the anticipation of suffering,&lt;br /&gt;her heart remained calm and peaceful after this catastrophe; it beat&lt;br /&gt;slowly, softly, after the fall that had terrified her soul, and seemed&lt;br /&gt;to take no part in the perturbation of her mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She repeated aloud, as if to understand and convince herself: "Yes, I am&lt;br /&gt;a lost woman." No echo of suffering responded from her heart to this cry&lt;br /&gt;of her conscience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She allowed herself to be soothed for some time by the movement of the&lt;br /&gt;carriage, putting off a little longer the necessity of facing this cruel&lt;br /&gt;situation. No, she did not suffer. She was afraid to think, that was&lt;br /&gt;all; she feared to know, to comprehend, and to reflect; on the contrary,&lt;br /&gt;in that mysterious and impenetrable being created within us by the&lt;br /&gt;incessant struggle between our desires and our will, she felt an&lt;br /&gt;indescribable peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After perhaps half an hour of this strange repose, understanding at&lt;br /&gt;last that the despair she had invoked would not come, she shook off her&lt;br /&gt;torpor and murmured: "It is strange: I am hardly sorry even!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she began to reproach herself. Anger awakened within her against&lt;br /&gt;her own blindness and her weakness. How had she not foreseen this, not&lt;br /&gt;comprehended that the hour for that struggle must come; that this man&lt;br /&gt;was so dear to her as to render her cowardly, and that sometimes in&lt;br /&gt;the purest hearts desire arises like a gust of wind, carrying the will&lt;br /&gt;before it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, after she had judged and reprimanded herself severely, she asked&lt;br /&gt;herself what would happen next?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her first resolve was to break with the painter and never to see him&lt;br /&gt;again. Hardly had she formed this resolution before a thousand reasons&lt;br /&gt;sprang up as quickly to combat it. How could she explain such a break?&lt;br /&gt;What should she say to her husband? Would not the suspected truth be&lt;br /&gt;whispered, then spread abroad?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would it not be better, for the sake of appearances, to act, with&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin himself, the hypocritical comedy of indifference and&lt;br /&gt;forgetfulness, to show him that she had effaced that moment from her&lt;br /&gt;memory and from her life?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But could she do it? Would she have the audacity to appear to recollect&lt;br /&gt;nothing, to assume a look of indignant astonishment in saying: "What&lt;br /&gt;would you with me?" to the man with whom she had actually shared that&lt;br /&gt;swift and ardent emotion?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She reflected a long time, and decided that any other solution was&lt;br /&gt;impossible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She would go to him courageously the next day, and make him understand&lt;br /&gt;as soon as she could what she desired him to do. She must not use a&lt;br /&gt;word, an allusion, a look, that could recall to him that moment of&lt;br /&gt;shame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he had suffered--for assuredly he would have his share of&lt;br /&gt;suffering, as a loyal and upright man--he would remain in future that&lt;br /&gt;which he had been up to the present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as this new resolution was formed, she gave her address to the&lt;br /&gt;coachman and returned home, profoundly depressed, with a desire to take&lt;br /&gt;to her bed, to see no one, to sleep and forget. Having shut herself up&lt;br /&gt;in her room, she remained there until the dinner hour, lying on a couch,&lt;br /&gt;benumbed, not wishing to agitate herself longer with that thought so&lt;br /&gt;full of danger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She descended at the exact hour, astonished to find herself so calm, and&lt;br /&gt;awaited her husband with her ordinary demeanor. He appeared, carrying&lt;br /&gt;their little one in his arms; she pressed his hand and kissed the child,&lt;br /&gt;and felt no pang of anguish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monsieur de Guilleroy inquired what she had been doing. She replied&lt;br /&gt;indifferently that she had been posing, as usual.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And the portrait--is it good?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is coming on very well."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He spoke of his own affairs, in his turn; he enjoyed talking, while&lt;br /&gt;dining, of the sitting of the Chamber, and of the discussion of the&lt;br /&gt;proposed law on the adulteration of food-stuffs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This rather tiresome talk, which she usually endured amiably, now&lt;br /&gt;irritated her, and made her look with closer attention at the man who&lt;br /&gt;was vulgarly loquacious in his interest in such things; but she smiled&lt;br /&gt;as she listened, and replied pleasantly, more gracious even than&lt;br /&gt;usual, more indulgent toward these banalities. As she looked at him she&lt;br /&gt;thought: "I have deceived him! He is my husband, and I have deceived&lt;br /&gt;him! How strange it is! Nothing can change that fact, nothing can&lt;br /&gt;obliterate it! I closed my eyes. I submitted for a few seconds, a few&lt;br /&gt;seconds only, to a man's kisses, and I am no longer a virtuous woman. A&lt;br /&gt;few seconds in my life--seconds that never can be effaced--have brought&lt;br /&gt;into it that little irreparable fact, so grave, so short, a crime, the&lt;br /&gt;most shameful one for a woman--and yet I feel no despair! If anyone had&lt;br /&gt;told me that yesterday, I should not have believed it. If anyone had&lt;br /&gt;convinced me that it would indeed come to pass, I should have thought&lt;br /&gt;instantly of the terrible remorse that would fill my heart to-day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monsieur de Guilleroy went out after dinner, as he did almost every&lt;br /&gt;evening. Then the Countess took her little daughter on her lap, weeping&lt;br /&gt;over her and kissing her; the tears she shed were sincere, coming from&lt;br /&gt;her conscience, not from her heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she slept very little. Amid the darkness of her room, she tormented&lt;br /&gt;herself afresh as to the dangers of the attitude toward the painter that&lt;br /&gt;she purposed to assume; she dreaded the interview that must take place&lt;br /&gt;the following day, and the things that he must say to her, looking her&lt;br /&gt;in the face meanwhile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She arose early, but remained lying on her couch all the morning,&lt;br /&gt;forcing herself to foresee what it was she had to fear and what she must&lt;br /&gt;say in reply, in order to be ready for any surprise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went out early, that she might yet think while walking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hardly expected her, and had been asking himself, since the evening&lt;br /&gt;before, what he should do when he met her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After her hasty departure--that flight which he had not dared to&lt;br /&gt;oppose--he had remained alone, still listening, although she was already&lt;br /&gt;far away, for the sound of her step, the rustle of her skirt, and the&lt;br /&gt;closing of the door, touched by the timid hand of his goddess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He remained standing, full of deep, ardent, intoxicating joy. He had&lt;br /&gt;won her, _her_! That had passed between them! Was it possible? After the&lt;br /&gt;surprise of this triumph, he gloated over it, and, to realize it more&lt;br /&gt;keenly, he sat down and almost lay at full length on the divan where he&lt;br /&gt;had made her yield to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He remained there a long time, full of the thought that she was his&lt;br /&gt;mistress, and that between them, between the woman he had so much&lt;br /&gt;desired and himself, had been tied in a few moments that mysterious bond&lt;br /&gt;which secretly links two beings to each other. He retained in his still&lt;br /&gt;quivering body the piercingly sweet remembrance of that wild, fleeting&lt;br /&gt;moment when their lips had met, when their beings had united and&lt;br /&gt;mingled, thrilling together with the deepest emotion of life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did not go out that evening, in order to live over again that&lt;br /&gt;rapturous moment; he retired early, his heart vibrating with happiness.&lt;br /&gt;He had hardly awakened the next morning before he asked himself what he&lt;br /&gt;should do. To a _cocotte_ or an actress he would have sent flowers&lt;br /&gt;or even a jewel; but he was tortured with perplexity before this new&lt;br /&gt;situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He wished to express, in delicate and charming terms, the gratitude of&lt;br /&gt;his soul, his ecstasy of mad tenderness, his offer of a devotion that&lt;br /&gt;should be eternal; but in order to intimate all these passionate&lt;br /&gt;and high-souled thoughts he could find only set phrases, commonplace&lt;br /&gt;expressions, vulgar and puerile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Assuredly, he must write--but what? He scribbled, erased, tore up and&lt;br /&gt;began anew twenty letters, all of which seemed to him insulting, odious,&lt;br /&gt;ridiculous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He gave up the idea of writing, therefore, and decided to go to see her,&lt;br /&gt;as soon as the hour for the sitting had passed, for he felt very sure&lt;br /&gt;that she would not come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shutting himself up in his studio, he stood in mental exaltation before&lt;br /&gt;the portrait, his lips longing to press themselves on the painting,&lt;br /&gt;whereon something of herself was fixed; and again and again he looked&lt;br /&gt;out of the window into the street. Every gown he saw in the distance&lt;br /&gt;made his heart throb quickly. Twenty times he believed that he saw her;&lt;br /&gt;then when the approaching woman had passed he sat down again, as if&lt;br /&gt;overcome by a deception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly he saw her, doubted, then took his opera-glass, recognized her,&lt;br /&gt;and, dizzy with violent emotion, sat down once more to await her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she entered he threw himself on his knees and tried to take her&lt;br /&gt;hands, but she drew them away abruptly, and, as he remained at her feet,&lt;br /&gt;filled with anguish, his eyes raised to hers, she said haughtily:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What are you doing, Monsieur? I do not understand that attitude."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, Madame, I entreat you--"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She interrupted him harshly:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Rise! You are ridiculous!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He rose, dazed, and murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is the matter? Do not treat me in this way--I love you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, in a few short, dry phrases, she signified her wishes, and decreed&lt;br /&gt;the situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I do not understand what you wish to say. Never speak to me of your&lt;br /&gt;love, or I shall leave this studio never to return. If you forget for a&lt;br /&gt;single moment this condition of my presence here, you never will see me&lt;br /&gt;again."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked at her, crushed by this unexpected harshness; then he&lt;br /&gt;understood, and murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I shall obey, Madame."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well," she rejoined; "I expected that of you! Now work, for you&lt;br /&gt;are long in finishing that portrait."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He took up his palette and began to paint, but his hand trembled, his&lt;br /&gt;troubled eyes looked without seeing; he felt a desire to weep, so deeply&lt;br /&gt;wounded was his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He tried to talk to her; she barely answered him. When he attempted to&lt;br /&gt;pay her some little compliment on her color, she cut him short in a tone&lt;br /&gt;so brusque that he felt suddenly one of those furies of a lover that&lt;br /&gt;change tenderness to hatred. Through soul and body he felt a nervous&lt;br /&gt;shock, and in a moment he detested her. Yes, yes, that was, indeed,&lt;br /&gt;woman! She, too, was like all the others! Why not? She, too, was false,&lt;br /&gt;changeable, and weak, like all of them. She had attracted him, seduced&lt;br /&gt;him with girlish ruses, trying to overcome him without intending to&lt;br /&gt;give him anything in return, enticing him only to refuse him, employing&lt;br /&gt;toward him all the tricks of cowardly coquettes who seem always on the&lt;br /&gt;point of yielding so long as the man who cringes like a dog before them&lt;br /&gt;dares not carry out his desire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the situation was the worse for her, after all; he had taken her,&lt;br /&gt;he had overcome her. She might try to wash away that fact and answer&lt;br /&gt;him insolently; she could efface nothing, and he--he would forget it!&lt;br /&gt;Indeed, it would have been a fine bit of folly to embarrass himself&lt;br /&gt;with this sort of mistress, who would eat into his artist life with the&lt;br /&gt;capricious teeth of a pretty woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He felt a desire to whistle, as he did in the presence of his models,&lt;br /&gt;but realized that his nerve was giving way and feared to commit&lt;br /&gt;some stupidity. He cut short the sitting under pretense of having an&lt;br /&gt;appointment. When they bowed at parting they felt themselves farther&lt;br /&gt;apart than the day they first met at the Duchesse de Mortemain's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as she had gone, he took his hat and topcoat and went out. A&lt;br /&gt;cold sun, in a misty blue sky, threw over the city a pale, depressing,&lt;br /&gt;unreal light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After he had walked a long time, with rapid and irritated step, elbowing&lt;br /&gt;the passers-by that he need not deviate from a straight line, his great&lt;br /&gt;fury against her began to change into sadness and regret. After he&lt;br /&gt;had repeated to himself all the reproaches he had poured upon her, he&lt;br /&gt;remembered, as he looked at the women that passed him, how pretty and&lt;br /&gt;charming she was. Like many others who do not admit it, he had always&lt;br /&gt;been waiting to meet the "impossible she," to find the rare, unique,&lt;br /&gt;poetic and passionate being, the dream of whom hovers over our hearts.&lt;br /&gt;Had he not almost found it? Was it not she who might have given him&lt;br /&gt;this almost impossible happiness? Why, then, is it true that nothing&lt;br /&gt;is realized? Why can one seize nothing of that which he pursues, or can&lt;br /&gt;succeed only in grasping a phantom, which renders still more grievous&lt;br /&gt;this pursuit of illusions?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was no longer resentful toward her; it was life itself that made him&lt;br /&gt;bitter. Now that he was able to reason, he asked himself what cause&lt;br /&gt;for anger he had against her? With what could he reproach her, after&lt;br /&gt;all?--with being amiable, kind, and gracious toward him, while she&lt;br /&gt;herself might well reproach him for having behaved like a villain!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He returned home full of sadness. He would have liked to ask her pardon,&lt;br /&gt;to devote himself to her, to make her forget; and he pondered as to how&lt;br /&gt;he might enable her to comprehend that henceforth, until death, he would&lt;br /&gt;be obedient to all her wishes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day she arrived, accompanied by her daughter, with a smile so&lt;br /&gt;sad, an expression so pathetic, that the painter fancied he could see in&lt;br /&gt;those poor blue eyes, that had always been so merry, all the pain, all&lt;br /&gt;the remorse, all the desolation of that womanly heart. He was moved to&lt;br /&gt;pity, and, in order that she might forget, he showed toward her with&lt;br /&gt;delicate reserve the most thoughtful attentions. She acknowledged them&lt;br /&gt;with gentleness and kindness, with the weary and languid manner of a&lt;br /&gt;woman who suffers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he, looking at her, seized again with a mad dream of loving and&lt;br /&gt;of being loved, asked himself why she was not more indignant at his&lt;br /&gt;conduct, how she could still come to his studio, listen to him and&lt;br /&gt;answer him, with that memory between them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since she could bear to see him again, however, could endure to hear&lt;br /&gt;his voice, having always in her mind the one thought which she could not&lt;br /&gt;escape, it must be that this thought had not become intolerable to her.&lt;br /&gt;When a woman hates the man who has conquered her thus, she cannot remain&lt;br /&gt;in his presence without showing her hatred, but that man never can&lt;br /&gt;remain wholly indifferent to her. She must either detest him or pardon&lt;br /&gt;him. And when she pardons that transgression, she is not far from love!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he painted slowly, he arrived at this conclusion by small&lt;br /&gt;arguments, precise, clear, and sure; he now felt himself strong,&lt;br /&gt;steady, and master of the situation. He had only to be prudent, patient,&lt;br /&gt;devoted, and one day or another she would again be his.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He knew how to wait. In order to reassure her and to conquer her once&lt;br /&gt;more, he practised ruses in his turn; he assumed a tenderness restrained&lt;br /&gt;by apparent remorse, hesitating attentions, and indifferent attitudes.&lt;br /&gt;Tranquil in the certainty of approaching happiness, what did it matter&lt;br /&gt;whether it arrived a little sooner, a little later? He even experienced&lt;br /&gt;a strange, subtle pleasure in delay, in watching her, and saying to&lt;br /&gt;himself, "She is afraid!" as he saw her coming always with her child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He felt that between them a slow work of reconciliation was going&lt;br /&gt;on, and thought that in the Countess's eyes was something strange:&lt;br /&gt;constraint, a sweet sadness, that appeal of a struggling soul, of a&lt;br /&gt;faltering will, which seems to say: "But--conquer me, then!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while she came alone once more, reassured by his reserve. Then&lt;br /&gt;he treated her as a friend, a comrade; he talked to her of his life, his&lt;br /&gt;plans, his art, as to a brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deluded by this attitude, she assumed joyfully the part of counselor,&lt;br /&gt;flattered that he distinguished her thus above other women, and&lt;br /&gt;convinced that his talent would gain in delicacy through this&lt;br /&gt;intellectual intimacy. But, from consulting her and showing deference to&lt;br /&gt;her, he caused her to pass naturally from the functions of a counselor&lt;br /&gt;to the sacred office of inspirer. She found it charming to use her&lt;br /&gt;influence thus over the great man, and almost consented that he should&lt;br /&gt;love her as an artist, since it was she that gave him inspiration for&lt;br /&gt;his work!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was one evening, after a long talk about the loves of illustrious&lt;br /&gt;painters, that she let herself glide into his arms. She rested there&lt;br /&gt;this time, without trying to escape, and gave him back his kisses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She felt no remorse now, only the vague consciousness of a fall; and to&lt;br /&gt;stifle the reproaches of her reason she attributed it to fatality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drawn toward him by her virgin heart and her empty soul, the flesh&lt;br /&gt;overcome by the slow domination of caresses, little by little she&lt;br /&gt;attached herself to him, as do all tender women who love for the first&lt;br /&gt;time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With Olivier it was a crisis of acute love, sensuous and poetic. It&lt;br /&gt;seemed to him sometimes that one day he had taken flight, with hands&lt;br /&gt;extended, and that he had been able to clasp in full embrace that winged&lt;br /&gt;and magnificent dream which is always hovering over our hopes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had finished the Countess's portrait, the best, certainly, that&lt;br /&gt;he ever had painted, for he had discovered and crystallized&lt;br /&gt;that inexpressible something which a painter seldom succeeds in&lt;br /&gt;unveiling--that reflection, that mystery, that physiognomy of the soul,&lt;br /&gt;which passes intangibly across a face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Months rolled by, then years, which hardly loosened the tie that united&lt;br /&gt;the Comtesse de Guilleroy and the painter, Olivier Bertin. With him&lt;br /&gt;it was no longer the exaltation of the beginning, but a calm, deep&lt;br /&gt;affection, a sort of loving friendship that had become a habit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With her, on the contrary, the passionate, persistent attachment of&lt;br /&gt;certain women who give themselves to a man wholly and forever was always&lt;br /&gt;growing. Honest and straight in adulterous love as they might have been&lt;br /&gt;in marriage, they devote themselves to a single object with a tenderness&lt;br /&gt;from which nothing can turn them. Not only do they love the lover, but&lt;br /&gt;they wish to love him, and, with eyes on him alone, they so fill their&lt;br /&gt;hearts with thoughts of him that nothing strange can thenceforth enter&lt;br /&gt;there. They have bound their lives resolutely, as one who knows how to&lt;br /&gt;swim, yet wishes to die, ties his hands together before leaping from a&lt;br /&gt;high bridge into the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But from the moment when the Countess had yielded, she was assailed by&lt;br /&gt;fears for Bertin's constancy. Nothing held him but his masculine will,&lt;br /&gt;his caprice, his passing fancy for a woman he had met one day just as&lt;br /&gt;he had already met so many others! She realized that he was so free,&lt;br /&gt;so susceptible to temptation--he who lived without duties, habits, or&lt;br /&gt;scruples, like all men! He was handsome, celebrated, much sought after,&lt;br /&gt;having, to respond to his easily awakened desires, fashionable women,&lt;br /&gt;whose modesty is so fragile, women of the demi-monde of the theater,&lt;br /&gt;prodigal of their favors with such men as he. One of them, some evening&lt;br /&gt;after supper, might follow him and please him, take him and keep him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thus she lived in terror of losing him, watching his manner, his&lt;br /&gt;attitudes, startled by a word, full of anguish when he admired another&lt;br /&gt;woman, praised the charm of her countenance or her grace of bearing. All&lt;br /&gt;of which she was ignorant in his life made her tremble, and all of which&lt;br /&gt;she was cognizant alarmed her. At each of their meetings she questioned&lt;br /&gt;him ingeniously, without his perceiving it, in order to make him express&lt;br /&gt;his opinion on the people he had seen, the houses where he had dined, in&lt;br /&gt;short, the lightest expression of his mind. As soon as she fancied&lt;br /&gt;she detected the influence of some other person, she combated it with&lt;br /&gt;prodigious astuteness and innumerable resources.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, how often did she suspect those brief intrigues, without depth,&lt;br /&gt;lasting perhaps a week or two, from time to time, which come into the&lt;br /&gt;life of every prominent artist!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had, as it were, an intuition of danger, even before she detected&lt;br /&gt;the awakening of a new desire in Olivier, by the look of triumph in his&lt;br /&gt;eyes, the expression of a man when swayed by a gallant fancy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she would suffer; her sleep would be tortured by doubts. In order&lt;br /&gt;to surprise him, she would appear suddenly in his studio, without giving&lt;br /&gt;him notice of her coming, put questions that seemed naïve, tested his&lt;br /&gt;tenderness while listening to his thoughts, as we test while listening&lt;br /&gt;to detect hidden illness in the body. She would weep as soon as she&lt;br /&gt;found herself sure that some one would take him from her this time,&lt;br /&gt;robbing her of that love to which she clung so passionately because&lt;br /&gt;she had staked upon it all her will, her strength of affection, all her&lt;br /&gt;hopes and dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, when she saw that he came back to her, after these brief&lt;br /&gt;diversions, she experienced, as she drew close to him again, took&lt;br /&gt;possession of him as of something lost and found, a deep, silent&lt;br /&gt;happiness which sometimes, when she passed a church, urged her go in and&lt;br /&gt;thank God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her preoccupation in ever making herself pleasing to him above all&lt;br /&gt;others, and of guarding him against all others, had made her whole life&lt;br /&gt;become a combat interrupted by coquetry. She had ceaselessly struggled&lt;br /&gt;for him, and before him, with her grace, her beauty and elegance. She&lt;br /&gt;wished that wherever he went he should hear her praised for her charm,&lt;br /&gt;her taste, her wit, and her toilets. She wished to please others for his&lt;br /&gt;sake, and to attract them so that he should be both proud and jealous of&lt;br /&gt;her. And every time that she succeeded in arousing his jealousy, after&lt;br /&gt;making him suffer a little, she allowed him the triumph of winning her&lt;br /&gt;back, which revived his love in exciting his vanity. Then, realizing&lt;br /&gt;that it was always possible for a man to meet in society a woman whose&lt;br /&gt;physical charm would be greater than her own, being a novelty, she&lt;br /&gt;resorted to other means: she flattered and spoiled him. Discreetly&lt;br /&gt;but continuously she heaped praises upon him; she soothed him with&lt;br /&gt;admiration and enveloped him in flattery, so that he might find all&lt;br /&gt;other friendship, all other love, even, a little cold and incomplete,&lt;br /&gt;and that if others also loved him he would perceive at last that she&lt;br /&gt;alone of them all understood him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She made the two drawing-rooms in her house, which he entered so often,&lt;br /&gt;a place as attractive to the pride of the artist as to the heart of the&lt;br /&gt;man, the place in all Paris where he liked best to come, because there&lt;br /&gt;all his cravings were satisfied at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not only did she learn to discover all his tastes, in order that,&lt;br /&gt;while gratifying them in her own house, she might give him a feeling of&lt;br /&gt;well-being that nothing could replace, but she knew how to create new&lt;br /&gt;tastes, to arouse appetites of all kinds, material and intellectual,&lt;br /&gt;habits of little attentions, of affections, of adoration and flattery!&lt;br /&gt;She tried to charm his eye with elegance, his sense of smell with&lt;br /&gt;perfumes, and his taste with delicate food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when she had planted in the soul and in the senses of a selfish&lt;br /&gt;bachelor a multitude of petty, tyrannical needs, when she had become&lt;br /&gt;quite certain that no mistress would trouble herself as she did to watch&lt;br /&gt;over and maintain them, in order to surround him with all the little&lt;br /&gt;pleasures of life, she suddenly feared, as she saw him disgusted with&lt;br /&gt;his own home, always complaining of his solitary life, and, being&lt;br /&gt;unable to come into her home except under all the restraints imposed&lt;br /&gt;by society, going to the club, seeking every means to soften his lonely&lt;br /&gt;lot--she feared lest he thought of marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On some days she suffered so much from all these anxieties that she&lt;br /&gt;longed for old age, to have an end of this anguish and rest in a cooler&lt;br /&gt;and calmer affection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years passed, however, without disuniting them. The chain wherewith she&lt;br /&gt;had attached him to her was heavy, and she made new links as the old&lt;br /&gt;ones wore away. But, always solicitous, she watched over the painter's&lt;br /&gt;heart as one guards a child crossing a street full of vehicles, and&lt;br /&gt;day by day she lived in expectation of the unknown danger, the dread of&lt;br /&gt;which always hung over her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count, without suspicion or jealousy, found this intimacy of his&lt;br /&gt;wife with a famous and popular artist a perfectly natural thing. Through&lt;br /&gt;continually meeting, the two men, becoming accustomed to each other,&lt;br /&gt;finally became excellent friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 2&lt;br /&gt;TWIN ROSES FROM A SINGLE STEM&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Bertin entered, on Friday evening, the house of his friend, where&lt;br /&gt;he was to dine in honor of the return of Antoinette de Guilleroy, he&lt;br /&gt;found in the little Louis XV salon only Monsieur de Musadieu, who had&lt;br /&gt;just arrived.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was a clever old man, who perhaps might have become of some&lt;br /&gt;importance, and who now could not console himself for not having&lt;br /&gt;attained to something worth while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had once been a commissioner of the imperial museums, and had found&lt;br /&gt;means to get himself reappointed Inspector of Fine Arts under the&lt;br /&gt;Republic, which did not prevent him from being, above all else, the&lt;br /&gt;friend of princes, of all the princes, princesses, and duchesses of&lt;br /&gt;European aristocracy, and the sworn protector of artists of all sorts.&lt;br /&gt;He was endowed with an alert mind and quick perceptions, with great&lt;br /&gt;facility of speech that enabled him to say agreeably the most ordinary&lt;br /&gt;things, with a suppleness of thought that put him at ease in any&lt;br /&gt;society, and a subtle diplomatic scent that gave him the power to judge&lt;br /&gt;men at first sight; and he strolled from salon to salon, morning and&lt;br /&gt;evening, with his enlightened, useless, and gossiping activity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apt at everything, as he appeared, he would talk on any subject with&lt;br /&gt;an air of convincing competence and familiarity that made him greatly&lt;br /&gt;appreciated by fashionable women, whom he served as a sort of traveling&lt;br /&gt;bazaar of erudition. As a matter of fact, he knew many things without&lt;br /&gt;ever having read any but the most indispensable books; but he stood very&lt;br /&gt;well with the five Academies, with all the savants, writers, and learned&lt;br /&gt;specialists, to whom he listened with clever discernment. He knew how to&lt;br /&gt;forget at once explanations that were too technical or were useless to&lt;br /&gt;him, remembered the others very well, and lent to the information thus&lt;br /&gt;gleaned an easy, clear, and good-natured rendering that made them as&lt;br /&gt;readily comprehensible as the popular presentation of scientific facts.&lt;br /&gt;He gave the impression of being a veritable storehouse of ideas, one of&lt;br /&gt;those vast places wherein one never finds rare objects but discovers&lt;br /&gt;a multiplicity of cheap productions of all kinds and from all sources,&lt;br /&gt;from household utensils to the popular instruments for physical culture&lt;br /&gt;or for domestic surgery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painters, with whom his official functions brought him in continual&lt;br /&gt;contact, made sport of him but feared him. He rendered them some&lt;br /&gt;services, however, helped them to sell pictures, brought them in contact&lt;br /&gt;with fashionable persons, and enjoyed presenting them, protecting them,&lt;br /&gt;launching them. He seemed to devote himself to a mysterious function of&lt;br /&gt;fusing the fashionable and the artistic worlds, pluming himself on&lt;br /&gt;his intimate acquaintance with these, and of his familiar footing with&lt;br /&gt;those, on breakfasting with the Prince of Wales, on his way through&lt;br /&gt;Paris, or dining, the same evening, with Paul Adelmant, Olivier Bertin,&lt;br /&gt;and Amaury Maldant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, who liked him well enough, found him amusing, and said of him:&lt;br /&gt;"He is the encyclopedia of Jules Verne, bound in ass's skin!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two men shook hands and began to talk of the political situation and&lt;br /&gt;the rumors of war, which Musadieu thought alarming, for evident reasons&lt;br /&gt;which he explained very well, Germany having every interest in crushing&lt;br /&gt;us and in hastening that moment for which M. de Bismarck had been&lt;br /&gt;waiting eighteen years; while Olivier Bertin proved by irrefutable&lt;br /&gt;argument that these fears were chimerical, it being impossible for&lt;br /&gt;Germany to be foolish enough to risk her conquest in an always doubtful&lt;br /&gt;venture, or for the Chancelor to be imprudent enough to risk, in the&lt;br /&gt;latter years of his life, his achievements and his glory at a single&lt;br /&gt;blow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M. de Musadieu, however, seemed to know something of which he did not&lt;br /&gt;wish to speak. Furthermore, he had seen a Minister that morning and had&lt;br /&gt;met the Grand Duke Vladimir, returning from Cannes, the evening before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The artist was unconvinced by this, and with quiet irony expressed doubt&lt;br /&gt;of the knowledge of even the best informed. Behind all these rumors was&lt;br /&gt;the influence of the Bourse! Bismarck alone might have a settled opinion&lt;br /&gt;on the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M. de Guilleroy entered, shook hands warmly, excusing himself in&lt;br /&gt;unctuous words for having left them alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And you, my dear Deputy," asked the painter, "what do you think of&lt;br /&gt;these rumors of war?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;M. de Guilleroy launched into a discourse. As a member of the Chamber,&lt;br /&gt;he knew more of the subject than anyone else, though he held an opinion&lt;br /&gt;differing from that of most of his colleagues. No, he did not believe in&lt;br /&gt;the probability of an approaching conflict, unless it should be provoked&lt;br /&gt;by French turbulence and by the rodomontades of the self-styled patriots&lt;br /&gt;of the League. And he painted Bismarck's portrait in striking colors, a&lt;br /&gt;portrait a la Saint-Simon. The man Bismarck was one that no one wished&lt;br /&gt;to understand, because one always lends to others his own ways of&lt;br /&gt;thinking, and credits them with a readiness to do that which he would&lt;br /&gt;do were he placed in their situation. M. de Bismarck was not a false and&lt;br /&gt;lying diplomatist, but frank and brutal, always loudly proclaiming the&lt;br /&gt;truth and announcing his intentions. "I want peace!" said he. That was&lt;br /&gt;true; he wanted peace, nothing but peace, and everything had proved it&lt;br /&gt;in a blinding fashion for eighteen years; everything--his arguments,&lt;br /&gt;his alliances, that union of peoples banded together against our&lt;br /&gt;impetuosity. M. de Guilleroy concluded in a tone of profound conviction:&lt;br /&gt;"He is a great man, a very great man, who desires peace, but who has&lt;br /&gt;faith only in menaces and violent means as the way to obtain it. In&lt;br /&gt;short, gentlemen, a great barbarian."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He that wishes the end must take the means," M. de Musadieu replied. "I&lt;br /&gt;will grant you willingly that he adores peace if you will concede to me&lt;br /&gt;that he always wishes to make war in order to obtain it. But that is&lt;br /&gt;an indisputable and phenomenal truth: In this world war is made only to&lt;br /&gt;obtain peace!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A servant announced: "Madame la Duchesse de Mortemain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the folding-doors appeared a tall, large woman, who entered with&lt;br /&gt;an air of authority.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy hastened to meet her, and kissed her hand, saying:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How do you do, Duchess?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other two men saluted her with a certain distinguished familiarity,&lt;br /&gt;for the Duchess's manner was both cordial and abrupt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was the widow of General the Duc de Mortemain, mother of an only&lt;br /&gt;daughter married to the Prince de Salia; daughter of the Marquis de&lt;br /&gt;Farandal, of high family and royally rich, and received at her mansion&lt;br /&gt;in the Rue de Varenne all the celebrities of the world, who met and&lt;br /&gt;complimented one another there. No Highness passed through Paris without&lt;br /&gt;dining at her table; no man could attract public attention that she did&lt;br /&gt;not immediately wish to know him. She must see him, make him talk&lt;br /&gt;to her, form her own judgment of him. This amused her greatly, lent&lt;br /&gt;interest to life, and fed the flame of imperious yet kindly curiosity&lt;br /&gt;that burned within her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had hardly seated herself when the same servant announced:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Monsieur le Baron and Madame la Baronne de Corbelle."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were young; the Baron was bald and fat, the Baroness was slender,&lt;br /&gt;elegant, and very dark.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This couple occupied a peculiar situation in the French aristocracy due&lt;br /&gt;solely to a scrupulous choice of connections. Belonging to the polite&lt;br /&gt;world, but without value or talent, moved in all their actions by an&lt;br /&gt;immoderate love of that which is select, correct, and distinguished;&lt;br /&gt;by dint of visiting only the most princely houses, of professing&lt;br /&gt;their royalist sentiments, pious and correct to a supreme degree; by&lt;br /&gt;respecting all that should be respected, by condemning all that should&lt;br /&gt;be condemned, by never being mistaken on a point of worldly dogma or&lt;br /&gt;hesitating over a detail of etiquette, they had succeeded in passing&lt;br /&gt;in the eyes of many for the finest flower of high life. Their opinion&lt;br /&gt;formed a sort of code of correct form and their presence in a house gave&lt;br /&gt;it a true title of distinction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Corbelles were relatives of the Comte de Guilleroy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," said the Duchess in astonishment, "and your wife?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"One instant, one little instant," pleaded the Count. "There is a&lt;br /&gt;surprise: she is just about to come."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Madame de Guilleroy, as the bride of a month, had entered&lt;br /&gt;society, she was presented to the Duchesse de Mortemain, who loved her&lt;br /&gt;immediately, adopted her, and patronized her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For twenty years this friendship never had diminished, and when the&lt;br /&gt;Duchess said, "_Ma petite_," one still heard in her voice the tenderness&lt;br /&gt;of that sudden and persistent affection. It was at her house that the&lt;br /&gt;painter and the Countess had happened to meet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu approached the group. "Has the Duchess been to see the&lt;br /&gt;exposition of the Intemperates?" he inquired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No; what is that?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A group of new artists, impressionists in a state of intoxication. Two&lt;br /&gt;of them are very fine."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The great lady murmured, with disdain: "I do not like the jests of those&lt;br /&gt;gentlemen."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Authoritative, brusque, barely tolerating any other opinion than&lt;br /&gt;her own, and founding hers solely on the consciousness of her social&lt;br /&gt;station, considering, without being able to give a good reason for it,&lt;br /&gt;that artists and learned men were merely intelligent mercenaries charged&lt;br /&gt;by God to amuse society or to render service to it, she had no other&lt;br /&gt;basis for her judgments than the degree of astonishment or of pleasure&lt;br /&gt;she experienced at the sight of a thing, the reading of a book, or the&lt;br /&gt;recital of a discovery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tall, stout, heavy, red, with a loud voice, she passed as having the&lt;br /&gt;air of a great lady because nothing embarrassed her; she dared to say&lt;br /&gt;anything and patronized the whole world, including dethroned princes,&lt;br /&gt;with her receptions in their honor, and even the Almighty by her&lt;br /&gt;generosity to the clergy and her gifts to the churches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Does the Duchess know," Musadieu continued, "that they say the assassin&lt;br /&gt;of Marie Lambourg has been arrested?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her interest was awakened at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, tell me about it," she replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He narrated the details. Musadieu was tall and very thin; he wore&lt;br /&gt;a white waistcoat and little diamond shirt-studs; he spoke without&lt;br /&gt;gestures, with a correct air which allowed him to say the daring&lt;br /&gt;things which he took delight in uttering. He was very near-sighted, and&lt;br /&gt;appeared, notwithstanding his eye-glass, never to see anyone; and when&lt;br /&gt;he sat down his whole frame seemed to accommodate itself to the shape&lt;br /&gt;of the chair. His figure seemed to shrink into folds, as if his spinal&lt;br /&gt;column were made of rubber; his legs, crossed one over the other, looked&lt;br /&gt;like two rolled ribbons, and his long arms, resting on the arms of the&lt;br /&gt;chair, allowed to droop his pale hands with interminable fingers. His&lt;br /&gt;hair and moustache, artistically dyed, with a few white locks cleverly&lt;br /&gt;forgotten, were a subject of frequent jests.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he was explaining to the Duchess that the jewels of the murdered&lt;br /&gt;prostitute had been given as a present by the suspected murderer to&lt;br /&gt;another girl of the same stamp, the door of the large drawing-room&lt;br /&gt;opened wide once more, and two blond women in white lace, a creamy&lt;br /&gt;Mechlin, resembling each other like two sisters of different ages, the&lt;br /&gt;one a little too mature, the other a little too young, one a trifle&lt;br /&gt;too plump, the other a shade too slender, advanced, clasping each other&lt;br /&gt;round the waist and smiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guests exclaimed and applauded. No one, except Olivier Bertin, knew&lt;br /&gt;of Annette de Guilleroy's return, and the appearance of the young girl&lt;br /&gt;beside her mother, who at a little distance seemed almost as fresh&lt;br /&gt;and even more beautiful--for, like a flower in full bloom, she had&lt;br /&gt;not ceased to be brilliant, while the child, hardly budding, was only&lt;br /&gt;beginning to be pretty--made both appear charming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess, delighted, clapped her hands, exclaiming: "Heavens!&lt;br /&gt;How charming and amusing they are, standing beside each other! Look,&lt;br /&gt;Monsieur de Musadieu, how much they resemble each other!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two were compared, and two opinions were formed. According to&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu, the Corbelles, and the Comte de Guilleroy, the Countess and&lt;br /&gt;her daughter resembled each other only in coloring, in the hair, and&lt;br /&gt;above all in the eyes, which were exactly alike, both showing tiny black&lt;br /&gt;points, like minute drops of ink, on the blue iris. But it was their&lt;br /&gt;opinion that when the young girl should have become a woman they would&lt;br /&gt;no longer resemble each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to the Duchess, on the contrary, and also Olivier Bertin, they&lt;br /&gt;were similar in all respects, and only the difference in age made them&lt;br /&gt;appear unlike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How much she has changed in three years!" said the painter. "I should&lt;br /&gt;not have recognized her, and I don't dare to _tutoyer_ the young lady!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess laughed. "The idea! I should like to hear you say 'you' to&lt;br /&gt;Annette!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young girl, whose future gay audacity was already apparent under an&lt;br /&gt;air of timid playfulness, replied: "It is I who shall not dare to say&lt;br /&gt;'thou' to Monsieur Bertin."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her mother smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, continue the old habit--I will allow you to do so," she said. "You&lt;br /&gt;will soon renew your acquaintance with him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Annette shook her head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, no, it would embarrass me," she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess embraced her, and examined her with all the interest of a&lt;br /&gt;connoisseur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look me in the face, my child," she said. "Yes, you have exactly the&lt;br /&gt;same expression as your mother; you won't be so bad by-and-by, when you&lt;br /&gt;have acquired more polish. And you must grow a little plumper--not very&lt;br /&gt;much, but a little. You are very thin."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, don't say that!" exclaimed the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why not?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is so nice to be slender. I intend to reduce myself at once."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Madame de Mortemain took offense, forgetting in her anger the&lt;br /&gt;presence of a young girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, of course, you are all in favor of bones, because you can dress&lt;br /&gt;them better than flesh. For my part, I belong to the generation of fat&lt;br /&gt;women! To-day is the day of thin ones. They make me think of the lean&lt;br /&gt;kine of Egypt. I cannot understand how men can admire your skeletons. In&lt;br /&gt;my time they demanded more!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She subsided amid the smiles of the company, but added, turning to&lt;br /&gt;Annette:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look at your mamma, little one; she does very well; she has attained&lt;br /&gt;the happy medium--imitate her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They passed into the dining-room. After they were seated, Musadieu&lt;br /&gt;resumed the discussion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For my part, I say that men should be thin, because they are formed&lt;br /&gt;for exercises that require address and agility, incompatible with&lt;br /&gt;corpulency. But the women's case is a little different. Don't you think&lt;br /&gt;so, Corbelle?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Corbelle was perplexed, the Duchess being stout and his own wife more&lt;br /&gt;than slender. But the Baroness came to the rescue of her husband, and&lt;br /&gt;resolutely declared herself in favor of slimness. The year before that,&lt;br /&gt;she declared, she had been obliged to struggle with the beginning of&lt;br /&gt;_embonpoint_, over which she soon triumphed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell us how you did it," demanded Madame de Guilleroy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Baroness explained the method employed by all the fashionable women&lt;br /&gt;of the day. One must never drink while eating; but an hour after the&lt;br /&gt;repast a cup of tea may be taken, boiling hot. This method succeeded&lt;br /&gt;with everyone. She cited astonishing cases of fat women who in three&lt;br /&gt;months had become more slender than the blade of a knife. The Duchess&lt;br /&gt;exclaimed in exasperation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good gracious, how stupid to torture oneself like that! You like&lt;br /&gt;nothing any more--nothing--not even champagne. Bertin, as an artist,&lt;br /&gt;what do you think of this folly?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"_Mon Dieu_, Madame, I am a painter and I simply arrange the drapery, so&lt;br /&gt;it is all the same to me. If I were a sculptor I might complain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But as a man, which do you prefer?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I? Oh, a certain rounded slimness--what my cook calls a nice little&lt;br /&gt;corn-fed chicken. It is not fat, but plump and delicate."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The comparison caused a laugh; but the incredulous Countess looked at&lt;br /&gt;her daughter and murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, it is very much better to be thin; slender women never grow old."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This point also was discussed by the company; and all agreed that a very&lt;br /&gt;fat person should not grow thin too rapidly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This observation gave place to a review of women known in society and&lt;br /&gt;to new discussions on their grace, their chic and beauty. Musadieu&lt;br /&gt;pronounced the blonde Marquise de Lochrist incomparably charming,&lt;br /&gt;while Bertin esteemed as a beauty Madame Mandeliere, with her brunette&lt;br /&gt;complexion, low brow, her dusky eyes and somewhat large mouth, in which&lt;br /&gt;her teeth seemed to sparkle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was seated beside the young girl, and said suddenly, turning to her:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Listen to me, Nanette. Everything that we have just been saying you&lt;br /&gt;will hear repeated at least once a week until you are old. In a week you&lt;br /&gt;will know all that society thinks about politics, women, plays, and&lt;br /&gt;all the rest of it. Only an occasional change of names will be&lt;br /&gt;necessary--names of persons and titles of works. When you have heard us&lt;br /&gt;all express and defend our opinions, you will quietly choose your own&lt;br /&gt;among those that one must have, and then you need never trouble yourself&lt;br /&gt;to think of anything more, never. You will only have to rest in that&lt;br /&gt;opinion."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young girl, without replying, turned upon him her mischievous eyes,&lt;br /&gt;wherein sparkled youthful intelligence, restrained, but ready to escape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the Duchess and Musadieu, who played with ideas as one tosses a&lt;br /&gt;ball, without perceiving that they continually exchanged the same ones,&lt;br /&gt;protested in the name of thought and of human activity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Bertin attempted to show how the intelligence of fashionable&lt;br /&gt;people, even the brightest of them, is without value, foundation,&lt;br /&gt;or weight; how slight is the basis of their beliefs, how feeble and&lt;br /&gt;indifferent is their interest in intellectual things, how fickle and&lt;br /&gt;questionable are their tastes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Warmed by one of those spasms of indignation, half real, half assumed,&lt;br /&gt;aroused at first by a desire to be eloquent, and urged on by the sudden&lt;br /&gt;prompting of a clear judgment, ordinarily obscured by an easy-going&lt;br /&gt;nature, he showed how those persons whose sole occupation in life is to&lt;br /&gt;pay visits and dine in town find themselves becoming, by an irresistible&lt;br /&gt;fatality, light and graceful but utterly trivial beings, vaguely&lt;br /&gt;agitated by superficial cares, beliefs, and appetites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He showed that none of that class has either depth, ardor, or sincerity;&lt;br /&gt;that, their intellectual culture being slight and their erudition a&lt;br /&gt;simple varnish, they must remain, in short, manikins who produce the&lt;br /&gt;effect and make the gesture of the enlightened beings that they are not.&lt;br /&gt;He proved that, the frail roots of their instincts having been nourished&lt;br /&gt;on conventionalities instead of realities, they love nothing sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;that even the luxury of their existence is a satisfaction of vanity and&lt;br /&gt;not the gratification of a refined bodily necessity, for usually their&lt;br /&gt;table is indifferent, their wines are bad and very dear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They live, as he said, beside everything, but see nothing and study&lt;br /&gt;nothing; they are near science, of which they are ignorant; nature, at&lt;br /&gt;which they do not know how to look; outside of true happiness, for they&lt;br /&gt;are powerless to enjoy it; outside of the beauty of the world and the&lt;br /&gt;beauty of art, of which they chatter without having really discovered&lt;br /&gt;it, or even believing in it, for they are ignorant of the intoxication&lt;br /&gt;of tasting the joys of life and of intelligence. They are incapable&lt;br /&gt;of attaching themselves in anything to that degree that existence is&lt;br /&gt;illumined by the happiness of comprehending it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Baron de Corbelle thought that it was his duty to come to the&lt;br /&gt;defense of society. This he did with inconsistent and irrefutable&lt;br /&gt;arguments, which melt before reason as snow before the fire, yet which&lt;br /&gt;cannot be disproved--the absurd and triumphant arguments of a country&lt;br /&gt;curate who would demonstrate the existence of God. In concluding, he&lt;br /&gt;compared fashionable people to race-horses, which, in truth, are good&lt;br /&gt;for nothing, but which are the glory of the equine race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, irritated by this adversary, preserved a politely disdainful&lt;br /&gt;silence. But suddenly the Baron's imbecilities exasperated him, and,&lt;br /&gt;interrupting him adroitly, he recounted the life of a man of fashion&lt;br /&gt;from his rising to his going to rest, without omitting anything. All the&lt;br /&gt;details, cleverly described, made up an irresistibly amusing silhouette.&lt;br /&gt;Once could see the fine gentleman dressed by his valet, first expressing&lt;br /&gt;a few general ideas to the hairdresser that came to shave him; then,&lt;br /&gt;when taking his morning stroll, inquiring of the grooms about the health&lt;br /&gt;of the horses; then trotting through the avenues of the Bois, caring&lt;br /&gt;only about saluting and being saluted; then breakfasting opposite his&lt;br /&gt;wife, who in her turn had been out in her coupe, speaking to her only to&lt;br /&gt;enumerate the names of the persons he had met that morning; then&lt;br /&gt;passing from drawing-room to drawing-room until evening, refreshing his&lt;br /&gt;intelligence by contact with others of his circle, dining with a prince,&lt;br /&gt;where the affairs of Europe were discussed, and finishing the evening&lt;br /&gt;behind the scenes at the Opera, where his timid pretensions at being a&lt;br /&gt;gay dog were innocently satisfied by the appearance of being surrounded&lt;br /&gt;by naughtiness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The picture was so true, although its satire wounded no one present,&lt;br /&gt;that laughter ran around the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess, shaken by the suppressed merriment of fat persons, relieved&lt;br /&gt;herself by discreet chuckles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Really, you are too funny!" she said at last; "you will make me die of&lt;br /&gt;laughter."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin replied, with some excitement:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, Madame, in the polite world one does not die of laughter! One&lt;br /&gt;hardly laughs, even. We have sufficient amiability, as a matter of&lt;br /&gt;good taste, to pretend to be amused and appear to laugh. The grimace&lt;br /&gt;is imitated well enough, but the real thing is never done. Go to the&lt;br /&gt;theaters of the common people--there you will see laughter. Go among the&lt;br /&gt;_bourgeoisie_, when they are amusing themselves; you will see them laugh&lt;br /&gt;to suffocation. Go to the soldiers' quarters, you will see men choking,&lt;br /&gt;their eyes full of tears, doubled up on their beds over the jokes of&lt;br /&gt;some funny fellow. But in our drawing-rooms we never laugh. I tell you&lt;br /&gt;that we simulate everything, even laughter."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu interrupted him:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Permit me to say that you are very severe. It seems to me that you&lt;br /&gt;yourself, my dear fellow, do not wholly despise this society at which&lt;br /&gt;you rail so bitterly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I? I love it!" he declared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But then----"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I despise myself a little, as a mongrel of doubtful race."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"All that sort of talk is nothing but a pose," said the Duchess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, as he denied having any intention of posing, she cut short the&lt;br /&gt;discussion by declaring that all artists try to make people believe that&lt;br /&gt;chalk is cheese.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation then became general, touching upon everything, ordinary&lt;br /&gt;and pleasant, friendly and critical, and, as the dinner was drawing&lt;br /&gt;toward its end, the Countess suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the full&lt;br /&gt;glasses of wine that were ranged before her plate:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, you see that I have drunk nothing, nothing, not a drop! We shall&lt;br /&gt;see whether I shall not grow thin!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess, furious, tried to make her swallow some mineral water, but&lt;br /&gt;in vain; then she exclaimed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, the little simpleton! That daughter of hers will turn her head. I&lt;br /&gt;beg of you, Guilleroy, prevent your wife from committing this folly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count, who was explaining to Musadieu the system of a&lt;br /&gt;threshing-machine invented in America, had not been listening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What folly, Duchess?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The folly of wishing to grow thin."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count looked at his wife with an expression of kindly indifference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I never have formed the habit of opposing her," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess had risen, taking the arm of her neighbor; the Count&lt;br /&gt;offered his to the Duchess, and they passed into the large drawing-room,&lt;br /&gt;the boudoir at the end being reserved for use in the daytime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a vast and well lighted room. On the four walls the large and&lt;br /&gt;beautiful panels of pale blue silk, of antique pattern, framed in white&lt;br /&gt;and gold, took on under the light of the lamps and the chandelier a&lt;br /&gt;moonlight softness and brightness. In the center of the principal one,&lt;br /&gt;the portrait of the Countess by Olivier Bertin seemed to inhabit, to&lt;br /&gt;animate the apartment. It had a look of being at home there, mingling&lt;br /&gt;with the air of the salon its youthful smile, the grace of its pose, the&lt;br /&gt;bright charm of its golden hair. It had become almost a custom, a sort&lt;br /&gt;of polite ceremony, like making the sign of the cross on entering a&lt;br /&gt;church, to compliment the model on the work of the painter whenever&lt;br /&gt;anyone stood before it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu never failed to do this. His opinion as a connoisseur&lt;br /&gt;commissioned by the State having the value of that of an official&lt;br /&gt;expert, he regarded it as his duty to affirm often, with conviction, the&lt;br /&gt;superiority of that painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Indeed," said he, "that is the most beautiful modern portrait I know.&lt;br /&gt;There is prodigious life in it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Comte de Guilleroy, who, through hearing this portrait continually&lt;br /&gt;praised, had acquired a rooted conviction that he possessed a&lt;br /&gt;masterpiece, approached to join him, and for a minute or two they&lt;br /&gt;lavished upon the portrait all the art technicalities of the day in&lt;br /&gt;praise of the apparent qualities of the work, and also of those that&lt;br /&gt;were suggested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All eyes were lifted toward the portrait, apparently in a rapture of&lt;br /&gt;admiration, and Olivier Bertin, accustomed to these eulogies, to which&lt;br /&gt;he paid hardly more attention than to questions about his health when&lt;br /&gt;meeting some one in the street, nevertheless adjusted the reflector lamp&lt;br /&gt;placed before the portrait in order to illumine it, the servant having&lt;br /&gt;carelessly set it a little on one side.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then they seated themselves, and as the Count approached the Duchess,&lt;br /&gt;she said to him:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I believe that my nephew is coming here for me, and to ask you for a&lt;br /&gt;cup of tea."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their wishes, for some time, had been mutually understood and agreed,&lt;br /&gt;without either side ever having exchanged confidences or even hints.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Marquis de Farandal, who was the brother of the Duchesse de&lt;br /&gt;Mortemain, after almost ruining himself at the gaming table, had died&lt;br /&gt;of the effects of a fall from his horse, leaving a widow and a son. This&lt;br /&gt;young man, now nearly twenty-eight years of age, was one of the most&lt;br /&gt;popular leaders of the cotillion in Europe, for he was sometimes&lt;br /&gt;requested to go to Vienna or to London to crown in the waltz some&lt;br /&gt;princely ball. Although possessing very small means, he remained,&lt;br /&gt;through his social station, his family, his name, and his almost royal&lt;br /&gt;connections, one of the most popular and envied men in Paris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was necessary to give a solid foundation to this glory of his youth,&lt;br /&gt;and after a rich, a very rich marriage, to replace social triumphs by&lt;br /&gt;political success. As soon as the Marquis should become a deputy, he&lt;br /&gt;would become also, by that attainment alone, one of the props of the&lt;br /&gt;future throne, one of the counselors of the King, one of the leaders of&lt;br /&gt;the party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess, who was well informed, knew the amount of the enormous&lt;br /&gt;fortune of the Comte de Guilleroy, a prudent hoarder of money, who lived&lt;br /&gt;in a simple apartment when he was quite able to live like a great lord&lt;br /&gt;in one of the handsomest mansions of Paris. She knew about his always&lt;br /&gt;successful speculations, his subtle scent as a financier, his share in&lt;br /&gt;the most fruitful schemes of the past ten years, and she had cherished&lt;br /&gt;the idea of marrying her nephew to the daughter of the Norman deputy, to&lt;br /&gt;whom this marriage would give an immense influence in the aristocratic&lt;br /&gt;society of the princely circle. Guilleroy, who had made a rich marriage,&lt;br /&gt;and had thereby increased a large personal fortune, now nursed other&lt;br /&gt;ambitions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had faith in the return of the King, and wished, when that event&lt;br /&gt;should come, to be so situated as to derive from it the largest personal&lt;br /&gt;profit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a simple deputy, he did not cut a prominent figure. As a&lt;br /&gt;father-in-law of the Marquis of Farandal, whose ancestors had been the&lt;br /&gt;faithful and chosen familiars of the royal house of France, he might&lt;br /&gt;rise to the first rank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The friendship of the Duchess for his wife lent to this union an element&lt;br /&gt;of intimacy that was very precious; and, for fear some other young girl&lt;br /&gt;might appear who would please the Marquis, he had brought about the&lt;br /&gt;return of his own daughter in order to hasten events.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Madame de Mortemain, foreseeing and divining his plans, lent him her&lt;br /&gt;silent complicity; and on that very day, although she had not been&lt;br /&gt;informed of the sudden return of the young girl, she had made an&lt;br /&gt;appointment with her nephew to meet her at the Guilleroys, so that he&lt;br /&gt;might gradually become accustomed to visit that house frequently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the first time, the Count and the Duchess spoke of their mutual&lt;br /&gt;desires in veiled terms; and when they parted, a treaty of alliance had&lt;br /&gt;been concluded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the other end of the room everyone was laughing at a story M. de&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu was telling to the Baroness de Corbelle about the presentation&lt;br /&gt;of a negro ambassador to the President of the Republic, when the Marquis&lt;br /&gt;de Farandal was announced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He appeared in the doorway and paused. With a quick and familiar&lt;br /&gt;gesture, he placed a monocle on his right eye and left it there, as if&lt;br /&gt;to reconnoiter the room he was about to enter, but perhaps to give those&lt;br /&gt;that were already there the time to see him and to observe his entrance.&lt;br /&gt;Then by an imperceptible movement of cheek and eyebrow, he allowed to&lt;br /&gt;drop the bit of glass at the end of a black silk hair, and advanced&lt;br /&gt;quickly toward Madame de Guilleroy, whose extended hand he kissed,&lt;br /&gt;bowing very low. He saluted his aunt likewise, then shook hands with&lt;br /&gt;the rest of the company, going from one to another with easy elegance of&lt;br /&gt;manner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was a tall fellow, with a red moustache, and was already slightly&lt;br /&gt;bald, with the figure of an officer and the gait of an English&lt;br /&gt;sportsman. It was evident, at first sight of him, that all his limbs&lt;br /&gt;were better exercised than his head, and that he cared only for such&lt;br /&gt;occupations as developed strength and physical activity. He had some&lt;br /&gt;education, however, for he had learned, and was learning every day, by&lt;br /&gt;much mental effort, a great deal that would be useful to him to know&lt;br /&gt;later: history, studying dates unweariedly, but mistaking the lesson to&lt;br /&gt;be learned from facts and the elementary notions of political economy&lt;br /&gt;necessary to a deputy, the A B C of sociology for the use of the ruling&lt;br /&gt;classes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu esteemed him, saying: "He will be a valuable man." Bertin&lt;br /&gt;appreciated his skill and his vigor. They went to the same fencing-hall,&lt;br /&gt;often hunted together, and met while riding in the avenues of the Bois.&lt;br /&gt;Between them, therefore, had been formed a sympathy of similar tastes,&lt;br /&gt;that instinctive free-masonry which creates between two men a subject of&lt;br /&gt;conversation, as agreeable to one as to the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the Marquis was presented to Annette de Guilleroy, he immediately&lt;br /&gt;had a suspicion of his aunt's designs, and after saluting her he ran his&lt;br /&gt;eyes over her, with the rapid glance of a connoisseur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He decided that she was graceful, and above all full of promise, for&lt;br /&gt;he had led so many cotillions that he knew young girls well, and could&lt;br /&gt;predict almost to a certainty the future of their beauty, as an expert&lt;br /&gt;who tastes a wine as yet too new.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He exchanged only a few unimportant words with her, then seated himself&lt;br /&gt;near the Baroness de Corbelle, so that he could chat with her in an&lt;br /&gt;undertone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone took leave at an early hour, and when all had gone, when the&lt;br /&gt;child was in her bed, the lamps were extinguished, the servants gone&lt;br /&gt;to their own quarters, the Comte de Guilleroy, walking across the&lt;br /&gt;drawing-room, lighted now by only two candles, detained for a long time&lt;br /&gt;the Countess, who was half asleep in an armchair, to tell her of his&lt;br /&gt;hopes, to suggest the attitude for themselves to assume, to forecast all&lt;br /&gt;combinations, the chances and the precautions to be taken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was late when he retired, charmed, however, with this evening, and&lt;br /&gt;murmuring, "I believe that that affair is a certainty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 3&lt;br /&gt;A FLAME REKINDLED&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"_When will you come, my friend? I have not seen you for three days, and&lt;br /&gt;that seems a long time to me. My daughter occupies much of my time, but&lt;br /&gt;you know that I can no longer do without you._"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter, who was drawing sketches, ever seeking a new subject&lt;br /&gt;re-read the Countess's note, then, opening the drawer of a writing-desk,&lt;br /&gt;he deposited it on a heap of other letters, which had been accumulating&lt;br /&gt;there since the beginning of their love-affair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to the opportunities given them by the customs of fashionable&lt;br /&gt;society, they had grown used to seeing each other almost every day. Now&lt;br /&gt;and then she visited him, and sat for an hour or two in the armchair in&lt;br /&gt;which she had posed, while he worked. But, as she had some fear of the&lt;br /&gt;criticisms of the servants, she preferred to receive him at her own&lt;br /&gt;house, or to meet him elsewhere, for that daily interview, that small&lt;br /&gt;change of love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These meetings would be agreed upon beforehand, and always seemed&lt;br /&gt;perfectly natural to M. de Guilleroy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Twice a week at least the painter dined at the Countess's house, with&lt;br /&gt;a few friends; on Monday nights he visited her in her box at the Opera;&lt;br /&gt;then they would agree upon a meeting at such or such a house, to which&lt;br /&gt;chance led them at the same hour. He knew the evenings that she did&lt;br /&gt;not go out, and would call then to have a cup of tea with her, feeling&lt;br /&gt;himself very much at home even near the folds of her robe, so tenderly&lt;br /&gt;and so surely settled in that ripe affection, so fixed in the habit of&lt;br /&gt;finding her somewhere, of passing some time by her side, or exchanging&lt;br /&gt;a few words with her and of mingling a few thoughts, that he felt,&lt;br /&gt;although the glow of his passion had long since faded, an incessant need&lt;br /&gt;of seeing her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The desire for family life, for a full and animated household, for the&lt;br /&gt;family table, for those evenings when one talks without fatigue with&lt;br /&gt;old friends, that desire for contact, for familiarity, for human&lt;br /&gt;intercourse, which dwells dormant in every human heart, and which every&lt;br /&gt;old bachelor carries from door to door to his friends, where he installs&lt;br /&gt;something of himself, added a strain of egoism to his sentiments of&lt;br /&gt;affection. In that house, where he was loved and spoiled, where he found&lt;br /&gt;everything, he could still rest and nurse his solitude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For three days he had not seen his friends, who must be very much&lt;br /&gt;occupied by the return of the daughter of the house; and he was already&lt;br /&gt;feeling bored, and even a little offended because they had not sent for&lt;br /&gt;him sooner, but not wishing, as a matter of discretion, to be the first&lt;br /&gt;to make an approach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess's letter aroused him like the stroke of a whip. It was&lt;br /&gt;three o'clock in the afternoon. He decided to go immediately to her&lt;br /&gt;house, that he might find her before she went out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The valet appeared, summoned by the sound of Olivier's bell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What sort of weather is it, Joseph?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very fine, Monsieur."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Warm?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Monsieur."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"White waistcoat, blue jacket, gray hat."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He always dressed with elegance, but although his tailor turned him out&lt;br /&gt;in correct styles, the very way in which he wore his clothes, his manner&lt;br /&gt;of walking, his comfortable proportions encased in a white waistcoat,&lt;br /&gt;his high gray felt hat, tilted a little toward the back of his head,&lt;br /&gt;seemed to reveal at once that he was both an artist and a bachelor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he reached the Countess's house, he was told that she was dressing&lt;br /&gt;for a drive in the Bois. He was a little vexed at this, and waited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to his habit, he began to pace to and fro in the drawing-room,&lt;br /&gt;going from one seat to another, or from the windows to the wall, in the&lt;br /&gt;large drawing-room darkened by the curtains. On the light tables with&lt;br /&gt;gilded feet, trifles of various kinds, useless, pretty, and costly, lay&lt;br /&gt;scattered about in studied disorder. There were little antique boxes of&lt;br /&gt;chased gold, miniature snuff-boxes, ivory statuettes, objects in dull&lt;br /&gt;silver, quite modern, of an exaggerated severity, in which English taste&lt;br /&gt;appeared: a diminutive kitchen stove, and upon it a cat drinking from a&lt;br /&gt;pan, a cigarette-case simulating a loaf of bread, a coffee-pot to hold&lt;br /&gt;matches, and in a casket a complete set of doll's jewelry--necklaces,&lt;br /&gt;bracelets, rings, brooches, ear-rings set with diamonds, sapphires,&lt;br /&gt;rubies, emeralds, a microscopic fantasy that seemed to have been&lt;br /&gt;executed by Lilliputian jewelers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From time to time he touched some object, given by himself on some&lt;br /&gt;anniversary; he lifted it, handled it, examining it with dreamy&lt;br /&gt;indifference, then put it back in its place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In one corner some books that were luxuriously bound but seldom&lt;br /&gt;opened lay within easy reach on a round table with a single leg for a&lt;br /&gt;foundation, which stood before a little curved sofa. The _Revue des Deux&lt;br /&gt;Mondes_ lay there also, somewhat worn, with turned-down pages, as if it&lt;br /&gt;had been read and re-read many times; other publications lay near it,&lt;br /&gt;some of them uncut: the _Arts modernes_, which is bought only because of&lt;br /&gt;its cost, the subscription price being four hundred francs a year; and&lt;br /&gt;the _Feuille libre_, a thin volume between blue covers, in which appear&lt;br /&gt;the more recent poets, called "_les enerves_."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the windows stood the Countess's writing-desk, a coquettish&lt;br /&gt;piece of furniture of the last century, on which she wrote replies to&lt;br /&gt;those hurried questions handed to her during her receptions. A few books&lt;br /&gt;were on that, also, familiar books, index to the heart and mind of a&lt;br /&gt;woman: Musset, Manon Lescaut, Werther; and, to show that she was not a&lt;br /&gt;stranger to the complicated sensations and mysteries of psychology,&lt;br /&gt;_Les Fleurs du Mal_, _Le Rouge et le Noir_, _La Femme au XVIII Siecle_,&lt;br /&gt;_Adolphe_.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beside the books lay a charming hand-mirror, a masterpiece of the&lt;br /&gt;silversmith's art, the glass being turned down upon a square of&lt;br /&gt;embroidered velvet, in order to allow one to admire the curious gold and&lt;br /&gt;silver workmanship on the back. Bertin took it up and looked at his&lt;br /&gt;own reflection. For some years he had been growing terribly old&lt;br /&gt;in appearance, and although he thought that his face showed more&lt;br /&gt;originality than when he was younger, the sight of his heavy cheeks and&lt;br /&gt;increasing wrinkles saddened him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A door opened behind him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good morning, Monsieur Bertin," said Annette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good morning, little one; are you well?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well; and you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, are you not saying 'thou' to me, then, after all?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, indeed! It would really embarrass me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nonsense!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, it would. You make me feel timid."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And why, pray?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Because--because you are neither young enough nor old enough--"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"After such a reason as that I will insist no more."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She blushed suddenly, up to the white brow, where the waves of hair&lt;br /&gt;began to ripple, and resumed, with an air of slight confusion:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mamma told me to say to you that she will be down immediately, and to&lt;br /&gt;ask you whether you will go to the Bois de Boulogne with us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, certainly. You are alone?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No; with the Duchesse de Mortemain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well; I will go."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then will you allow me to go and put on my hat?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, go, my child."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Annette left the room the Countess entered, veiled, ready to set&lt;br /&gt;forth. She extended her hands cordially.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We never see you any more. What are you doing?" she inquired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I did not wish to trouble you just at this time," said Bertin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the tone with which she spoke the word "Olivier!" she expressed all&lt;br /&gt;her reproaches and all her attachment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are the best woman in the world," he said, touched by the tender&lt;br /&gt;intonation of his name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This little love-quarrel being finished and settled, the Countess&lt;br /&gt;resumed her light, society tone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We shall pick up the Duchess at her hotel and then make a tour of the&lt;br /&gt;Bois. We must show all that sort of thing to Nanette, you know."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The landau awaited them under the porte-cochere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin seated himself facing the two ladies, and the carriage&lt;br /&gt;departed, the pawing of the horses making a resonant sound against the&lt;br /&gt;over-arching roof of the porte-cochere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along the grand boulevard descending toward the Madeleine all the gaiety&lt;br /&gt;of the springtime seemed to have fallen upon the tide of humanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The soft air and the sunshine lent to the men a festive air, to the&lt;br /&gt;women a suggestion of love; the bakers' boys deposited their baskets on&lt;br /&gt;the benches to run and play with their brethren, the street urchins; the&lt;br /&gt;dogs appeared in a great hurry to go somewhere; the canaries hanging in&lt;br /&gt;the boxes of the concierges trilled loudly; only the ancient cab-horses&lt;br /&gt;kept their usual sedate pace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, what a beautiful day! How good it is to live!" murmured the&lt;br /&gt;Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter contemplated both mother and daughter in the dazzling light.&lt;br /&gt;Certainly, they were different, but at the same time so much alike that&lt;br /&gt;the latter was veritably a continuation of the former, made of the same&lt;br /&gt;blood, the same flesh, animated by the same life. Their eyes, above all,&lt;br /&gt;those blue eyes flecked with tiny black drops, of such a brilliant blue&lt;br /&gt;in the daughter, a little faded in the mother, fixed upon him a look so&lt;br /&gt;similar that he expected to hear them make the same replies. And he was&lt;br /&gt;surprised to discover, as he made them laugh and talk, that before him&lt;br /&gt;were two very distinct women, one who had lived and one who was about&lt;br /&gt;to live. No, he did not foresee what would become of that child when her&lt;br /&gt;young mind, influenced by tastes and instincts that were as yet dormant,&lt;br /&gt;should have expanded and developed amid the life of the world. This was&lt;br /&gt;a pretty little new person, ready for chances and for love, ignored and&lt;br /&gt;ignorant, who was sailing out of port like a vessel, while her mother&lt;br /&gt;was returning, having traversed life and having loved!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was touched at the thought that she had chosen himself, and that she&lt;br /&gt;preferred him still, this woman who had remained so pretty, rocked in&lt;br /&gt;that landau, in the warm air of springtime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he expressed his gratitude to her in a glance, she divined it, and he&lt;br /&gt;thought he could feel her thanks in the rustle of her robe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In his turn he murmured: "Oh, yes, what a beautiful day!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they had taken up the Duchess, in the Rue de Varenne, they spun&lt;br /&gt;along at a swift pace toward the Invalides, crossed the Seine, and&lt;br /&gt;reached the Avenue des Champs-Elysees, going up toward the Arc de&lt;br /&gt;triomphe de l'Etoile in the midst of a sea of carriages.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young girl was seated beside Olivier, riding backward, and she&lt;br /&gt;opened upon this stream of equipages wide and wondering eager eyes.&lt;br /&gt;Occasionally, when the Duchess and the Countess acknowledged a&lt;br /&gt;salutation with a short movement of the head, she would ask "Who is&lt;br /&gt;that?" Bertin answered: "The Pontaiglin," "the Puicelci," "the Comtesse&lt;br /&gt;de Lochrist," or "the beautiful Madame Mandeliere."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now they were following the Avenue of the Bois de Boulogne, amid the&lt;br /&gt;noise and the rattling of wheels. The carriages, a little less crowded&lt;br /&gt;than below the Arc de Triomphe, seemed to struggle in an endless race.&lt;br /&gt;The cabs, the heavy landaus, the solemn eight-spring vehicles, passed&lt;br /&gt;one another over and over again, distanced suddenly by a rapid victoria,&lt;br /&gt;drawn by a single trotter, bearing along at a reckless pace, through&lt;br /&gt;all that rolling throng, _bourgeois_ and aristocratic, through all&lt;br /&gt;societies, all classes, all hierarchies, an indolent young woman, whose&lt;br /&gt;bright and striking toilette diffused among the carriages it touched in&lt;br /&gt;passing a strange perfume of some unknown flower.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who is that lady?" Annette inquired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know," said Bertin, at which reply the Duchess and the Countess&lt;br /&gt;exchanged a smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The leaves were opening, the familiar nightingales of that Parisian&lt;br /&gt;garden were singing already among the tender verdure, and when, as the&lt;br /&gt;carriage approached the lake, it joined the long file of other vehicles&lt;br /&gt;at a walk, there was an incessant exchange of salutations, smiles, and&lt;br /&gt;friendly words, as the wheels touched. The procession seemed now like&lt;br /&gt;the gliding of a flotilla in which were seated very well-bred ladies and&lt;br /&gt;gentlemen. The Duchess, who was bowing every moment before raised hats&lt;br /&gt;or inclined heads, appeared to be passing them in review, calling&lt;br /&gt;to mind what she knew, thought, or supposed of these people, as they&lt;br /&gt;defiled before her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look, dearest, there is the lovely Madame Mandeliere again--the beauty&lt;br /&gt;of the Republic."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a light and dashing carriage, the beauty of the Republic allowed to&lt;br /&gt;be admired, under an apparent indifference to this indisputable glory,&lt;br /&gt;her large dark eyes, her low brow beneath a veil of dusky hair, and her&lt;br /&gt;mouth, which was a shade too obstinate in its lines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very beautiful, all the same," said Bertin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess did not like to hear him praise other women. She shrugged&lt;br /&gt;her shoulders slightly, but said nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the young girl, in whom the instinct of rivalry suddenly awoke,&lt;br /&gt;ventured to say: "I do not find her beautiful at all."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What! You do not think her beautiful?" said the painter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No; she looks as if she had been dipped in ink."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess, delighted, burst into laughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bravo, little one!" she cried. "For the last six years half the men&lt;br /&gt;in Paris have been swooning at the feet of that negress! I believe that&lt;br /&gt;they sneer at us. Look at the Comtesse de Lochrist instead."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alone, in a landau with a white poodle, the Countess, delicate as a&lt;br /&gt;miniature, a blond with brown eyes, whose grace and beauty had served&lt;br /&gt;for five or six years as the theme for the admiration of her partisans,&lt;br /&gt;bowed to the ladies, with a fixed smile on her lips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Nanette exhibited no greater enthusiasm than before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh," she said, "she is no longer young!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, who usually did not at all agree with the Countess in the daily&lt;br /&gt;discussions of these two rivals, felt a sudden irritation at the stupid&lt;br /&gt;intolerance of this little simpleton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nonsense!" he said. "Whether one likes her or not, she is charming; and&lt;br /&gt;I only hope that you may become as pretty as she."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pooh! pooh!" said the Duchess. "You notice women only after they have&lt;br /&gt;passed the thirtieth year. The child is right. You admire only _passee_&lt;br /&gt;beauty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pardon me!" he exclaimed; "a woman is really beautiful only after&lt;br /&gt;maturing, when the expression of her face and eyes has become fully&lt;br /&gt;developed!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He enlarged upon this idea that the first youthful freshness is only the&lt;br /&gt;gloss of riper beauty; he demonstrated that men of the world were wise&lt;br /&gt;in paying but little attention to young girls in their first season, and&lt;br /&gt;that they were right in proclaiming them beautiful only when they passed&lt;br /&gt;into their later period of bloom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess, flattered, murmured: "He is right; he speaks as an artist.&lt;br /&gt;The youthful countenance is very charming, but it is always a trifle&lt;br /&gt;commonplace."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter continued to urge his point, indicating at what moment a&lt;br /&gt;face that was losing, little by little, the undecided grace of youth,&lt;br /&gt;really assumed its definite form, its true character and physiognomy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At each word the Countess said "Yes," with a little nod of conviction;&lt;br /&gt;and the more he affirmed, with all the heat of a lawyer making a plea,&lt;br /&gt;with the animation of the accused pleading his own cause, the more she&lt;br /&gt;approved, by glance and gesture, as if they two were allied against&lt;br /&gt;some danger, and must defend themselves against some false and menacing&lt;br /&gt;opinion. Annette hardly heard them, she was so engrossed in looking&lt;br /&gt;about her. Her usually smiling face had become grave, and she said no&lt;br /&gt;more, carried away by the pleasure of the rapid driving. The sunlight,&lt;br /&gt;the trees, the carriage, this delightful life, so rich and gay--all this&lt;br /&gt;was for her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every day she might come here, recognized in her turn, saluted and&lt;br /&gt;envied; and perhaps the men, in pointing her out to one another, would&lt;br /&gt;say that she was beautiful. She noticed all those that appeared to&lt;br /&gt;her distinguished among the throng and inquired their names, without&lt;br /&gt;thinking of anything beyond the mere sound of the syllables, though&lt;br /&gt;sometimes they awoke in her an echo of respect and admiration, when she&lt;br /&gt;realized that she had seen them often in the newspapers or heard stories&lt;br /&gt;concerning them. She could not become accustomed to this long procession&lt;br /&gt;of celebrities; it seemed unreal to her, as if she were a part of some&lt;br /&gt;stage spectacle. The cabs filled her with disdain mingled with disgust;&lt;br /&gt;they annoyed and irritated her, and suddenly she said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I think they should not allow anything but private carriages to come&lt;br /&gt;here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Indeed, Mademoiselle!" said Bertin; "and then what becomes of our&lt;br /&gt;equality, liberty and fraternity?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette made a moue that signified "Don't talk about that!" and&lt;br /&gt;continued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They should have a separate drive for cabs--that of Vincennes, for&lt;br /&gt;instance."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are behind the times, little one, and evidently do not know that we&lt;br /&gt;are swimming in the full tide of democracy. But, if you wish to see this&lt;br /&gt;place free from any mingling of the middle class, come in the morning,&lt;br /&gt;and then you will find only the fine flower of society."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He proceeded to describe graphically, as he knew well how to do, the&lt;br /&gt;Bois in the morning hours with its gay cavaliers and fair Amazons, that&lt;br /&gt;club where everyone knows everyone else by their Christian names, their&lt;br /&gt;pet names, their family connections, titles, qualities, and vices, as if&lt;br /&gt;they all lived in the same neighborhood or in the same small town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you come here often at that hour?" Annette inquired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very often; there is no more charming place in Paris."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you come on horseback in the mornings?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And in the afternoon you pay visits?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then, when do you work?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I work--sometimes; and besides, you see, I have chosen a special&lt;br /&gt;entertainment suited to my tastes. As I paint the portraits of&lt;br /&gt;beautiful women, it is necessary that I should see them and follow them&lt;br /&gt;everywhere."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On foot and on horseback!" murmured Annette, with a perfectly serious&lt;br /&gt;face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He threw her a sidelong glance of appreciation, which seemed to say:&lt;br /&gt;"Ah! you are witty, even now! You will do very well."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A breath of cold air from far away, from the country that was hardly&lt;br /&gt;awake as yet, swept over the park, and the whole Bois, coquettish,&lt;br /&gt;frivolous, and fashionable, shivered under its chill. For some seconds&lt;br /&gt;it caused the tender leaves to tremble on the trees, and garments on&lt;br /&gt;shoulders. All the women, with a movement almost simultaneous, drew up&lt;br /&gt;over their arms and chests their wraps lying behind them; and the horses&lt;br /&gt;began to trot, from one end of the avenue to the other, as if the keen&lt;br /&gt;wind had flicked them like a whip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess's party returned quickly, to the silvery jingle of the&lt;br /&gt;harness, under the slanting red rays of the setting sun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Shall you go home?" inquired the Countess of Bertin, with whose habits&lt;br /&gt;she was familiar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I am going to the club."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then, shall we set you down there in passing?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you, that will be very convenient."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And when shall you invite us to breakfast with the Duchess?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Name your day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This painter in ordinary to the fair Parisians, whom his admirers&lt;br /&gt;christened "a Watteau realist" and his detractors a "photographer&lt;br /&gt;of gowns and mantles," often received at breakfast or at dinner the&lt;br /&gt;beautiful persons whose feature he had reproduced, as well as the&lt;br /&gt;celebrated and the well known, who found very amusing these little&lt;br /&gt;entertainments in a bachelor's establishment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The day after to-morrow, then. Will the day after to-morrow suit you,&lt;br /&gt;my dear Duchess?" asked Madame de Guilleroy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, indeed; you are charming! Monsieur Bertin never thinks of me&lt;br /&gt;when he has his little parties. It is quite evident that I am no longer&lt;br /&gt;young."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess, accustomed to consider the artist's home almost the same&lt;br /&gt;as her own, replied:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Only we four, the four of the landau--the Duchess, Annette, you and I,&lt;br /&gt;eh, great artist?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Only ourselves," said he, alighting from the carriage, "and I will have&lt;br /&gt;prepared for you some crabs _a l'alsacienne_."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you will awaken a desire for luxury in the little one!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He bowed to them, standing beside the carriage door, then entered&lt;br /&gt;quickly the vestibule of the main entrance to the club, threw his&lt;br /&gt;topcoat and cane to a group of footmen, who had risen like soldiers at&lt;br /&gt;the passing of an officer; mounted the broad stairway, meeting another&lt;br /&gt;brigade of servants in knee-breeches, pushed open a door, feeling&lt;br /&gt;himself suddenly as alert as a young man, as he heard at the end of the&lt;br /&gt;corridor a continuous clash of foils, the sound of stamping feet, and&lt;br /&gt;loud exclamations: _"Touche!" "A moi." "Passe!" "J'en ai!" "Touche!" "A&lt;br /&gt;vous!"_&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the fencing-hall the swordsmen, dressed in gray linen, with leather&lt;br /&gt;vests, their trousers tight around the ankles, a sort of apron falling&lt;br /&gt;over the front of the body, one arm in the air, with the hand thrown&lt;br /&gt;backward, and in the other hand, enormous in a large fencing-glove, the&lt;br /&gt;thin, flexible foil, extended and recovered with the agile swiftness of&lt;br /&gt;mechanical jumping-jacks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Others rested and chatted, still out of breath, red and perspiring, with&lt;br /&gt;handkerchief in hand to wipe off faces and necks; others, seated on&lt;br /&gt;a square divan that ran along the four sides of the hall, watched the&lt;br /&gt;fencing--Liverdy against Landa, and the master of the club, Taillade,&lt;br /&gt;against the tall Rocdiane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, smiling, quite at home, shook hands with several men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I choose you!" cried the Baron de Baverie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am with you, my dear fellow," said Bertin, passing into the&lt;br /&gt;dressing-room to prepare himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had not felt so agile and vigorous for a long time, and, guessing&lt;br /&gt;that he should fence well that day, he hurried as impatiently as a&lt;br /&gt;schoolboy ready for play. As soon as he stood before his adversary he&lt;br /&gt;attacked him with great ardor, and in ten minutes he had touched him&lt;br /&gt;eleven times and had so fatigued him that the Baron cried for quarter.&lt;br /&gt;Then he fenced with Punisimont, and with his colleague, Amaury Maldant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cold douche that followed, freezing his palpitating flesh, reminded&lt;br /&gt;him of the baths of his twentieth year, when he used to plunge head&lt;br /&gt;first into the Seine from the bridges in the suburbs, in order to amaze&lt;br /&gt;the bourgeois passers-by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Shall you dine here?" inquired Maldant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We have a table with Liverdy, Rocdiane, and Landa; make haste; it is a&lt;br /&gt;quarter past seven."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dining-room was full, and there was a continuous hum of men's&lt;br /&gt;voices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were all the nocturnal vagabonds of Paris, idlers and workers, all&lt;br /&gt;those who from seven o'clock in the evening know not what to do and dine&lt;br /&gt;at the club, ready to catch at anything or anybody that chance may offer&lt;br /&gt;to amuse them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the five friends were seated the banker Liverdy, a vigorous and&lt;br /&gt;hearty man of forty, said to Bertin:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You were in fine form this evening."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I could have done surprising things to-day," Bertin replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The others smiled, and the landscape painter, Amaury Maldant, a thin&lt;br /&gt;little bald-headed man with a gray beard, said, with a sly expression:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I, too, always feel the rising of the sap in April; it makes me bring&lt;br /&gt;forth a few leaves--half a dozen at most--then it runs into sentiment;&lt;br /&gt;there never is any fruit."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Marquis de Rocdiane and the Comte Landa sympathized with him. Both&lt;br /&gt;were older than he, though even a keen eye could not guess their age;&lt;br /&gt;clubmen, horsemen, swordsmen, whose incessant exercise had given them&lt;br /&gt;bodies of steel, they boasted of being younger in every way than the&lt;br /&gt;enervated good-for-nothings of the new generation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rocdiane, of good family, with the entree to all salons, though&lt;br /&gt;suspected of financial intrigues of many kinds (which, according&lt;br /&gt;to Bertin, was not surprising, since he had lived so much in the&lt;br /&gt;gaming-houses), married, but separated from his wife, who paid him an&lt;br /&gt;annuity, a director of Belgian and Portuguese banks, carried boldly upon&lt;br /&gt;his energetic, Don Quixote-like face the somewhat tarnished honor of a&lt;br /&gt;gentleman, which was occasionally brightened by the blood from a thrust&lt;br /&gt;in a duel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Comte de Landa, a good-natured colossus, proud of his figure and&lt;br /&gt;his shoulders, although married and the father of two children, found it&lt;br /&gt;difficult to dine at home three times a week; he remained at the club on&lt;br /&gt;the other days, with his friends, after the session in the fencing-hall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The club is a family," he said, "the family of those who as yet have&lt;br /&gt;none, of those who never will have one, and of those who are bored by&lt;br /&gt;their own."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conversation branched off on the subject of women, glided from&lt;br /&gt;anecdotes to reminiscences, from reminiscences to boasts, and then to&lt;br /&gt;indiscreet confidences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Marquis de Rocdiane allowed the names of his inamoratas to be&lt;br /&gt;guessed by unmistakable hints--society women whose names he did not&lt;br /&gt;utter, so that their identity might be the better surmised. The banker&lt;br /&gt;Liverdy indicated his flames by their first names. He would say: "I was&lt;br /&gt;at that time the best of friends with the wife of a diplomat. Now,&lt;br /&gt;one evening when I was leaving her, I said to her, 'My little&lt;br /&gt;Marguerite'"--then he checked himself, amid the smiles of his fellows,&lt;br /&gt;adding "Ha! I let something slip. One should form a habit of calling all&lt;br /&gt;women Sophie."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin, very reserved, was accustomed to declare, when&lt;br /&gt;questioned:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For my part, I content myself with my models."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They pretended to believe him, and Landa, who was frankly a libertine,&lt;br /&gt;grew quite excited at the idea of all the pretty creatures that walked&lt;br /&gt;the streets and all the young persons who posed undraped before the&lt;br /&gt;painter at ten francs an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the bottle became empty, all these gray-beards, as the younger&lt;br /&gt;members of the club called them, acquired red faces, and their kindling&lt;br /&gt;ardor awakened new desires.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rocdiane, after the coffee, became still more indiscreet, and forgot the&lt;br /&gt;society women to celebrate the charms of simple cocottes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Paris!" said he, a glass of kummel in his hand, "The only city where&lt;br /&gt;a man never grows old, the only one where, at fifty, if he is sound and&lt;br /&gt;well preserved, he will always find a young girl, as pretty as an angel,&lt;br /&gt;to love him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Landa, finding again his Rocdiane after the liqueurs, applauded him&lt;br /&gt;enthusiastically, and mentioned the young girls who still adored him&lt;br /&gt;every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Liverdy, more skeptical, and pretending to know exactly what women&lt;br /&gt;were worth, murmured: "Yes, they tell you that they adore you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They prove it to me, my dear fellow," exclaimed Landa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Such proofs don't count."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They suffice me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, _sacrebleu!_ they do mean it," cried Rocdiane. "Do you believe&lt;br /&gt;that a pretty little creature of twenty, who has been going the rounds&lt;br /&gt;in Paris for five or six years already, where all our moustaches have&lt;br /&gt;taught her kisses and spoiled her taste for them, still knows how to&lt;br /&gt;distinguish a man of thirty from a man of sixty? Pshaw! what nonsense!&lt;br /&gt;She has seen and known too many of them. Now, I'll wager that, down in&lt;br /&gt;the bottom of her heart, she actually prefers an old banker to a young&lt;br /&gt;stripling. Does she know or reflect upon that? Have men any age here?&lt;br /&gt;Oh, my dear fellow, we grow young as we grow gray, and the whiter our&lt;br /&gt;hair becomes the more they tell us they love us, the more they show it,&lt;br /&gt;and the more they believe it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They rose from the table, their blood warmed and lashed by alcohol,&lt;br /&gt;ready to make any conquest; and they began to deliberate how to spend&lt;br /&gt;the evening, Bertin mentioning the Cirque, Rocdiane the Hippodrome,&lt;br /&gt;Maldant the Eden, and Landa the Folies-Bergere, when a light and distant&lt;br /&gt;sound of the tuning of violins reached their ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, there is music at the club to-day, it seems," said Rocdiane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes," Bertin replied. "Shall we listen for ten minutes before going&lt;br /&gt;out?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Agreed."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They crossed a salon, a billiard-room, a card-room, and finally reached&lt;br /&gt;a sort of box over the gallery of the musicians. Four gentlemen,&lt;br /&gt;ensconced in armchairs, were waiting there already, in easy attitudes,&lt;br /&gt;while below, among rows of empty seats, a dozen others were chatting,&lt;br /&gt;sitting or standing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The conductor tapped his desk with his bow; the music began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier adored music as an opium-eater adores opium. It made him dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the sonorous wave from the instruments reached him he felt&lt;br /&gt;himself borne away in a sort of nervous intoxication, which thrilled&lt;br /&gt;body and mind indescribably. His imagination ran riot, made drunk&lt;br /&gt;by melody, and carried him along through sweet dreams and charming&lt;br /&gt;reveries. With closed eyes, legs crossed, and folded arms, he listened&lt;br /&gt;to the strains, and gave himself up to the visions that passed before&lt;br /&gt;his eyes and into his mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The orchestra was playing one of Haydn's symphonies, and when Bertin's&lt;br /&gt;eyelids drooped over his eyes, he saw again the Bois, the crowd of&lt;br /&gt;carriages around him, and facing him in the landau the Countess and her&lt;br /&gt;daughter. He heard their voices, followed their words, felt the movement&lt;br /&gt;of the carriage, inhaled the air, filled with the odor of young leaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Three times, his neighbor, speaking to him, interrupted this vision,&lt;br /&gt;which three times he began again, as the rolling of the vessel seems to&lt;br /&gt;continue when, after crossing the ocean, one lies motionless in bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it extended itself to a long voyage, with the two women always&lt;br /&gt;seated before him, sometimes on the railway, again at the table&lt;br /&gt;of strange hotels. During the whole execution of the symphony they&lt;br /&gt;accompanied him, as if, while driving with him in the sunshine, they had&lt;br /&gt;left the image of their two faces imprinted on his vision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silence followed; then came a noise of seats being moved and chattering&lt;br /&gt;of voices, which dispelled this vapor of a dream, and he perceived,&lt;br /&gt;dozing around him, his four friends, relaxed from a listening attitude&lt;br /&gt;to the comfortable posture of sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, what shall we do now?" he asked, after he had roused them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I should like to sleep here a little longer," replied Rocdiane frankly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And I, too," said Landa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin rose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, I shall go home," he said. "I am rather tired."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He felt very animated, on the contrary, but he wished to go, fearing&lt;br /&gt;the end of the evening around the baccarat-table of the club, which&lt;br /&gt;unfortunately he knew so well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went home, therefore, and the following day, after a nervous night,&lt;br /&gt;one of those nights that put artists in that condition of cerebral&lt;br /&gt;activity called inspiration, he decided not to go out, but to work until&lt;br /&gt;evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was an excellent day, one of those days of facile production, when&lt;br /&gt;ideas seem to descend into the hands and fix themselves upon the canvas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With doors shut, far from the world, in the quiet of his own dwelling,&lt;br /&gt;closed to everyone, in the friendly peace of his studio, with clear eye,&lt;br /&gt;lucid mind, enthusiastic, alert, he tasted that happiness given only&lt;br /&gt;to artists, the happiness of bringing forth their work in joy. Nothing&lt;br /&gt;existed any more for him in such hours of work except the piece of&lt;br /&gt;canvas on which was born an image under the caress of his brush; and he&lt;br /&gt;experienced, in these crises of productiveness, a strange and delicious&lt;br /&gt;sensation of abounding life which intoxicated him. When evening came he&lt;br /&gt;was exhausted as by healthful fatigue, and went to sleep with agreeable&lt;br /&gt;anticipation of his breakfast the next morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The table was covered with flowers, the menu was carefully chosen, for&lt;br /&gt;Madame de Guilleroy's sake, as she was a refined epicure; and in spite&lt;br /&gt;of strong but brief resistance, the painter compelled his guests to&lt;br /&gt;drink champagne.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The little one will get intoxicated," protested the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear me! there must be a first time," replied the indulgent Duchess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone, as the party returned to the studio, felt stirred by that&lt;br /&gt;light gaiety which lifts one as if the feet had wings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess and the Countess, having an engagement at a meeting of the&lt;br /&gt;Committee of French Mothers, were to take Annette home before going to&lt;br /&gt;the meeting; but Bertin offered to take her for a walk, and then to the&lt;br /&gt;Boulevard Malesherbes; so both ladies left them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let us take the longest way," said Annette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Would you like to stroll about the Monceau Park?" asked Bertin. "It is&lt;br /&gt;a very pretty place; we will look at the babies and nurses."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I should like that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They passed through the Avenue Velasquez and entered the gilded and&lt;br /&gt;monumental gate that serves as a sign and an entrance to that exquisite&lt;br /&gt;jewel of a park, displaying in the heart of Paris its verdant and&lt;br /&gt;artificial beauty, surrounded by a belt of princely mansions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along the wide walks, which unroll their massive and artistic curves&lt;br /&gt;through grassy lawns, throngs of people, sitting on iron chairs, watch&lt;br /&gt;the passers; while in the little paths, deep in shade and winding like&lt;br /&gt;streams, groups of children crawl in the sand, run about, or jump the&lt;br /&gt;rope under the indolent eyes of nurses or the anxious watchfulness&lt;br /&gt;of mothers. Two enormous trees, rounded into domes, like monuments of&lt;br /&gt;leaves, the gigantic horse-chestnuts, whose heavy verdure is lighted up&lt;br /&gt;by red and white clusters, the showy sycamores, the graceful plane-trees&lt;br /&gt;with their trunks designedly polished, set off in a charming perspective&lt;br /&gt;the tall, undulating grass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The weather was warm, the turtle-doves were cooing among the branches,&lt;br /&gt;and flying to meet one another from the tree-tops, while the sparrows&lt;br /&gt;bathed in the rainbow formed by the sunshine and the spray thrown over&lt;br /&gt;the smooth turf. White statues on their pedestals seemed happy in the&lt;br /&gt;midst of the green freshness. A little marble boy was drawing from his&lt;br /&gt;foot an invisible thorn, as if he had just pricked himself in running&lt;br /&gt;after the Diana fleeing toward the little lake, imprisoned by the woods&lt;br /&gt;that screened the ruins of a temple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other statues, amorous and cold, embraced one another on the borders of&lt;br /&gt;the groves, or dreamed there, holding one knee in the hand. A cascade&lt;br /&gt;foamed and rolled over the pretty rocks; a tree, truncated like a&lt;br /&gt;column, supported an ivy; a tombstone bore an inscription. The stone&lt;br /&gt;shafts erected on the lawns hardly suggest better the Acropolis than&lt;br /&gt;this elegant little park recalled wild forests. It is the charming&lt;br /&gt;and artificial place where city people go to look at flowers grown in&lt;br /&gt;hot-houses, and to admire, as one admires the spectacle of life at the&lt;br /&gt;theater, that agreeable representation of the beauties of nature given&lt;br /&gt;in the heart of Paris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin had come almost every day for years to this favorite spot&lt;br /&gt;to look at the fair Parisians moving in their appropriate setting. "It&lt;br /&gt;is a park made for toilettes," he would say; "Badly dressed people are&lt;br /&gt;horrible in it." He would rove about there for hours, knowing all the&lt;br /&gt;plants and all the habitual visitors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He now strolled beside Annette along the avenues, his eye distracted by&lt;br /&gt;the motley and animated crowd in the gardens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, the little love!" exclaimed Annette. She was gazing at a tiny boy&lt;br /&gt;with blond curls, who was looking at her with his blue eyes full of&lt;br /&gt;surprise and delight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she passed all the children in review, and the pleasure she felt in&lt;br /&gt;seeing those living dolls, decked out in their dainty ribbons, made her&lt;br /&gt;talkative and communicative.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She walked slowly, chatting to Bertin, giving him her reflections on the&lt;br /&gt;children, the nurses, and the mothers. The larger children drew from&lt;br /&gt;her little exclamations of joy, while the little pale ones touched her&lt;br /&gt;sympathy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin listened, more amused by her than by the little ones, and, always&lt;br /&gt;remembering his work, he murmured, "That is delicious!" thinking that&lt;br /&gt;he must make an exquisite picture, with one corner of this park and a&lt;br /&gt;bouquet of nurses, mothers and children. Why had he never thought of it&lt;br /&gt;before?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You like those little ones?" he inquired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I adore them!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He felt, from her manner of looking at them, that she longed to take&lt;br /&gt;them in her arms, to hug and kiss them--the natural and tender longing&lt;br /&gt;of a future mother; and he was surprised at this secret instinct hidden&lt;br /&gt;in this little woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As she appeared ready to talk, he questioned her about her tastes. She&lt;br /&gt;admitted, with pretty naivete, that she had hopes of social success and&lt;br /&gt;glory, and that she desired to have fine horses, which she knew almost&lt;br /&gt;as well as a horse-dealer, for a part of the farm at Roncieres was&lt;br /&gt;devoted to breeding; but she appeared to trouble her head no more about&lt;br /&gt;a fiance than one is concerned about an apartment, which is always to be&lt;br /&gt;found among the multitude of houses to rent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They approached the lake, where two swans and six ducks were quietly&lt;br /&gt;floating, as clean and calm as porcelain birds, and they passed before&lt;br /&gt;a young woman sitting in a chair, with an open book lying on her knees,&lt;br /&gt;her eyes gazing upward, her soul having apparently taken flight in a&lt;br /&gt;dream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was as motionless as a wax figure. Plain, humble, dressed as a&lt;br /&gt;modest girl who has no thought of pleasing, she had gone to the land of&lt;br /&gt;Dreams, carried away by a phrase or a word that had bewitched her heart.&lt;br /&gt;Undoubtedly she was continuing, according to the impulse of her hopes,&lt;br /&gt;the adventure begun in the book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin paused, surprised. "How beautiful to dream like that!" said he.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They had passed before her; now they turned and passed her again without&lt;br /&gt;her perceiving them, so attentively did she follow the distant flight of&lt;br /&gt;her thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell me, little one," said the painter to Annette, "would it bore you&lt;br /&gt;very much to pose for me once or twice?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, indeed! Quite the contrary."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look well at that young lady who is roaming in the world of fancy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The lady there, in that chair?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes. Well, you, too, will sit on a chair, you will have an open book&lt;br /&gt;on your knee, and you will try to do as she does. Have you ever had&lt;br /&gt;daydreams?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, indeed."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of what?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He tried to confess her as to her aerial flights, but she would make&lt;br /&gt;no reply, evaded his questions, looked at the ducks swimming after some&lt;br /&gt;bread thrown to them by a lady, and seemed embarrassed, as if he had&lt;br /&gt;touched upon a subject that was a sensitive point with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, to change the conversation, she talked about her life at&lt;br /&gt;Roncieres, spoke of her grandmother, to whom she read aloud a long time&lt;br /&gt;every day, and who must now feel very lonely and sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As he listened, the painter felt as gay as a bird, gay as he never&lt;br /&gt;had been. All that she had said, all the doings, the trifling everyday&lt;br /&gt;details of the simple life of a young girl, amused and interested him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let us sit down," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They seated themselves near the water, and the two swans came floating&lt;br /&gt;toward them, expecting some fresh dainty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin felt recollections awakening within him--those faded remembrances&lt;br /&gt;that are drowned in forgetfulness, and which suddenly return, one knows&lt;br /&gt;not why. They surged up rapidly, of all sorts, and so numerous at the&lt;br /&gt;same time that it seemed to him a hand was stirring the miry depths of&lt;br /&gt;his memory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He tried to guess the reasons of this rising up of his former life which&lt;br /&gt;several times already, though never so insistently as to-day, he had&lt;br /&gt;felt and remarked. A cause always existed for these sudden evocations--a&lt;br /&gt;natural and simple cause, an odor, perhaps, often a perfume. How&lt;br /&gt;many times a woman's draperies had thrown to him in passing, with the&lt;br /&gt;evaporating breath of some essence, a host of forgotten events. At the&lt;br /&gt;bottom of old perfume-bottles he had often found bits of his former&lt;br /&gt;existence; and all wandering odors--of streets, fields, houses,&lt;br /&gt;furniture, sweet or unsavory, the warm odors of summer evenings, the&lt;br /&gt;cold breath of winter nights, revived within him far-off reminiscences,&lt;br /&gt;as if odors kept embalmed within him these dead-and-gone memories, as&lt;br /&gt;aromatics preserve mummies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was it the damp grass or the chestnut blossoms that thus reanimated the&lt;br /&gt;past? No. What, then?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was it his eye to which he owed this alertness? What had he seen?&lt;br /&gt;Nothing. Among the persons he had met, perhaps one might have resembled&lt;br /&gt;some one he had known, and, although he had not recognized it, it might&lt;br /&gt;have rung in his heart all the chords of the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was it not a sound, rather? Very often he had heard by chance a piano,&lt;br /&gt;an unknown voice, even a hand-organ in the street playing some old&lt;br /&gt;air, which had suddenly made him feel twenty years younger, filling his&lt;br /&gt;breast with tender recollections, long buried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But this appeal, continued, incessant, intangible, almost irritating!&lt;br /&gt;What was there near him to revive thus his extinct emotions?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is growing a little cool; we must go home," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They rose, and resumed their walk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He looked at the poor people sitting on benches, for whom a chair was&lt;br /&gt;too great an expense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette also observed them, and felt disturbed at the thought of their&lt;br /&gt;lives, their occupations, surprised that they should come to lounge in&lt;br /&gt;this beautiful public garden, when their own appearance was so forlorn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More than ever was Olivier now dreaming over past years. It seemed to&lt;br /&gt;him that a fly was humming in his ear, filling it with a buzzing song of&lt;br /&gt;bygone days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young girl, observing his dreamy air, asked:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is the matter? You seem sad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His heart thrilled within him. Who had said that? She or her mother?&lt;br /&gt;Not her mother with her present voice but with her voice of long ago, so&lt;br /&gt;changed that he had only just recognized it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing," he replied, smiling. "You entertain me very much; you are&lt;br /&gt;very charming, and you remind me of your mother."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How was it that he had not sooner remarked this strange echo of a voice&lt;br /&gt;once so familiar, now coming from these fresh lips?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Go on talking," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Of what?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell me what your teachers have taught you. Did you like them?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She began again to chat pleasantly. He listened, stirred by a growing&lt;br /&gt;anxiety; he watched and waited to detect, among the phrases of this&lt;br /&gt;young girl, almost a stranger to his heart, a word, a sound, a laugh,&lt;br /&gt;that seemed to have been imprisoned in her throat since her mother's&lt;br /&gt;youth. Certain intonations made him tremble with astonishment. Of course&lt;br /&gt;there were differences in their tones, the resemblance of which he had&lt;br /&gt;not remarked immediately, and which were in some ways so dissimilar that&lt;br /&gt;he had not confounded them at all; but these differences rendered all&lt;br /&gt;the more striking this sudden reproduction of the maternal speech. He&lt;br /&gt;had noted their facial resemblance with a friendly and curious eye, but&lt;br /&gt;now the mystery of this resuscitated voice mingled them in such a way&lt;br /&gt;that, turning away his head that he might no longer see the young girl,&lt;br /&gt;he asked himself whether it were not the Countess who was speaking thus&lt;br /&gt;to him, twelve years earlier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when he had woven this hallucination, he turned toward her again,&lt;br /&gt;and found, as their eyes met, a little of the shy hesitation with which&lt;br /&gt;the mother's gaze had met his in the first days of their love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They had already walked three times around the park, passing always&lt;br /&gt;before the same persons, the same nurses and children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette was now inspecting the buildings surrounding the garden,&lt;br /&gt;inquiring the names of their owners. She wished to know all about them,&lt;br /&gt;asked questions with eager curiosity, seeming to fill her feminine mind&lt;br /&gt;with these details, and, with interested face, listening with her eyes&lt;br /&gt;as much as with her ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But when they arrived at the pavilion that separates the two gates of&lt;br /&gt;the outer boulevard, Bertin perceived that it was almost four o'clock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh," he said, "we must go home."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They walked slowly toward the Boulevard Malesherbes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the painter had left Annette at her home he proceeded toward the&lt;br /&gt;Place de la Concorde.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He sang to himself softly, longed to run, and would have been glad to&lt;br /&gt;jump over the benches, so agile did he feel. Paris seemed radiant to&lt;br /&gt;him, more beautiful than ever. "Decidedly the springtime revarnishes the&lt;br /&gt;whole world," was his reflection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was in one of those periods of mental excitement when one understands&lt;br /&gt;everything with more pleasure, when the vision is clearer and more&lt;br /&gt;comprehensive, when one feels a keener joy in seeing and feeling, as if&lt;br /&gt;an all-powerful hand had brightened all the colors of earth, reanimated&lt;br /&gt;all living creatures, and had wound up in us, as in a watch that has&lt;br /&gt;stopped, the activity of sensation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He thought, as his glance took in a thousand amusing things: "And I said&lt;br /&gt;that there were moments when I could no longer find subjects to paint!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He felt such a sensation of freedom and clear-sightedness that all his&lt;br /&gt;artistic work seemed commonplace to him, and he conceived a new way of&lt;br /&gt;expressing life, truer and more original; and suddenly he was seized&lt;br /&gt;with a desire to return home and work, so he retraced his steps and shut&lt;br /&gt;himself up in his studio.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But as soon as he was alone, before a newly begun picture, the ardor&lt;br /&gt;that had burned in his blood began to cool. He felt tired, sat down on&lt;br /&gt;his divan, and again gave himself up to dreaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sort of happy indifference in which he lived, that carelessness of&lt;br /&gt;the satisfied man whose almost every need is gratified, was leaving his&lt;br /&gt;heart by degrees, as if something were still lacking. He realized that&lt;br /&gt;his house was empty and his studio deserted. Then, looking around him,&lt;br /&gt;he fancied he saw pass by him the shadow of a woman whose presence was&lt;br /&gt;sweet. For a long time he had forgotten the sensation of impatience&lt;br /&gt;that a lover feels when awaiting the coming of his mistress, and now he&lt;br /&gt;suddenly felt that she was far away, and he longed, with the ardor of a&lt;br /&gt;young man, to have her near him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was moved in thinking how much they had loved each other; and in&lt;br /&gt;that vast apartment he found once more, where she had come so often,&lt;br /&gt;innumerable reminders of her, her gestures, words, and kisses. He&lt;br /&gt;recalled certain days, certain hours, certain moments, and he felt&lt;br /&gt;around him the sweetness of her early caresses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He got up, unable to sit quietly any longer, and began to walk, thinking&lt;br /&gt;again that, in spite of this intimacy that had so filled his life, he&lt;br /&gt;still remained alone, always alone. After the long hours of work, when&lt;br /&gt;he looked around him, dazed by the reawakening of the man who returns to&lt;br /&gt;life, he saw and felt only walls within reach of his hand and voice.&lt;br /&gt;Not having any woman in his home, and not being able to meet the one he&lt;br /&gt;loved except with the precautions of a thief, he had been compelled to&lt;br /&gt;spend his leisure time in public places where one finds or purchases the&lt;br /&gt;means of killing time. He was accustomed to going to the club, to the&lt;br /&gt;Cirque and the Hippodrome, on fixed days, to the Opera, and to all sorts&lt;br /&gt;of places, so that he should not be compelled to go home, where no doubt&lt;br /&gt;he would have lived in perfect happiness had he only had her beside him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long before, in certain hours of tender abandon, he had suffered cruelly&lt;br /&gt;because he could not take her and keep her with him; then, as his ardor&lt;br /&gt;cooled, he had accepted quietly their separation and his own liberty;&lt;br /&gt;now he regretted them once more, as if he were again beginning to love&lt;br /&gt;her. And this return of tenderness invaded his heart so suddenly, almost&lt;br /&gt;without reason, because the weather was fine, and possibly because a&lt;br /&gt;little while ago he had recognized the rejuvenated voice of that woman!&lt;br /&gt;How slight a thing it takes to move a man's heart, a man who is growing&lt;br /&gt;old, with whom remembrance turns into regret!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As in former days, the need of seeing her again came to him, entering&lt;br /&gt;body and mind, like a fever; and he began to think after the fashion of&lt;br /&gt;a young lover, exalting her in his heart, and feeling himself exalted in&lt;br /&gt;his desire for her; then he decided, although he had seen her only that&lt;br /&gt;morning, to go and ask for a cup of tea that same evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hours seemed long to him, and as he set out for the Boulevard&lt;br /&gt;Malesherbes he was seized with a fear of not finding her, which would&lt;br /&gt;force him still to pass the evening alone, as he had passed so many&lt;br /&gt;others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To his query: "Is the Countess at home?" the servant's answer, "Yes,&lt;br /&gt;Monsieur," filled him with joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He said, with a radiant air: "It is I again!" as he appeared at the&lt;br /&gt;threshold of the smaller drawing-room where the two ladies were working,&lt;br /&gt;under the pink shade of a double lamp of English metal, on a high and&lt;br /&gt;slender standard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, is it you? How fortunate!" exclaimed the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, yes. I feel very lonely, so I came."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How nice of you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are expecting someone?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No--perhaps--I never know."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had seated himself and now looked scornfully at the gray&lt;br /&gt;knitting-work that mother and daughter were swiftly making from heavy&lt;br /&gt;wool, working at it with long needles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is that?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Coverlets."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For the poor?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, of course."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is very ugly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is very warm."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Possibly, but it is very ugly, especially in a Louis Fifteenth&lt;br /&gt;apartment, where everything else charms the eye. If not for your poor,&lt;br /&gt;you really ought to make your charities more elegant, for the sake of&lt;br /&gt;your friends."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, heavens, these men!" said the Countess, with a shrug of her&lt;br /&gt;shoulders. "Why, everyone is making this kind of coverlets just now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know that; I know it only too well! Once cannot make an evening call&lt;br /&gt;now without seeing that frightful gray stuff dragged over the prettiest&lt;br /&gt;gowns and the most elegant furniture. Bad taste seems to be the fashion&lt;br /&gt;this spring."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To judge whether he spoke the truth, the Countess spread out her&lt;br /&gt;knitting on a silk-covered chair beside her; then she assented&lt;br /&gt;indifferently:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, you are right--it is ugly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she resumed her work. Upon the two bent heads fell a stream&lt;br /&gt;of light; a rosy radiance from the lamp illumined their hair and&lt;br /&gt;complexions, extending to their skirts and their moving fingers. They&lt;br /&gt;watched their work with that attention, light but continuous, given&lt;br /&gt;by women to this labor of the fingers which the eye follows without a&lt;br /&gt;thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the four corners of the room four other lamps of Chinese porcelain,&lt;br /&gt;borne by ancient columns of gilded wood, shed upon the hangings a soft,&lt;br /&gt;even light, modified by lace shades thrown over the globes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin took a very low seat, a dwarf armchair, in which he could barely&lt;br /&gt;seat himself, but which he had always preferred when talking with the&lt;br /&gt;Countess because it brought him almost at her feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You took a long walk with Nane this afternoon in the park," said the&lt;br /&gt;Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes. We chatted like old friends. I like your daughter very much. She&lt;br /&gt;resembles you very strongly. When she pronounces certain phrases, one&lt;br /&gt;would believe that you had left your voice in her mouth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My husband has already said that very often."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He watched the two women work, bathed in the lamplight, and the thought&lt;br /&gt;that had often made him suffer, which had given him suffering that day,&lt;br /&gt;even--the recollection of his desolate home, still, silent, and cold,&lt;br /&gt;whatever the weather, whatever fire might be lighted in chimney or&lt;br /&gt;furnace--saddened him as if he now understood his bachelor's isolation&lt;br /&gt;for the first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, how deeply he longed to be the husband of this woman, and not her&lt;br /&gt;lover! Once he had desired to carry her away, to take her from that man,&lt;br /&gt;to steal her altogether. To-day he was jealous of him, that deceived&lt;br /&gt;husband who was installed beside her forever, in the habits of her&lt;br /&gt;household and under the sweet influence of her presence. In looking at&lt;br /&gt;her he felt his heart full of old things revived, of which he wished&lt;br /&gt;to speak. Certainly, he still loved her very much, even a little more&lt;br /&gt;to-day than he had for some time; and the desire to tell her of this&lt;br /&gt;return of youthful feeling, which would be sure to delight her, made him&lt;br /&gt;wish that she would send the young girl to bed as soon as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obsessed by this strong desire to be alone with her, to sit near her and&lt;br /&gt;lay his head on her knee, to take the hands from which would slip the&lt;br /&gt;quilt for the poor, the needles, and the ball of wool, which would roll&lt;br /&gt;under a sofa at the end of a long, unwound thread, he looked at the&lt;br /&gt;time, relapsed into almost complete silence, and thought that it was&lt;br /&gt;a great mistake to allow young girls to pass the evening with grown-up&lt;br /&gt;persons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Presently a sound of footsteps was heard in the next room, and a servant&lt;br /&gt;appeared at the door announcing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Monsieur de Musadieu."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin felt a spasm of anger, and when he shook hands with&lt;br /&gt;the Inspector of Fine Arts he had a great desire to take him by the&lt;br /&gt;shoulders and throw him into the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu was full of news; the ministry was about to fall, and there&lt;br /&gt;was a whisper of scandal about the Marquis de Rocdiane. He looked at the&lt;br /&gt;young girl, adding: "I will tell you about that a little later."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess raised her eyes to the clock and saw that it was about to&lt;br /&gt;strike ten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is time to go to bed, my child," she said to her daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without replying, Annette folded her knitting-work, rolled up her ball&lt;br /&gt;of wool, kissed her mother on the cheeks, gave her hand to the&lt;br /&gt;two gentlemen, and departed quickly, as if she glided away without&lt;br /&gt;disturbing the air as she went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, what is your scandal?" her mother demanded, as soon as she had&lt;br /&gt;gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It appeared that rumor said that the Marquis de Rocdiane, amicably&lt;br /&gt;separated from his wife, who paid to him an allowance that he considered&lt;br /&gt;insufficient, had discovered a sure if singular means to double it.&lt;br /&gt;The Marquise, whom he had had watched, had been surprised _in flagrante&lt;br /&gt;delictu_, and was compelled to buy off, with an increased allowance, the&lt;br /&gt;legal proceedings instituted by the police commissioner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess listened with curious gaze, her idle hands holding the&lt;br /&gt;interrupted needle-work on her knee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, who was still more exasperated by Musadieu's presence since&lt;br /&gt;Annette had gone, was incensed at this recital, and declared, with the&lt;br /&gt;indignation of one who had known of the scandal but did not wish to&lt;br /&gt;speak of it to anyone, that the story was an odious falsehood, one of&lt;br /&gt;those shameful lies which people of their world ought neither to listen&lt;br /&gt;to nor repeat. He appeared greatly wrought up over the matter, as he&lt;br /&gt;stood leaning against the mantelpiece and speaking with the excited&lt;br /&gt;manner of a man disposed to make a personal question of the subject&lt;br /&gt;under discussion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rocdiane was his friend, he said; and, though he might be criticised for&lt;br /&gt;frivolity in certain respects, no one could justly accuse him or even&lt;br /&gt;suspect him of any really unworthy action. Musadieu, surprised and&lt;br /&gt;embarrassed, defended himself, tried to explain and to excuse himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Allow me to say," he remarked at last, "that I heard this story just&lt;br /&gt;before I came here, in the drawing-room of the Duchesse de Mortemain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Who told it to you? A woman, no doubt," said Bertin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, not at all; it was the Marquis de Farandal."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter, irritated still further, retorted: "That does not astonish&lt;br /&gt;me--from him!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a brief silence. The Countess took up her work again.&lt;br /&gt;Presently Olivier said in a calmer voice: "I know for a fact that that&lt;br /&gt;story is false."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In reality, he knew nothing whatever about it, having heard it mentioned&lt;br /&gt;then for the first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu thought it wise to prepare the way for his retreat, feeling&lt;br /&gt;the situation rather dangerous; and he was just beginning to say that&lt;br /&gt;he must pay a visit at the Corbelles' that evening when the Comte de&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy appeared, returning from dining in the city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin sat down again, overcome, and despairing now of getting rid of&lt;br /&gt;the husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You haven't heard, have you, of the great scandal that is running all&lt;br /&gt;over town this evening?" inquired the Count pleasantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As no one answered, he continued: "It seems that Rocdiane surprised&lt;br /&gt;his wife in a criminal situation, and has made her pay dearly for her&lt;br /&gt;indiscretion."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Bertin, with his melancholy air, with grief in voice and gesture,&lt;br /&gt;placing one hand on Guilleroy's shoulder, repeated in a gentle and&lt;br /&gt;amicable manner all that he had just said so roughly to Musadieu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count, half convinced, annoyed to have allowed himself to repeat&lt;br /&gt;so lightly a doubtful and possibly compromising thing, pleaded his&lt;br /&gt;ignorance and his innocence. The gossips said so many false and wicked&lt;br /&gt;things!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, all agreed upon this statement: the world certainly accused,&lt;br /&gt;suspected, and calumniated with deplorable facility! All four appeared&lt;br /&gt;to be convinced, during the next five minutes, that all the whispered&lt;br /&gt;scandals were lies; that the women did not have the lovers ascribed to&lt;br /&gt;them; that the men never committed the sins they were accused of; and,&lt;br /&gt;in short, that the outward appearance of things was usually much worse&lt;br /&gt;than the real situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, who no longer felt vexed with Musadieu since De Guilleroy's&lt;br /&gt;arrival, was now very pleasant to him, led him to talk on his favorite&lt;br /&gt;subjects, and opened the sluices of his eloquence. The Count wore the&lt;br /&gt;contented air of a man who carries everywhere with him an atmosphere of&lt;br /&gt;peace and cordiality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two servants noiselessly entered the drawing-room, bearing the&lt;br /&gt;tea-table, on which the boiling water steamed in a pretty, shining&lt;br /&gt;kettle over the blue flame of an alcohol lamp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess rose, prepared the hot beverage with the care and&lt;br /&gt;precaution we have learned from the Russians, then offered a cup to&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu, another to Bertin, following this with plates containing&lt;br /&gt;sandwiches of _pate de foies gras_ and little English and Austrian&lt;br /&gt;cakes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count approached the portable table, where was also an assortment of&lt;br /&gt;syrups, liqueurs, and glasses; he mixed himself a drink, then discreetly&lt;br /&gt;disappeared into the next room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin found himself again facing Musadieu, and felt once more the&lt;br /&gt;sudden desire to thrust outside this bore, who, now put on his mettle,&lt;br /&gt;talked at great length, told stories, repeated jests, and made some&lt;br /&gt;himself. The painter glanced continually at the clock, the hands of&lt;br /&gt;which approached midnight. The Countess noticed his glances, understood&lt;br /&gt;that he wished to speak to her alone, and, with that ability of a clever&lt;br /&gt;woman of the world to change by indescribable shades of tone the whole&lt;br /&gt;atmosphere of a drawing-room, to make it understood, without saying&lt;br /&gt;anything, whether one is to remain or to go, she diffused about her,&lt;br /&gt;by her attitude alone, by the bored expression of her face and eyes, a&lt;br /&gt;chill as if she had just opened a window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu felt this chilly current freezing his flow of ideas; and,&lt;br /&gt;without asking himself the reason, he felt a sudden desire to rise and&lt;br /&gt;depart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, as a matter of discretion, followed his example. The two men&lt;br /&gt;passed through both drawing-rooms together, followed by the Countess,&lt;br /&gt;who talked to the painter all the while. She detained him at the&lt;br /&gt;threshold of the ante-chamber to make some trifling explanation, while&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu, assisted by a footman, put on his topcoat. As Madame de&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy continued to talk to Bertin, the Inspector of Fine Arts,&lt;br /&gt;having waited some seconds before the front door, held open by another&lt;br /&gt;servant, decided to depart himself rather than stand there facing the&lt;br /&gt;footman any longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The door was closed softly behind him, and the Countess said to the&lt;br /&gt;artist in a perfectly easy tone:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why do you go so soon? It is not yet midnight. Stay a little longer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They reentered the smaller drawing-room together and seated themselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My God! how that animal set my teeth on edge!" said Bertin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why, pray?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He took you away from me a little."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, not very much."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Perhaps not, but he irritated me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you jealous?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is not being jealous to find a man a bore."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had taken his accustomed armchair, and seated close beside her now&lt;br /&gt;he smoothed the folds of her robe with his fingers as he told her of the&lt;br /&gt;warm breath of tenderness that had passed through his heart that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess listened, surprised, charmed, and gently laid her hand on&lt;br /&gt;his white locks, which she caressed tenderly, as if to thank him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I should like so much to live always near you!" he sighed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He was thinking of her husband, who had retired to rest, asleep, no&lt;br /&gt;doubt, in some neighboring chamber, and he continued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is undoubtedly true that marriage is the only thing that really&lt;br /&gt;unites two lives."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My poor friend!" she murmured, full of pity for him and also for&lt;br /&gt;herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had laid his cheek against the Countess's knees, and he looked up at&lt;br /&gt;her with a tenderness touched with sadness, less ardently than a short&lt;br /&gt;time before, when he had been separated from her by her daughter, her&lt;br /&gt;husband, and Musadieu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Heavens! how white your hair has grown!" said the Countess with a&lt;br /&gt;smile, running her fingers lightly over Olivier's head. "Your last black&lt;br /&gt;hairs have disappeared."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Alas! I know it. Everything goes so soon!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was concerned lest she had made him sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, but your hair turned gray very early, you know," she said. "I have&lt;br /&gt;always known you with pepper-and-salt locks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, that is true."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order to dispel altogether the slight cloud of regret she had evoked,&lt;br /&gt;she leaned over him and, taking his head between her hands, kissed him&lt;br /&gt;slowly and tenderly on the forehead, with long kisses that seemed as if&lt;br /&gt;they never would end. Then they gazed into each other's eyes, seeking&lt;br /&gt;therein the reflection of their mutual fondness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I should like so much to pass a whole day with you," Bertin continued.&lt;br /&gt;He felt himself tormented obscurely by an inexpressible necessity&lt;br /&gt;for close intimacy. He had believed, only a short time ago, that the&lt;br /&gt;departure of those who had been present would suffice to realize the&lt;br /&gt;desire that had possessed him since morning; and now that he was alone&lt;br /&gt;with his mistress, now that he felt on his brow the touch of her hands,&lt;br /&gt;and, against his cheek, through the folds of her skirt, the warmth of&lt;br /&gt;her body, he felt the same agitation reawakened, the same longing for&lt;br /&gt;a love hitherto unknown and ever fleeing him. He now fancied that, away&lt;br /&gt;from that house--perhaps in the woods where they would be absolutely&lt;br /&gt;alone--this deep yearning of his heart would be calmed and satisfied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What a boy you are!" said the Countess. "Why, we see each other almost&lt;br /&gt;every day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He begged her to devise a plan whereby she might breakfast with him, in&lt;br /&gt;some suburb of Paris, as she had already done four or five times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess was astonished at his caprice, so difficult to realize now&lt;br /&gt;that her daughter had returned. She assured him that she would try to&lt;br /&gt;do it as soon as her husband should go to Ronces; but that it would be&lt;br /&gt;impossible before the varnishing-day reception, which would take place&lt;br /&gt;the following Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And until then when shall I see you?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"To-morrow evening at the Corbelles'. Come over here Thursday, at three&lt;br /&gt;o'clock, if you are free; and I believe that we are to dine together&lt;br /&gt;with the Duchess on Friday."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, exactly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He arose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good-by!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good-by, my friend."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He remained standing, unable to decide to go, for he had said almost&lt;br /&gt;nothing of all that he had come to say, and his mind was still full of&lt;br /&gt;unsaid things, his heart still swelled with vague desires which he could&lt;br /&gt;not express.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good-bye!" he repeated, taking her hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good-by, my friend!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I love you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She gave him one of those smiles with which a woman shows a man, in a&lt;br /&gt;single instant, all that she has given him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a throbbing heart he repeated for the third time, "Good-by!" and&lt;br /&gt;departed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 4&lt;br /&gt;A DOUBLE JEALOUSY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One would have said that all the carriages in Paris were making a&lt;br /&gt;pilgrimage to the Palais de l'Industrie that day. As early as nine&lt;br /&gt;o'clock in the morning they began to drive, by way of all streets,&lt;br /&gt;avenues, and bridges, toward that hall of the fine arts where all&lt;br /&gt;artistic Paris invites all fashionable Paris to be present at the&lt;br /&gt;pretended varnishing of three thousand four hundred pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A long procession of visitors pressed through the doors, and, disdaining&lt;br /&gt;the exhibition of sculpture, hastened upstairs to the picture gallery.&lt;br /&gt;Even while mounting the steps they raised their eyes to the canvases&lt;br /&gt;displayed on the walls of the staircase, where they hang the special&lt;br /&gt;category of decorative painters who have sent canvases of unusual&lt;br /&gt;proportions or works that the committee dare not refuse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the square salon a great crowd surged and rustled. The artists,&lt;br /&gt;who were in evidence until evening, were easily recognized by their&lt;br /&gt;activity, the sonorousness of their voices, and the authority of their&lt;br /&gt;gestures. They drew their friends by the sleeve toward the pictures,&lt;br /&gt;which they pointed out with exclamations and mimicry of a connoisseur's&lt;br /&gt;energy. All types of artists were to be seen--tall men with long hair,&lt;br /&gt;wearing hats of mouse-gray or black and of indescribable shapes,&lt;br /&gt;large and round like roofs, with their turned-down brims shadowing&lt;br /&gt;the wearer's whole chest. Others were short, active, slight or stocky,&lt;br /&gt;wearing foulard cravats and round jackets, or the sack-like garment of&lt;br /&gt;the singular costume peculiar to this class of painters.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was the clan of the fashionables, of the curious, and of artists&lt;br /&gt;of the boulevard; the clan of Academicians, correct, and decorated&lt;br /&gt;with red rosettes, enormous or microscopic, according to individual&lt;br /&gt;conception of elegance and good form; the clan of bourgeois painters,&lt;br /&gt;assisted by the family surrounding the father like a triumphal chorus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the four great walls the canvases admitted to the honor of the&lt;br /&gt;square salon dazzled one at the very entrance by their brilliant tones,&lt;br /&gt;glittering frames, the crudity of new color, vivified by fresh varnish,&lt;br /&gt;blinding under the pitiless light poured from above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The portrait of the President of the Republic faced the entrance; while&lt;br /&gt;on another wall a general bedizened with gold lace, sporting a hat&lt;br /&gt;decorated with ostrich plumes, and wearing red cloth breeches, hung in&lt;br /&gt;pleasant proximity to some naked nymphs under a willow-tree, and near&lt;br /&gt;by was a vessel in distress almost engulfed by a great wave. A bishop&lt;br /&gt;of the early Church excommunicating a barbarian king, an Oriental street&lt;br /&gt;full of dead victims of the plague, and the Shade of Dante in Hell,&lt;br /&gt;seized and captivated the eye with irresistible fascination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other paintings in the immense room were a charge of cavalry;&lt;br /&gt;sharpshooters in a wood; cows in a pasture; two noblemen of the&lt;br /&gt;eighteenth century fighting a duel on a street corner; a madwoman&lt;br /&gt;sitting on a wall; a priest administering the last rites to a dying man;&lt;br /&gt;harvesters, rivers, a sunset, a moonlight effect--in short, samples of&lt;br /&gt;everything that artists paint, have painted, and will paint until the&lt;br /&gt;end of the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier, in the midst of a group of celebrated brother painters, members&lt;br /&gt;of the Institute and of the jury, exchanged opinions with them. He&lt;br /&gt;was oppressed by a certain uneasiness, a dissatisfaction with his own&lt;br /&gt;exhibited work, of the success of which he was very doubtful, in spite&lt;br /&gt;of the warm congratulations he had received.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly he sprang forward; the Duchesse de Mortemain had appeared at&lt;br /&gt;the main entrance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hasn't the Countess arrived yet?" she inquired of Bertin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have not seen her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And Monsieur de Musadieu?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have not seen him either."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"He promised me to be here at ten o'clock, at the top of the stairs, to&lt;br /&gt;show me around the principal galleries."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Will you permit me to take his place, Duchess?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, no. Your friends need you. We shall see each other again very soon,&lt;br /&gt;for I shall expect you to lunch with us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu hastened toward them. He had been detained for some minutes in&lt;br /&gt;the hall of sculpture, and excused himself, breathless already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This way, Duchess, this way," said he. "Let us begin at the right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were just disappearing among the throng when the Comtesse de&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy, leaning on her daughter's arm, entered and looked around in&lt;br /&gt;search of Olivier Bertin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He saw them and hastened to meet them. As he greeted the two ladies, he&lt;br /&gt;said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"How charming you look to-day. Really, Nanette has improved very much.&lt;br /&gt;She has actually changed in a week."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He regarded her with the eye of a close observer, adding: "The lines of&lt;br /&gt;her face are softer, yet more expressive; her complexion is clearer.&lt;br /&gt;She is already something less of a little girl and somewhat more of a&lt;br /&gt;Parisian."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly he bethought himself of the grand affair of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let us begin at the right," said he, "and we shall soon overtake the&lt;br /&gt;Duchess."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess, well informed on all matters connected with painting, and&lt;br /&gt;as preoccupied as if she were herself on exhibition, inquired: "What do&lt;br /&gt;they say of the exposition?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A fine one," Bertin replied. "There is a remarkable Bonnat, two&lt;br /&gt;excellent things by Carolus Duran, an admirable Puvis de Chavannes, a&lt;br /&gt;very new and astonishing Roll, an exquisite Gervex, and many others, by&lt;br /&gt;Beraud, Cazin, Duez--in short, a heap of good things."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And you?" said the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, they compliment me, but I am not satisfied."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You never are satisfied."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, sometimes. But to-day I really feel that I am right."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I do not know."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let us go to see it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they arrived before Bertin's picture--two little peasant-girls&lt;br /&gt;taking a bath in a brook--they found a group admiring it. The Countess&lt;br /&gt;was delighted, and whispered: "It is simply a delicious bit--a jewel!&lt;br /&gt;You never have done anything better."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin pressed close to her, loving her and thanking her for every word&lt;br /&gt;that calmed his suffering and healed his aching heart. Through his mind&lt;br /&gt;ran arguments to convince him that she was right, that she must judge&lt;br /&gt;accurately with the intelligent observation of an experienced Parisian.&lt;br /&gt;He forgot, so desirous was he to reassure himself, that for at least&lt;br /&gt;twelve years he had justly reproached her for too much admiring the&lt;br /&gt;dainty trifles, the elegant nothings, the sentimentalities and nameless&lt;br /&gt;trivialities of the passing fancy of the day, and never art, art alone,&lt;br /&gt;art detached from the popular ideas, tendencies, and prejudices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let us go on," said he, drawing them away from his picture. He led them&lt;br /&gt;for a long time from gallery to gallery, showing them notable canvases&lt;br /&gt;and explaining their subjects, happy to be with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What time is it?" the Countess asked suddenly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Half after twelve."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, let us hasten to luncheon then. The Duchess must be waiting for us&lt;br /&gt;at Ledoyen's, where she charged me to bring you, in case we should not&lt;br /&gt;meet her in the galleries."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The restaurant, in the midst of a little island of trees and shrubs,&lt;br /&gt;seemed like an overflowing hive. A confused hum of voices, calls, the&lt;br /&gt;rattling of plates and glasses came from the open windows and large&lt;br /&gt;doors. The tables, set close together and filled with people eating,&lt;br /&gt;extended in long rows right and left of a narrow passage, up and down&lt;br /&gt;which ran the distracted waiters, holding along their arms dishes filled&lt;br /&gt;with meats, fish, or fruit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Under the circular gallery there was such a throng of men and women as&lt;br /&gt;to suggest a living pate. Everyone there laughed, called out, drank and&lt;br /&gt;ate, enlivened by the wines and inundated by one of those waves of joy&lt;br /&gt;that sweep over Paris, on certain days, with the sunshine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An attendant showed the Countess, Annette, and Bertin upstairs into&lt;br /&gt;a reserved room, where the Duchess awaited them. As they entered, the&lt;br /&gt;painter observed, beside his aunt, the Marquis de Farandal, attentive&lt;br /&gt;and smiling, and extending his hand to receive the parasols and wraps of&lt;br /&gt;the Countess and her daughter. He felt again so much displeasure that he&lt;br /&gt;suddenly desired to say rude and irritating things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess explained the meeting of her nephew and the departure of&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu, who had been carried off by the Minister of the Fine Arts, and&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, at the thought that this insipidly good-looking Marquis might&lt;br /&gt;marry Annette, that he had come there only to see her, and that he&lt;br /&gt;regarded her already as destined to share his bed, unnerved and revolted&lt;br /&gt;him, as if some one had ignored his own rights--sacred and mysterious&lt;br /&gt;rights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as they were at table, the Marquis, who sat beside the young&lt;br /&gt;girl, occupied himself in talking to her with the devoted air of a man&lt;br /&gt;authorized to pay his addresses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He assumed a curious manner, which seemed to the painter bold and&lt;br /&gt;searching; his smiles were satisfied and almost tender, his gallantry&lt;br /&gt;was familiar and officious. In manner and word appeared already&lt;br /&gt;something of decision, as if he were about to announce that he had won&lt;br /&gt;the prize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess and the Countess seemed to protect and approve this attitude&lt;br /&gt;of a pretender, and exchanged glances of complicity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the luncheon was finished the party returned to the&lt;br /&gt;Exposition. There was such a dense crowd in the galleries, it seemed&lt;br /&gt;impossible to penetrate it. An odor of perspiring humanity, a stale&lt;br /&gt;smell of old gowns and coats, made an atmosphere at once heavy and&lt;br /&gt;sickening. No one looked at the pictures any more, but at faces and&lt;br /&gt;toilets, seeking out well-known persons; and at times came a great&lt;br /&gt;jostling of the crowd as it was forced to give way before the high&lt;br /&gt;double ladder of the varnishers, who cried: "Make way, Messieurs! Make&lt;br /&gt;way, Mesdames!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end of ten minutes, the Countess and Olivier found themselves&lt;br /&gt;separated from the others. He wished to find them immediately, but,&lt;br /&gt;leaning upon him, the Countess said: "Are we not very well off as it&lt;br /&gt;is? Let them go, since it is quite natural that we should lose sight of&lt;br /&gt;them; we will meet them again in the buffet at four o'clock."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That is true," he replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he was absorbed by the idea that the Marquis was accompanying&lt;br /&gt;Annette and continuing his attempts to please her by his fatuous and&lt;br /&gt;affected gallantry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You love me always, then?" murmured the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, certainly," he replied, with a preoccupied air, trying to catch a&lt;br /&gt;glimpse of the Marquis's gray hat over the heads of the crowd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Feeling that he was abstracted, and wishing to lead him back to her own&lt;br /&gt;train of thought, the Countess continued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you only knew how I adore your picture of this year! It is certainly&lt;br /&gt;your _chef-d'oeuvre_."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He smiled, suddenly, forgetting the young people in remembering his&lt;br /&gt;anxiety of the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you really think so?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I prefer it above all others."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With artful wheedling, she crowned him anew, having known well for a&lt;br /&gt;long time that nothing has a stronger effect on an artist than tender&lt;br /&gt;and continuous flattery. Captivated, reanimated, cheered by her sweet&lt;br /&gt;words, he began again to chat gaily, seeing and hearing only her in that&lt;br /&gt;tumultuous throng.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By way of expressing his thanks, he murmured in her ear: "I have a mad&lt;br /&gt;desire to embrace you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A warm wave of emotion swept over her, and, raising her shining eyes to&lt;br /&gt;his, she repeated her question: "You love me always, then?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He replied, with the intonation she wished to hear, and which she had&lt;br /&gt;not heard before:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I love you, my dear Any."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come often to see me in the evenings," she said. "Now that I have my&lt;br /&gt;daughter I shall not go out very much."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since she had recognized in him this unexpected reawakening of&lt;br /&gt;tenderness, her heart was stirred with great happiness. In view of&lt;br /&gt;Olivier's silvery hair, and the calming touch of time, she had not&lt;br /&gt;suspected that he was fascinated by another woman, but she was terribly&lt;br /&gt;afraid that, from pure dread of loneliness, he might marry. This fear,&lt;br /&gt;which was of long standing, increased constantly, and set her wits&lt;br /&gt;to contriving plans whereby she might have him near her as much as&lt;br /&gt;possible, and to see that he should not pass long evenings alone in the&lt;br /&gt;chill silence of his empty rooms. Not being always able to hold and&lt;br /&gt;keep him, she would suggest amusements for him, sent him to the theater,&lt;br /&gt;forced him to go into society, being better pleased to know that he was&lt;br /&gt;mingling with many other women than alone in his gloomy house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She resumed, answering his secret thought: "Ah, if I could only have you&lt;br /&gt;always with me, how I should spoil you! Promise me to come often, since&lt;br /&gt;I hardly go out at all now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I promise it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that moment a voice murmured "Mamma!" in her ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess started and turned. Annette, the Duchess, and the Marquis&lt;br /&gt;had just rejoined them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is four o'clock," said the Duchess. "I am very tired and I wish to&lt;br /&gt;go now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I will go, too; I have had enough of it," said the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They reached the interior stairway which divides the galleries where&lt;br /&gt;the drawings and water-colors are hung, overlooking the immense garden&lt;br /&gt;inclosed in glass, where the works of sculpture are exhibited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From the platform of this stairway they could see from one end to the&lt;br /&gt;other of this great conservatory, filled with statues set up along the&lt;br /&gt;pathway around large green shrubs, and below was the crowd which covered&lt;br /&gt;the paths like a moving black wave. The marbles rose from this mass of&lt;br /&gt;dark hats and shoulders, piercing it in a thousand places, and seeming&lt;br /&gt;almost luminous in their dazzling whiteness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Bertin took leave of the ladies at the door of exit, Madame de&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy whispered:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then--will you come this evening?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, certainly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin reentered the Exposition, to talk with the artists over the&lt;br /&gt;impressions of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Painters and sculptors stood talking in groups around the statues and&lt;br /&gt;in front of the buffet, upholding or attacking the same ideas that were&lt;br /&gt;discussed every year, using the same arguments over works almost exactly&lt;br /&gt;similar. Olivier, who usually took a lively share in these disputes,&lt;br /&gt;being quick in repartee and clever in disconcerting attacks, besides&lt;br /&gt;having a reputation as an ingenious theorist of which he was proud,&lt;br /&gt;tried to urge himself to take an active part in the debates, but the&lt;br /&gt;things he said interested him no more than those he heard, and he longed&lt;br /&gt;to go away, to listen no more, to understand no more, knowing beforehand&lt;br /&gt;as he did all that anyone could say on those ancient questions of art,&lt;br /&gt;of which he knew all sides.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He loved these things, however, and had loved them until now in an&lt;br /&gt;almost exclusive way; but to-day he was distracted by one of those&lt;br /&gt;slight but persistent preoccupations, one of those petty anxieties which&lt;br /&gt;are so small we ought not to allow ourselves to be troubled by them, but&lt;br /&gt;which, in spite of all we do or say, prick through our thoughts like an&lt;br /&gt;invisible thorn buried in the flesh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had even forgotten his anxiety over his little peasant bathers in the&lt;br /&gt;remembrance of the displeasing idea of the Marquis approaching Annette.&lt;br /&gt;What did it matter to him, after all? Had he any right? Why should he&lt;br /&gt;wish to prevent this precious marriage, already arranged, and suitable&lt;br /&gt;from every point of view? But no reasoning could efface that impression&lt;br /&gt;of uneasiness and discontent which had seized him when he had beheld&lt;br /&gt;Farandal talking and smiling like an accepted suitor, caressing with his&lt;br /&gt;glances the fair face of the young girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he entered the Countess's drawing-room that evening, and found her&lt;br /&gt;alone with her daughter, continuing by the lamplight their knitting&lt;br /&gt;for the poor, he had great difficulty in preventing himself from saying&lt;br /&gt;sneering things about the Marquis, and from revealing to Annette his&lt;br /&gt;real banality, veiled by a mask of elegance and good form.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a long time, during these after-dinner evening visits, he had often&lt;br /&gt;allowed himself to lapse into occasional silence that was slightly&lt;br /&gt;somnolent, and was accustomed to fall into the easy attitudes of an old&lt;br /&gt;friend who does not stand on ceremony. But now he seemed suddenly to&lt;br /&gt;rouse himself and to show the alertness of men who do their best to be&lt;br /&gt;agreeable, who take thought as to what they wish to say, and who, before&lt;br /&gt;certain persons, seek for the best phrases in which to express&lt;br /&gt;their ideas and render them attractive. No longer did he allow the&lt;br /&gt;conversation to lag, but did his best to keep it bright and interesting;&lt;br /&gt;and when he had made the Countess and her daughter laugh gaily, when he&lt;br /&gt;felt that he had touched their emotions, or when they ceased to work in&lt;br /&gt;order to listen to him, he felt a thrill of pleasure, an assurance of&lt;br /&gt;success, which rewarded him for his efforts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He came now every time that he knew they were alone, and never, perhaps,&lt;br /&gt;had he passed such delightful evenings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Madame de Guilleroy, whose continual fears were soothed by this&lt;br /&gt;assiduity, made fresh efforts to attract him and to keep him near her.&lt;br /&gt;She refused invitations to dinners in the city, she did not go to balls,&lt;br /&gt;nor to the theaters, in order to have the joy of throwing into the&lt;br /&gt;telegraph-box, on going out at three o'clock, a little blue despatch&lt;br /&gt;which said: "Come to-night." At first, wishing to give him earlier the&lt;br /&gt;tete-a-tete that he desired, she had sent her daughter to bed as soon&lt;br /&gt;as it was ten o'clock. Then after one occasion when he had appeared&lt;br /&gt;surprised at this and had begged laughingly that Annette should not&lt;br /&gt;be treated any longer like a naughty little girl, she had allowed her&lt;br /&gt;daughter a quarter of an hour's grace, then half an hour, and finally a&lt;br /&gt;whole hour. Bertin never remained long after the young girl had retired;&lt;br /&gt;it was as if half the charm that held him there had departed with her.&lt;br /&gt;He would soon take the little low seat that he preferred beside the&lt;br /&gt;Countess and lay his cheek against her knee with a caressing movement.&lt;br /&gt;She would give him one of her hands, which he clasped in his, and the&lt;br /&gt;fever of his spirit would suddenly be abated; he ceased to talk, and&lt;br /&gt;appeared to find repose in tender silence from the effort he had made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little by little the Countess, with the keenness of feminine instinct,&lt;br /&gt;comprehended that Annette attracted him almost as much as she herself.&lt;br /&gt;This did not anger her; she was glad that between them he could find&lt;br /&gt;something of that domestic happiness which he lacked; and she imprisoned&lt;br /&gt;him between them, as it were, playing the part of tender mother in such&lt;br /&gt;a way that he might almost believe himself the young girl's father; and&lt;br /&gt;a new bond of tenderness was added to that which had always held him to&lt;br /&gt;this household.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her personal vanity, always alert, but disturbed since she had felt in&lt;br /&gt;several ways, like almost invisible pin-pricks, the innumerable attacks&lt;br /&gt;of advancing age, took on a new allurement. In order to become as&lt;br /&gt;slender as Annette, she continued to drink nothing, and the real&lt;br /&gt;slimness of her figure gave her the appearance of a young girl. When her&lt;br /&gt;back was turned one could hardly distinguish her from Annette; but&lt;br /&gt;her face showed the effect of this regime. The plump flesh began to be&lt;br /&gt;wrinkled and took on a yellowish tint which rendered more dazzling by&lt;br /&gt;contrast the superb freshness of the young girl's complexion. Then the&lt;br /&gt;Countess began to make up her face with theatrical art, and, though in&lt;br /&gt;broad daylight she produced an effect that was slightly artificial, in&lt;br /&gt;the evening her complexion had that charmingly soft tint obtained by&lt;br /&gt;women who know how to make up well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The realization of her fading beauty, and the employment of artificial&lt;br /&gt;aid to restore it, somewhat changed her habits. As much as possible,&lt;br /&gt;she avoided comparison with her daughter in the full light of day, but&lt;br /&gt;rather sought it by lamplight, which, if anything, showed herself to&lt;br /&gt;greater advantage. When she was fatigued, pale, and felt that she looked&lt;br /&gt;older than usual, she had convenient headaches by reason of which she&lt;br /&gt;excused herself from going to balls and theaters; but on days when she&lt;br /&gt;knew she looked well she triumphed again and played the elder sister&lt;br /&gt;with the grave modesty of a little mother. In order always to wear gowns&lt;br /&gt;like those of her daughter, she made Annette wear toilettes suitable&lt;br /&gt;for a fully-grown young woman, a trifle too old for her; and Annette who&lt;br /&gt;showed more and more plainly her joyous and laughing disposition, wore&lt;br /&gt;them with sparkling vivacity that rendered her still more attractive.&lt;br /&gt;She lent herself with all her heart to the coquettish arts of her&lt;br /&gt;mother, acting with her, as if by instinct, graceful little domestic&lt;br /&gt;scenes; she knew when to embrace her at the effective moment, how to&lt;br /&gt;clasp her tenderly round the waist, and to show by a movement, a caress,&lt;br /&gt;or some ingenious pose, how pretty both were and how much they resembled&lt;br /&gt;each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From seeing the two so much together, and from continually comparing&lt;br /&gt;them, Olivier Bertin sometimes actually confused them in his own mind.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, when Annette spoke, and he happened to be looking elsewhere,&lt;br /&gt;he was compelled to ask: "Which of you said that?" He often amused&lt;br /&gt;himself by playing this game of confusion when all three were alone in&lt;br /&gt;the drawing-room with the Louis XV tapestries. He would close his eyes&lt;br /&gt;and beg them to ask him the same question, the one after the other, and&lt;br /&gt;then change the order of the interrogations, so that he might recognize&lt;br /&gt;their voices. They did this with so much cleverness in imitating each&lt;br /&gt;other's intonations, in saying the same phrases with the same accents,&lt;br /&gt;that often he could not tell which spoke. In fact, they had come to&lt;br /&gt;speak so much alike that the servants answered "Yes, Madame" to the&lt;br /&gt;daughter and "Yes, Mademoiselle" to the mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From imitating each other's voices and movements for amusement,&lt;br /&gt;they acquired such a similarity of gait and gesture that Monsieur de&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy himself, when he saw one or the other pass through the shadowy&lt;br /&gt;end of the drawing-room, confounded them for an instant and asked: "Is&lt;br /&gt;that you, Annette, or is it your mamma?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From this resemblance, natural and assumed, was engendered in the mind&lt;br /&gt;and heart of the painter a strange impression of a double entity, old&lt;br /&gt;and young, wise yet ignorant, two bodies made, the one after the other,&lt;br /&gt;with the same flesh; in fact, the same woman continued, but rejuvenated,&lt;br /&gt;having become once more what she was formerly. Thus he lived near them,&lt;br /&gt;shared between them, uneasy, troubled, feeling for the mother his old&lt;br /&gt;ardor awakened, and for the daughter an indefinable tenderness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Part 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 1&lt;br /&gt;A WILLING ENVOY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Paris, July 20, 11 P. M.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MY FRIEND: My mother has just died at Roncieres. We shall leave here at&lt;br /&gt;midnight. Do not come, for we have told no one. But pity me and think of&lt;br /&gt;me. YOUR ANY."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"July 21, 12 M.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MY POOR FRIEND: I should have gone, notwithstanding what you wrote, if&lt;br /&gt;I had not become used to regarding all your wishes as commands. I have&lt;br /&gt;thought of you with poignant grief ever since last night. I think of&lt;br /&gt;that silent journey you made, sitting opposite your daughter and your&lt;br /&gt;husband, in that dimly-lighted carriage, which bore you toward your&lt;br /&gt;dead. I could see all three of you under the oil lamp, you weeping and&lt;br /&gt;Annette sobbing. I saw your arrival at the station, the entrance of&lt;br /&gt;the castle in the midst of a group of servants, your rush up the stairs&lt;br /&gt;toward that room, toward that bed where she lies, your first look at&lt;br /&gt;her, and your kiss on her thin, motionless face. And I thought of your&lt;br /&gt;heart, your poor heart--that poor heart, of which half belongs to me and&lt;br /&gt;which is breaking, which suffers so much, which stifles you, making me&lt;br /&gt;suffer also at this moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"With profound pity, I kiss your eyes filled with tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OLIVIER."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Roncieres, July 24.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your letter would have done me good, my friend, if anything could do me&lt;br /&gt;good in the horrible situation into which I have fallen. We buried her&lt;br /&gt;yesterday, and since her poor lifeless body has gone out of this house&lt;br /&gt;it seems to me that I am alone in the world. We love our mothers almost&lt;br /&gt;without knowing or feeling it, for such love is as natural as it is&lt;br /&gt;to live, and we do not realize how deep-rooted is that love until the&lt;br /&gt;moment of final separation. No other affection is comparable to that,&lt;br /&gt;for all others come by chance, while this begins at birth; all the&lt;br /&gt;others are brought to us later by the accidents of life, while this&lt;br /&gt;has lived in our very blood since our first day on earth. And then, and&lt;br /&gt;there, we have lost not only a mother but our childhood itself, which&lt;br /&gt;half disappears, for our little life of girlhood belonged to her as&lt;br /&gt;much as to ourselves. She alone knew it as we knew it; she knew about&lt;br /&gt;innumerable things, remote, insignificant and dear, which are and which&lt;br /&gt;were the first sweet emotions of our heart. To her alone I could still&lt;br /&gt;say: 'Do you remember, mother, the day when--? Do you remember, mother,&lt;br /&gt;the china doll that grandmother gave me?' Both of us murmured to each&lt;br /&gt;other a long, sweet chapter of trifling childish memories, which no&lt;br /&gt;one on earth now knows of but me. So it is a part of myself that is&lt;br /&gt;dead--the older, the better. I have lost the poor heart wherein the&lt;br /&gt;little girl I was once still lived. Now no one knows her any more; no&lt;br /&gt;one remembers the little Anne, her short skirts, her laughter and her&lt;br /&gt;faces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And a day will come--and perhaps it is not far away--when in my turn I&lt;br /&gt;too shall go, leaving my dear Annette alone in the world, as mamma has&lt;br /&gt;left me to-day. How sad all this is, how hard, and cruel! Yet one never&lt;br /&gt;thinks about it; we never look about us to see death take someone every&lt;br /&gt;instant, as it will soon take us. If we should look at it, if we should&lt;br /&gt;think of it, if we were not distracted, rejoiced, or blinded by all that&lt;br /&gt;passes before us, we could no longer live, for the sight of this endless&lt;br /&gt;massacre would drive us mad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am so crushed, so despairing, that I have no longer strength to do&lt;br /&gt;anything. Day and night I think of my poor mamma, nailed in that box,&lt;br /&gt;buried beneath that earth, in that field, under the rain, whose old&lt;br /&gt;face, which I used to kiss with so much happiness, is now only a mass of&lt;br /&gt;frightful decay! Oh, what horror!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"When I lost papa, I was just married, and I did not feel all these&lt;br /&gt;things as I do to-day. Yes, pity me, think of me, write to me. I need&lt;br /&gt;you so much just now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"ANNE."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Paris, July 25.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MY POOR FRIEND: Your grief gives me horrible pain, and life no longer&lt;br /&gt;seems rosy to me. Since your departure I am lost, abandoned, without&lt;br /&gt;ties or refuge. Everything fatigues me, bores me and irritates me. I am&lt;br /&gt;ceaselessly thinking of you and Annette; I feel that you are both far,&lt;br /&gt;far away when I need you near me so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is extraordinary how far away from me you seem to be, and how I miss&lt;br /&gt;you. Never, even in my younger days, have you been my _all_, as you are&lt;br /&gt;at this moment. I have foreseen for some time that I should reach this&lt;br /&gt;crisis, which must be a sun-stroke in Indian summer. What I feel is so&lt;br /&gt;very strange that I wish to tell you about it. Just fancy that since&lt;br /&gt;your absence I cannot take walks any more! Formerly, and even during the&lt;br /&gt;last few months, I liked very much to set out alone and stroll along the&lt;br /&gt;street, amusing myself by looking at people and things, and enjoying&lt;br /&gt;the mere sight of everything and the exercise of walking. I used to walk&lt;br /&gt;along without knowing where I was going, simply to walk, to breathe, to&lt;br /&gt;dream. Now, I can no longer do this. As soon as I reach the street I&lt;br /&gt;am oppressed by anguish, like the fear of a blind man that has lost his&lt;br /&gt;dog. I become uneasy, exactly like a traveler that has lost his way&lt;br /&gt;in the wood, and I am compelled to return home. Paris seems empty,&lt;br /&gt;frightful, alarming. I ask myself: 'Where am I going?' I answer myself:&lt;br /&gt;'Nowhere, since I am still walking.' Well, I cannot, for I can no longer&lt;br /&gt;walk without some aim. The bare thought of walking straight before me&lt;br /&gt;wearies and bores me inexpressibly. Then I drag my melancholy to the&lt;br /&gt;club.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And do you know why? Only because you are no longer here. I am certain&lt;br /&gt;of this. When I know that you are in Paris, my walks are no longer&lt;br /&gt;useless, for it is possible that I may meet you in the first street I&lt;br /&gt;turn into. I can go anywhere because you may go anywhere. If I do not&lt;br /&gt;see you, I may at least find Annette, who is an emanation of yourself.&lt;br /&gt;You and she fill the streets full of hope for me--the hope of&lt;br /&gt;recognizing you, whether you approach me from a distance, or whether&lt;br /&gt;I divine your identity in following you. And then the city becomes&lt;br /&gt;charming to me, and the women whose figures resemble yours stir my heart&lt;br /&gt;with all the liveliness of the streets, hold my attention, occupy my&lt;br /&gt;eyes, and give me a sort of hunger to see you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You will consider me very selfish, my poor friend, to speak to you in&lt;br /&gt;this way of the solitude of an old cooing pigeon when you are shedding&lt;br /&gt;such bitter tears. Pardon me! I am so used to being spoiled by you that&lt;br /&gt;I cry 'Help! Help!' when I have you no longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I kiss your feet so that you may have pity on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OLIVIER."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Roncieres, July 30.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MY FRIEND: Thanks for your letter. I need so much to know that you&lt;br /&gt;love me! I have just passed some frightful days. Indeed, I believed that&lt;br /&gt;grief would kill me in my turn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It was like a block of suffering in my breast, growing larger and&lt;br /&gt;larger, stifling me, strangling me. The physician that was called to&lt;br /&gt;treat me for the nervous crisis I was enduring, which recurred four or&lt;br /&gt;five times a day, injected morphine, which made me almost wild, and the&lt;br /&gt;great heat we have had aggravated my condition and threw me into a state&lt;br /&gt;of over-excitement that was almost delirium. I am a little more calm&lt;br /&gt;since the great storm of Friday. I must tell you that since the day of&lt;br /&gt;the funeral I could weep no more, but during the storm, the approach&lt;br /&gt;of which upset me, I suddenly felt the tears beginning to flow from my&lt;br /&gt;eyes, slow, small, burning. Oh, those first tears, how they hurt me!&lt;br /&gt;They seemed to tear me, as if they had claws, and my throat was so&lt;br /&gt;choked that I could hardly breathe. Then the tears came faster, larger,&lt;br /&gt;cooler. They ran from my eyes as from a spring, and came so fast that my&lt;br /&gt;handkerchief was saturated and I had to take another. The great block of&lt;br /&gt;grief seemed to soften and to flow away through my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"From that moment I have been weeping from morning till night, and that&lt;br /&gt;is saving me. One would really end by going mad or dying, if one could&lt;br /&gt;not weep. I am all alone, too. My husband is making some little trips&lt;br /&gt;around the country, and I insisted that he should take Annette with&lt;br /&gt;him, to distract and console her a little. They go in the carriage or on&lt;br /&gt;horseback as far as eight or ten leagues from Roncieres, and she returns&lt;br /&gt;to me rosy with youth, in spite of her sadness, her eyes shining with&lt;br /&gt;life, animated by the country air and the excursion she has had. How&lt;br /&gt;beautiful it is to be at that age! I think that we shall remain here a&lt;br /&gt;fortnight or three weeks longer; then, although it will be August, we&lt;br /&gt;shall return to Paris for the reason you know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I send to you all that remains to me of my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"ANY."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Paris, August 4th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can bear this no longer, my dear friend; you must come back, for&lt;br /&gt;something is certainly going to happen to me. I ask myself whether I am&lt;br /&gt;not already ill, so great a dislike have I for everything I used to take&lt;br /&gt;pleasure in doing, or did with indifferent resignation. For one thing,&lt;br /&gt;it is so warm in Paris that every night means a Turkish bath of eight&lt;br /&gt;or nine hours. I get up overcome by the fatigue of this sleep in a hot&lt;br /&gt;bath, and for an hour or two I walk about before a white canvas, with&lt;br /&gt;the intention to draw something. But mind, eye, and hand are all empty.&lt;br /&gt;I am no longer a painter! This futile effort to work is exasperating. I&lt;br /&gt;summon my models; I place them, and they give me poses, movements, and&lt;br /&gt;expressions that I have painted to satiety. I make them dress again and&lt;br /&gt;let them go. Indeed, I can no longer see anything new, and I suffer from&lt;br /&gt;this as if I were blind. What is it? Is it fatigue of the eye or of the&lt;br /&gt;brain, exhaustion of the artistic faculty or of the optic nerve? Who&lt;br /&gt;knows? It seems to me that I have ceased to discover anything in the&lt;br /&gt;unexplored corner that I have been permitted to visit. I no longer&lt;br /&gt;perceive anything but that which all the world knows; I do the things&lt;br /&gt;that all poor painters have done; I have only one subject now, and only&lt;br /&gt;the observation of a vulgar pedant. Once upon a time, and not so very&lt;br /&gt;long ago, either, the number of new subjects seemed to me unlimited, and&lt;br /&gt;in order to express them I had such a variety of means the difficulty of&lt;br /&gt;making a choice made me hesitate. But now, alas! Suddenly the world of&lt;br /&gt;half-seen subjects has become depopulated, my study has become powerless&lt;br /&gt;and useless. The people that pass have no more sense for me. I no longer&lt;br /&gt;find in every human being the character and savor which once I liked so&lt;br /&gt;much to discern and reveal. I believe, however, that I could make a very&lt;br /&gt;pretty portrait of your daughter. Is it because she resembles you so&lt;br /&gt;much that I confound you both in my mind? Yes, perhaps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, then, after forcing myself to sketch a man or a woman who does&lt;br /&gt;not resemble any of the familiar models, I decide to go and breakfast&lt;br /&gt;somewhere, for I no longer have the courage to sit down alone in my&lt;br /&gt;own dining-room. The Boulevard Malesherbes seems like a forest path&lt;br /&gt;imprisoned in a dead city. All the houses smell empty. On the street the&lt;br /&gt;sprinklers throw showers of white rain, splashing the wooden pavement&lt;br /&gt;whence rises the vapor of damp tar and stable refuse; and from one&lt;br /&gt;end to the other of the long descent from the Parc Monceau to Saint&lt;br /&gt;Augustin, one sees five or six black forms, unimportant passers,&lt;br /&gt;tradesmen or domestics. The shade of the plane-trees spreads over the&lt;br /&gt;burning sidewalks, making a curious spot, looking almost like liquid, as&lt;br /&gt;if water spilled there were drying. The stillness of the leaves on the&lt;br /&gt;branches, and of their gray silhouettes on the asphalt, expresses the&lt;br /&gt;fatigue of the roasted city, slumbering and perspiring like a workman&lt;br /&gt;asleep on a bench in the sun. Yes, she perspires, the beggar, and she&lt;br /&gt;smells frightfully through her sewer mouths, the vent-holes of sinks and&lt;br /&gt;kitchens, the streams through which the filth of her streets is running.&lt;br /&gt;Then I think of those summer mornings in your orchard full of little&lt;br /&gt;wild-flowers that flavor the air with a suggestion of honey. Then I&lt;br /&gt;enter, sickened already, the restaurant where bald, fat, tired-looking&lt;br /&gt;men are eating, with half-opened waistcoats and moist, shining&lt;br /&gt;foreheads. The food shows the effect of heat--the melon growing soft&lt;br /&gt;under the ice, the soft bread, the flabby filet, the warmed-over&lt;br /&gt;vegetables, the purulent cheese, the fruits ripened on the premises. I&lt;br /&gt;go out, nauseated, and go home to try to sleep a little until the hour&lt;br /&gt;for dinner, which I take at the club.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"There I always find Adelmans, Maldant, Rocdiane, Landa, and many&lt;br /&gt;others, who bore and weary me as much as hand-organs. Each one has his&lt;br /&gt;own little tune, or tunes, which I have heard for fifteen years,&lt;br /&gt;and they play them all together every evening in that club, which is&lt;br /&gt;apparently a place where one goes to be entertained. Someone should&lt;br /&gt;change my own generation for my benefit, for my eyes, my ears, and my&lt;br /&gt;mind have had enough of it. They still make conquests, however, they&lt;br /&gt;boast of them and congratulate one another on them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"After yawning as many times as there are minutes between eight o'clock&lt;br /&gt;and midnight, I go home and go to bed, and while I undress I think that&lt;br /&gt;the same thing will begin over again the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, my dear friend, I am at the age when a bachelor's life becomes&lt;br /&gt;intolerable, because there is nothing new for me under the sun. An&lt;br /&gt;unmarried man should be young, curious, eager. When one is no longer&lt;br /&gt;all that, it becomes dangerous to remain free. Heavens! how I loved my&lt;br /&gt;liberty, long ago, before I loved you more! How burdensome it is to me&lt;br /&gt;to-day! For an old bachelor like me, liberty is an empty thing, empty&lt;br /&gt;everywhere; it is the path to death, with nothing in himself to prevent&lt;br /&gt;him from seeing the end; it is the ceaseless query: 'What shall I do?&lt;br /&gt;Whom can I go to see, so that I shall not be alone?' And I go from one&lt;br /&gt;friend to another, from one handshake to the next, begging for a little&lt;br /&gt;friendship. I gather up my crumbs, but they do not make a loaf. You, I&lt;br /&gt;have You, my friend, but you do not belong to me. Perhaps it is because&lt;br /&gt;of you that I suffer this anguish, for it is the desire for contact with&lt;br /&gt;you, for your presence, for the same roof over our heads, for the&lt;br /&gt;same walls inclosing our lives, the same interests binding our hearts&lt;br /&gt;together, the need of that community of hopes, griefs, pleasures,&lt;br /&gt;joys, sadness, and also of material things, that fills me with so much&lt;br /&gt;yearning. You do belong to me--that is to say, I steal a little of you&lt;br /&gt;from time to time. But I long to breathe forever the same air that you&lt;br /&gt;breathe, to share everything with you, to possess nothing that does&lt;br /&gt;not belong to both of us, to feel that all which makes up my own life&lt;br /&gt;belongs to you as much as to me--the glass from which I drink, the chair&lt;br /&gt;on which I sit, the bread I eat and the fire that warms me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Adieu! Return soon. I suffer too much when you are far away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"OLIVIER."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Roncieres, August 8th.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"MY FRIEND: I am ill, and so fatigued that you would not recognize me at&lt;br /&gt;all. I believe that I have wept too much. I must rest a little before I&lt;br /&gt;return, for I do not wish you to see me as I am. My husband sets out for&lt;br /&gt;Paris the day after to-morrow, and will give you news of us. He expects&lt;br /&gt;to take you to dinner somewhere, and charges me to ask you to wait for&lt;br /&gt;him at your house about seven o'clock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"As for me, as soon as I feel a little better, as soon as I have no more&lt;br /&gt;this corpse-like face which frightens me, I will return to be near you.&lt;br /&gt;In all the world, I have only Annette and you, and I wish to offer to&lt;br /&gt;each of you all that I can give without robbing the other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I hold out my eyes, which have wept so much, so that you may kiss them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"ANY."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he received this letter announcing the still delayed return,&lt;br /&gt;Olivier was seized with an immoderate desire to take a carriage for the&lt;br /&gt;railway station to catch a train for Roncieres; then, thinking that M.&lt;br /&gt;de Guilleroy must return the next day, he resigned himself, and even&lt;br /&gt;began to wish for the arrival of the husband with almost as much&lt;br /&gt;impatience as if it were that of the wife herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never had he liked Guilleroy as during those twenty-four hours of&lt;br /&gt;waiting. When he saw him enter, he rushed toward him, with hands&lt;br /&gt;extended, exclaiming:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, dear friend! how happy I am to see you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other also seemed very glad, delighted above all things to return&lt;br /&gt;to Paris, for life was not gay in Normandy during the three weeks he had&lt;br /&gt;passed there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two men sat down on a little two-seated sofa in a corner of the&lt;br /&gt;studio, under a canopy of Oriental stuffs, and again shook hands with&lt;br /&gt;mutual sympathy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And the Countess?" asked Bertin, "how is she?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Not very well. She has been very much affected, and is recovering too&lt;br /&gt;slowly. I must confess that I am a little anxious about her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But why does she not return?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know nothing about it. It was impossible for me to induce her to&lt;br /&gt;return here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What does she do all day?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, heavens! She weeps, and thinks of her mother. That is not good for&lt;br /&gt;her. I should like very much to have her decide to have a change of air,&lt;br /&gt;to leave the place where that happened, you understand?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And Annette?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, she is a blooming flower."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier smiled with joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Was she very much grieved?" he asked again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, very much, very much, but you know that the grief of eighteen&lt;br /&gt;years does not last long."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a silence Guilleroy resumed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Where shall we dine, my dear fellow? I need to be cheered up, to hear&lt;br /&gt;some noise and see some movement."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, at this season, it seems to me that the Cafe des Ambassadeurs is&lt;br /&gt;the right place."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So they set out, arm in arm, toward the Champs-Elysees. Guilleroy,&lt;br /&gt;filled with the gaiety of Parisians when they return, to whom the city,&lt;br /&gt;after every absence, seems rejuvenated and full of possible surprises,&lt;br /&gt;questioned the painter about a thousand details of what people had been&lt;br /&gt;doing and saying; and Olivier, after indifferent replies which betrayed&lt;br /&gt;all the boredom of his solitude, spoke of Roncieres, tried to capture&lt;br /&gt;from this man, in order to gather round him that almost tangible&lt;br /&gt;something left with us by persons with whom we have recently been&lt;br /&gt;associated, that subtle emanation of being one carries away when&lt;br /&gt;leaving them, which remains with us a few hours and evaporates amid new&lt;br /&gt;surroundings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The heavy sky of a summer evening hung over the city and over the great&lt;br /&gt;avenue where, under the trees, the gay refrains of open-air concerts&lt;br /&gt;were beginning to sound. The two men, seated on the balcony of the Cafe&lt;br /&gt;des Ambassadeurs, looked down upon the still empty benches and chairs of&lt;br /&gt;the inclosure up to the little stage, where the singers, in the mingled&lt;br /&gt;light of electric globes and fading day, displayed their striking&lt;br /&gt;costumes and their rosy complexions. Odors of frying, of sauces, of hot&lt;br /&gt;food, floated in the slight breezes from the chestnut-trees, and when&lt;br /&gt;a woman passed, seeing her reserved chair, followed by a man in a black&lt;br /&gt;coat, she diffused on her way the fresh perfume of her dress and her&lt;br /&gt;person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guilleroy, who was radiant, murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I like to be here much better than in the country!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And I," Bertin replied, "should like it much better to be there than&lt;br /&gt;here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nonsense!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Heavens, yes! I find Paris tainted this summer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, well, my dear fellow, it is always Paris, after all."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Deputy seemed to be enjoying his day, one of those rare days of&lt;br /&gt;effervescence and gaiety in which grave men do foolish things. He looked&lt;br /&gt;at two cocottes dining at a neighboring table with three thin young men,&lt;br /&gt;superlatively correct, and he slyly questioned Olivier about all the&lt;br /&gt;well-known girls, whose names were heard every day. Then he murmured in&lt;br /&gt;a tone of deep regret:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You were lucky to have remained a bachelor. You can do and see many&lt;br /&gt;things."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the painter did not agree with him, and, as a man will do when&lt;br /&gt;haunted by a persistent idea, he took Guilleroy into his confidence on&lt;br /&gt;the subject of his sadness and isolation. When he had said everything,&lt;br /&gt;had recited to the end of his litany of melancholy, and, urged by the&lt;br /&gt;longing to relieve his heart, had confessed naively how much he would&lt;br /&gt;have enjoyed the love and companionship of a woman installed in his&lt;br /&gt;home, the Count, in his turn, admitted that marriage had its advantages.&lt;br /&gt;Recovering his parliamentary eloquence in order to sing the praises of&lt;br /&gt;his domestic happiness, he eulogized the Countess in the highest terms,&lt;br /&gt;to which Olivier listened gravely with frequent nods of approval.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy to hear her spoken of, but jealous of that intimate happiness&lt;br /&gt;which Guilleroy praised as a matter of duty, the painter finally&lt;br /&gt;murmured, with sincere conviction:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, indeed, you were the lucky one!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Deputy, flattered, assented to this; then he resumed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I should like very much to see her return; indeed, I am a little&lt;br /&gt;anxious about her just now. Wait--since you are bored in Paris, you&lt;br /&gt;might go to Roncieres and bring her back. She will listen to you, for&lt;br /&gt;you are her best friend; while a husband--you know----"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Delighted, Olivier replied: "I ask nothing better. But do you think it&lt;br /&gt;would not annoy her to see me arriving in that abrupt way?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, not at all. Go, by all means, my dear fellow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, then, I will. I will leave to-morrow by the one o'clock train.&lt;br /&gt;Shall I send her a telegram?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I will attend to that. I will telegraph, so that you will find a&lt;br /&gt;carriage at the station."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As they had finished dinner, they strolled again up the Boulevard, but&lt;br /&gt;in half an hour the Count suddenly left the painter, under the pretext&lt;br /&gt;of an urgent affair that he had quite forgotten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 2&lt;br /&gt;SPRINGTIME AND AUTUMN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess and her daughter, dressed in black crape, had just seated&lt;br /&gt;themselves opposite each other, for breakfast, in the large dining-room&lt;br /&gt;at Roncieres. The portraits of many ancestors, crudely painted, one in a&lt;br /&gt;cuirass, another in a tight-fitting coat, this a powdered officer of the&lt;br /&gt;French Guards, that a colonel of the Restoration, hung in line on the&lt;br /&gt;walls, a collection of deceased Guilleroys, in old frames from which the&lt;br /&gt;gilding was peeling. Two servants, stepping softly, began to serve the&lt;br /&gt;two silent women, and the flies made a little cloud of black specks,&lt;br /&gt;dancing and buzzing around the crystal chandelier that hung over the&lt;br /&gt;center of the table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Open the windows," said the Countess, "It is a little cool here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The three long windows, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, and&lt;br /&gt;large as bay-windows, were opened wide. A breath of soft air, bearing&lt;br /&gt;the odor of warm grass and the distant sounds of the country, swept in&lt;br /&gt;immediately through these openings, mingling with the slightly damp air&lt;br /&gt;of the room, inclosed by the thick walls of the castle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, that is good!" said Annette, taking a full breath.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The eyes of the two women had turned toward the outside and now gazed,&lt;br /&gt;beneath the blue sky, lightly veiled by the midday haze which was&lt;br /&gt;reflected on the meadows impregnated with sunshine, at the long and&lt;br /&gt;verdant lawns of the park, with its groups of trees here and there, and&lt;br /&gt;its perspective opening to the yellow fields, illuminated as far as the&lt;br /&gt;eye could see by the golden gleam of ripe grain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We will take a long walk after breakfast," said the Countess. "We might&lt;br /&gt;walk as far as Berville, following the river, for it will be too warm on&lt;br /&gt;the plain."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, mamma, and let us take Julio to scare up some partridges."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You know that your father forbids it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, but since papa is in Paris!--it is so amusing to see Julio pointing&lt;br /&gt;after them. There he is now, worrying the cows! Oh, how funny he is, the&lt;br /&gt;dear fellow!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pushing back her chair, she jumped up and ran to the window, calling&lt;br /&gt;out: "Go on, Julio! After them!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon the lawn three heavy cows, gorged with grass and overcome with&lt;br /&gt;heat, lay on their sides, their bellies protruding from the pressure of&lt;br /&gt;the earth. Rushing from one to another, barking and bounding wildly, in&lt;br /&gt;a sort of mad abandon, partly real, partly feigned, a hunting spaniel,&lt;br /&gt;slender, white and red, whose curly ears flapped at every bound, was&lt;br /&gt;trying to rouse the three big beasts, which did not wish to get up. It&lt;br /&gt;was evidently the dog's favorite sport, with which he amused himself&lt;br /&gt;whenever he saw the cows lying down. Irritated, but not frightened, they&lt;br /&gt;gazed at him with their large, moist eyes, turning their heads to watch&lt;br /&gt;him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette, from her window, cried:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Fetch them, Julio, fetch them!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The excited spaniel, growing bolder, barked louder and ventured as far&lt;br /&gt;as their cruppers, feigning to be about to bite them. They began to&lt;br /&gt;grow uneasy, and the nervous twitching of their skin, to get rid of the&lt;br /&gt;flies, became more frequent and protracted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the dog, carried along by the impetus of a rush that he could&lt;br /&gt;not check in time, bounced so close to one cow that, in order not to&lt;br /&gt;fall against her, he was obliged to jump over her. Startled by the&lt;br /&gt;bound, the heavy animal took fright, and first raising her head she&lt;br /&gt;finally raised herself slowly on her four legs, sniffing loudly. Seeing&lt;br /&gt;her erect, the other two immediately got up also, and Julio began to&lt;br /&gt;prance around them in a dance of triumph, while Annette praised him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bravo, Julio, bravo!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come," said the Countess, "come to breakfast, my child."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the young girl, shading her eyes with one hand, announced:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"There comes a telegraph messenger!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Along the invisible path among the wheat and the oats a blue blouse&lt;br /&gt;appeared to be gliding along the top of the grain, and it came toward&lt;br /&gt;the castle with the firm step of a man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, heavens!" murmured the Countess; "I hope he does not bring bad&lt;br /&gt;news!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was still shaken with that terror which remains with us a long time&lt;br /&gt;after the death of some loved one has been announced by a telegram.&lt;br /&gt;Now she could not remove the gummed band to open the little blue paper&lt;br /&gt;without feeling her fingers tremble and her soul agitated, believing&lt;br /&gt;that from those folds which it took so long to open would come a grief&lt;br /&gt;that would cause her tears to flow afresh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette, on the contrary, full of girlish curiosity, was delighted to&lt;br /&gt;meet with the unknown mystery that comes to all of us at times. Her&lt;br /&gt;heart, which life had just saddened for the first time, could anticipate&lt;br /&gt;only something joyful from that black and ominous bag hanging from the&lt;br /&gt;side of the mail-carrier, who saw so many emotions through the city&lt;br /&gt;streets and the country lanes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess ceased to eat, concentrating her thoughts on the man who&lt;br /&gt;was approaching, bearer of a few written words that might wound her as&lt;br /&gt;if a knife had been thrust in her throat. The anguish of having known&lt;br /&gt;that experience made her breathless, and she tried to guess what this&lt;br /&gt;hurried message might be. About what? From whom? The thought of Olivier&lt;br /&gt;flashed through her mind. Was he ill? Dead, perhaps, too!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The ten minutes she had to wait seemed interminable to her; then, when&lt;br /&gt;she had torn open the despatch and recognized the name of her husband,&lt;br /&gt;she read: "I telegraph to tell you that our friend Bertin leaves for&lt;br /&gt;Roncieres on the one o'clock train. Send Phaeton station. Love."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, mamma?" said Annette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Monsieur Olivier Bertin is coming to see us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, how lucky! When?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very soon."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"At four o'clock?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, how kind he is!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the Countess had turned pale, for a new anxiety had lately troubled&lt;br /&gt;her, and the sudden arrival of the painter seemed to her as painful a&lt;br /&gt;menace as anything she might have been able to foresee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You will go to meet him with the carriage," she said to her daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And will you not come, too, mamma?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I will wait for you here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why? That will hurt him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I do not feel very well."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You wished to walk as far as Berville just now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, but my breakfast has made me feel ill."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You will feel better between now and the time to go."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I am going up to my room. Let me know as soon as you arrive."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, mamma."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After giving orders that the phaeton should be ready at the proper hour,&lt;br /&gt;and that a room be prepared, the Countess returned to her own room, and&lt;br /&gt;shut herself in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Up to this time her life had passed almost without suffering, affected&lt;br /&gt;only by Olivier's love and concerned only by her anxiety to retain&lt;br /&gt;it. She had succeeded, always victorious in that struggle. Her heart,&lt;br /&gt;soothed by success and by flattery, had become the exacting heart of a&lt;br /&gt;beautiful worldly woman to whom are due all the good things of earth,&lt;br /&gt;and, after consenting to a brilliant marriage, with which affection had&lt;br /&gt;nothing to do, after accepting love later as the complement of a happy&lt;br /&gt;existence, after taking her part in a guilty intimacy, largely from&lt;br /&gt;inclination, a little from a leaning toward sentiment itself as a&lt;br /&gt;compensation for the prosaic hum-drum of daily life, had barricaded&lt;br /&gt;itself in the happiness that chance had offered her, with no other&lt;br /&gt;desire than to defend it against the surprises of each day. She had&lt;br /&gt;therefore accepted with the complacency of a pretty woman the agreeable&lt;br /&gt;events that occurred; and, though she ventured little, and was troubled&lt;br /&gt;little by new necessities and desires for the unknown; though she&lt;br /&gt;was tender, tenacious, and farseeing, content with the present, but&lt;br /&gt;naturally anxious about the morrow, she had known how to enjoy the&lt;br /&gt;elements that Destiny had furnished her with wise and economical&lt;br /&gt;prudence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, little by little, without daring to acknowledge it even to herself,&lt;br /&gt;the vague preoccupation of passing time, of advancing age, had glided&lt;br /&gt;into her soul. In her consciousness it had the effect of a gnawing&lt;br /&gt;trouble that never ceased. But, knowing well that this descent of life&lt;br /&gt;was without an end, that once begun it never could be stopped, and&lt;br /&gt;yielding to the instinct of danger, she closed her eyes in letting&lt;br /&gt;herself glide along, that she might retain her dream, that she might not&lt;br /&gt;be seized with dizziness at sight of the abyss or be made desperate by&lt;br /&gt;her impotence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She lived, then, smiling, with a sort of factitious pride in remaining&lt;br /&gt;beautiful so long, and when Annette appeared at her side with the&lt;br /&gt;freshness of her eighteen years, instead of suffering from this&lt;br /&gt;contrast, she was proud, on the contrary, of being able to command&lt;br /&gt;preference, in the ripe grace of her womanhood, over that blooming young&lt;br /&gt;girl in the radiant beauty of first youth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had even believed that she had entered upon the beginning of a&lt;br /&gt;happy, tranquil period when the death of her mother struck a blow at&lt;br /&gt;her heart. During the first few days she was filled with that profound&lt;br /&gt;despair that leaves no room for any other thought. She remained from&lt;br /&gt;morning until night buried in grief, trying to recall a thousand things&lt;br /&gt;of the dead, her familiar words, her face in earlier days, the gowns she&lt;br /&gt;used to wear, as if she had stored her memory with relics; and from the&lt;br /&gt;now buried past she gathered all the intimate and trivial recollections&lt;br /&gt;with which to feed her cruel reveries. Then, when she had arrived at&lt;br /&gt;such paroxysms of despair that she fell into hysterics and swooned, all&lt;br /&gt;her accumulated grief broke forth in tears, flowing from her eyes by day&lt;br /&gt;and by night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One morning, when her maid entered, and opened the shutters after&lt;br /&gt;raising the shades, asking: "How does Madame feel to-day?" she answered,&lt;br /&gt;feeling exhausted from having wept so much: "Oh, not at all well!&lt;br /&gt;Indeed, I can bear no more."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The servant, who was holding a tea-tray, looked at her mistress, and,&lt;br /&gt;touched to see her lying so pale amide the whiteness of the bed, she&lt;br /&gt;stammered, in a tone of genuine sadness: "Madame really looks very ill.&lt;br /&gt;Madame would do well to take care of herself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tone in which this was said pierced the Countess's heart like a&lt;br /&gt;sharp needle, and as soon as the maid had gone she rose to go and look&lt;br /&gt;at her face in her large dressing-mirror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was stupefied at the sight of herself, frightened by her hollow&lt;br /&gt;cheeks, her red eyes, the ravages produced in her by these days of&lt;br /&gt;suffering. Her face, which she knew so well, which she had often looked&lt;br /&gt;at in so many different mirrors, of which she knew all the expressions,&lt;br /&gt;all the smiles, the pallor which she had already corrected so many&lt;br /&gt;times, smoothing away the marks of fatigue, and the tiny wrinkles at the&lt;br /&gt;corners of the eyes, visible in too strong a light--her face suddenly&lt;br /&gt;seemed to her that of another woman, a new face that was distorted and&lt;br /&gt;irreparably ill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order to see herself better, to be surer with regard to this&lt;br /&gt;unexpected misfortune, she approached near enough to the mirror to touch&lt;br /&gt;it with her forehead, so that her breath, spreading a light mist over&lt;br /&gt;the glass, almost obscured the pale image she was contemplating. She was&lt;br /&gt;compelled to take a handkerchief to wipe away this mist, and, trembling&lt;br /&gt;with a strange emotion, she made a long and patient examination of the&lt;br /&gt;alterations in her face. With a light finger she stretched the skin of&lt;br /&gt;her cheeks, smoothed her forehead, pushed back her hair, and turned the&lt;br /&gt;eyelids to look at the whites of her eyes. Then she opened her mouth and&lt;br /&gt;examined her teeth which were a little tarnished where the gold fillings&lt;br /&gt;shone, and she was disturbed to note the livid gums and the yellow tint&lt;br /&gt;of the flesh above the cheeks and at the temples.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was so lost in this examination of her fading beauty that she did&lt;br /&gt;not hear the door open, and was startled when her maid, standing behind&lt;br /&gt;her, said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Madame has forgotten to take her tea."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess turned, confused, surprised, ashamed, and the servant,&lt;br /&gt;guessing her thoughts continued:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Madame has wept too much; there is nothing worse to spoil the skin.&lt;br /&gt;One's blood turns to water."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as the Countess added sadly: "There is age also," the maid&lt;br /&gt;exclaimed: "Oh, but Madame has not reached that time yet! With a few&lt;br /&gt;days of rest not a trace will be left. But Madame must go to walk, and&lt;br /&gt;take great care not to weep."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as she was dressed the Countess descended to the park, and for&lt;br /&gt;the first time since her mother's death she visited the little orchard&lt;br /&gt;where long ago she had liked to cultivate and gather flowers; then she&lt;br /&gt;went to the river and strolled beside the stream until the hour for&lt;br /&gt;breakfast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sat down at the table opposite her husband, and beside her daughter,&lt;br /&gt;and remarked, that she might know what they thought: "I feel better&lt;br /&gt;today. I must be less pale."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, you still look very ill," said the Count.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her heart contracted and she felt like weeping, for she had fallen into&lt;br /&gt;the habit of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until evening, and the next day, and all the following days, whether she&lt;br /&gt;thought of her mother or of herself, every moment she felt her throat&lt;br /&gt;swelling with sobs and her eyes filling with tears, but to prevent them&lt;br /&gt;from overflowing and furrowing her cheeks she repressed them, and by&lt;br /&gt;a superhuman effort of will turned her thoughts in other directions,&lt;br /&gt;mastered them, ruled them, separated them from her sorrow, forced&lt;br /&gt;herself to feel consoled, tried to amuse herself and to think of sad&lt;br /&gt;things no more, in order to regain the hue of health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Above all, she did not wish to return to Paris and to receive Olivier&lt;br /&gt;Bertin until she had become more like her former self. Realizing that&lt;br /&gt;she had grown too thin, that the flesh of women of her age needs to be&lt;br /&gt;full in order to keep fresh, she sought to create appetite by walking&lt;br /&gt;in the woods and along the roads; and though she returned weary and not&lt;br /&gt;hungry she forced herself to eat a great deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Count, who wished to go away, could not understand her obstinacy.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, as her resistance seemed invincible, he declared that he would&lt;br /&gt;go alone, leaving the Countess free to return when she might feel so&lt;br /&gt;disposed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day she received the telegram announcing Olivier's arrival.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A desire to flee seized her, so much did she fear his first look. She&lt;br /&gt;would have preferred to wait another week or two. In a week, with care&lt;br /&gt;one may change the face completely, since women, even when young and in&lt;br /&gt;good health, under the least change of influence become unrecognizable&lt;br /&gt;from one day to another. But the idea of appearing in broad daylight&lt;br /&gt;before Olivier, in the open fields, in the heat of August, beside&lt;br /&gt;Annette, so fresh and blooming, disturbed her so much that she&lt;br /&gt;decided immediately not to go to the station, but to await him in the&lt;br /&gt;half-darkened drawing-room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went up to her room and fell into a dream. Breaths of warm air&lt;br /&gt;stirred the curtains from time to time; the song of the crickets filled&lt;br /&gt;the air. Never before had she felt so sad. It was no more the great&lt;br /&gt;grief that had shattered her heart, overwhelming her before the soulless&lt;br /&gt;body of her beloved old mother. That grief, which she had believed&lt;br /&gt;incurable, had in a few days become softened, and was now but a sorrow&lt;br /&gt;of the memory; but now she felt herself swept away on a deep wave of&lt;br /&gt;melancholy into which she had entered gradually, and from which she&lt;br /&gt;never would emerge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had an almost irresistible desire to weep--and would not. Every time&lt;br /&gt;she felt her eyelids grow moist she wiped them away quickly, rose, paced&lt;br /&gt;about the room, looked out into the park and gazed at the tall trees,&lt;br /&gt;watched the slow, black flight of the crows against the background of&lt;br /&gt;blue sky. Then she passed before her mirror, judged her appearance with&lt;br /&gt;one glance, effaced the trace of a tear by touching the corner of her&lt;br /&gt;eye with rice powder, and looked at the clock, trying to guess at what&lt;br /&gt;point of the route he must have reached.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like all women who are carried away by a distress of soul, whether real&lt;br /&gt;or unreasonable, she clung to her lover with a sort of frenzy. Was he&lt;br /&gt;not her all--all, everything, more than life, all that anyone must be&lt;br /&gt;who has come to be the sole affection of one who feels the approach of&lt;br /&gt;age?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly she heard in the distance the crack of a whip; she ran to the&lt;br /&gt;window and saw the phaeton as it made the turn round the lawn, drawn&lt;br /&gt;by two horses. Seated beside Annette, in the back seat of the carriage,&lt;br /&gt;Olivier waved his handkerchief as he saw the Countess, to which she&lt;br /&gt;responded by waving him a salutation from the window. Then she went down&lt;br /&gt;stairs with a heart throbbing fast but happy now, thrilled with joy at&lt;br /&gt;knowing him so near, of speaking to him and seeing him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They met in the antechamber, before the drawing-room door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He opened his arms to her with an irresistible impulse, and in a voice&lt;br /&gt;warmed by real emotion, exclaimed: "Ah, my poor Countess, let me embrace&lt;br /&gt;you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She closed her eyes, leaned toward him and pressed against him, lifted&lt;br /&gt;her cheek to him, and as he pressed his lips upon it, she murmured in&lt;br /&gt;his ear: "I love thee!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Olivier, without dropping the hands he clasped in his own, looked&lt;br /&gt;at her, saying: "Let us see that sad face."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She felt ready to faint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, a little pale," said he, "but that is nothing."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To thank him for saying that, she said brokenly,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, dear friend, dear friend!" finding nothing else to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he turned, looking behind her in search of Annette, who had&lt;br /&gt;disappeared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is it not strange," he said abruptly, "to see your daughter in&lt;br /&gt;mourning?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why?" inquired the Countess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What? You ask why?" he exclaimed, with extraordinary animation.&lt;br /&gt;"Why, it is your own portrait painted by me--it is my portrait. It is&lt;br /&gt;yourself, such as you were when I met you long ago when I entered the&lt;br /&gt;Duchess's house! Ah, do you remember that door where you passed under my&lt;br /&gt;gaze, as a frigate passes under a cannon of a fort? Good heavens! when&lt;br /&gt;I saw the little one, just now, at the railway station, standing on the&lt;br /&gt;platform, all in black, with the sun shining on her hair massed around&lt;br /&gt;her face, the blood rushed to my head. I thought I should weep. I tell&lt;br /&gt;you, it is enough to drive one mad, when one has known you as I have,&lt;br /&gt;who has studied you as no one else has, and reproduced you in painting,&lt;br /&gt;Madame. Ah, I thought that you had sent her alone to meet me at the&lt;br /&gt;station in order to give me that surprise. My God! but I was surprised,&lt;br /&gt;indeed! I tell you, it is enough to drive one mad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He called: "Annette! Nane!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The young girl's voice replied from outside, where she was giving sugar&lt;br /&gt;to the horses:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, yes, I am here!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come in here!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She entered quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here, stand close beside your mother."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She obeyed, and he compared the two, but repeated mechanically, "Yes,&lt;br /&gt;it is astonishing, astonishing!" for they resembled each other less when&lt;br /&gt;side by side than they did before leaving Paris, the young girl having&lt;br /&gt;acquired a new expression of luminous youth in her black attire, while&lt;br /&gt;the mother had for a long time lost that radiance of hair and complexion&lt;br /&gt;that had dazzled and entranced the painter when they met for the first&lt;br /&gt;time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the Countess and Olivier entered the drawing-room. He seemed in&lt;br /&gt;high spirits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, what a good plan it was to come here!" he said. "But it was your&lt;br /&gt;husband's idea that I should come, you know. He charged me to take you&lt;br /&gt;back with me. And I--do you know what I propose? You have no idea, have&lt;br /&gt;you? Well, I propose, on the contrary, to remain here! Paris is odious&lt;br /&gt;in this heat, while the country is delicious. Heavens! how sweet it is&lt;br /&gt;here!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dews of evening impregnated the park with freshness, the soft breeze&lt;br /&gt;made the trees tremble, and the earth exhaled imperceptible vapors&lt;br /&gt;which threw a light, transparent veil over the horizon. The three cows,&lt;br /&gt;standing with drooping heads, cropped the grass with avidity, and four&lt;br /&gt;peacocks, with a loud rustling of wings, flew up into their accustomed&lt;br /&gt;perch in a cedar-tree under the windows of the castle. The barking of&lt;br /&gt;dogs in the distance came to the ear, and in the quiet air of the close&lt;br /&gt;of day the calls of human voices were heard, in phrases shouted across&lt;br /&gt;the fields, from one meadow to another, and in those short, guttural&lt;br /&gt;cries used in driving animals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter, with bared head and shining eyes, breathed deeply, and, as&lt;br /&gt;he met the Countess's look, he said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is happiness!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It never lasts," she answered, approaching nearer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let us take it when it comes," said he.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You never used to like the country until now," the Countess replied,&lt;br /&gt;smiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I like it to-day because I find you here. I do not know how to live any&lt;br /&gt;more where you are not. When one is young, he may be in love though far&lt;br /&gt;away, through letters, thoughts, or dreams, perhaps because he feels&lt;br /&gt;that life is all before him, perhaps too because passion is stronger&lt;br /&gt;than pure affection; at my age, on the contrary, love has become like&lt;br /&gt;the habit of an invalid; it is a binding up of the soul, which flies now&lt;br /&gt;with only one wing, and mounts less frequently into the ideal. The heart&lt;br /&gt;knows no more ecstasy, only selfish wants. And then I know quite well&lt;br /&gt;that I have no time to lose to enjoy what remains for me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, old!" she remonstrated, taking his hand tenderly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, yes, I am old," he repeated. "Everything shows it, my hair, my&lt;br /&gt;changing character, the coming sadness. Alas! that is something I never&lt;br /&gt;have known till now--sadness. If someone had told me when I was thirty&lt;br /&gt;that a time would come when I should be sad without cause, uneasy,&lt;br /&gt;discontented with everything, I should not have believed it. That proves&lt;br /&gt;that my heart also has grown old."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess replied with an air of profound certainty:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, as for me, my heart is still young. It never has changed. Yes, it&lt;br /&gt;has grown younger, perhaps. Once it was twenty; now it is only sixteen!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They remained a long while thus, talking in the open window, mingled&lt;br /&gt;with the spirit of evening, very near each other, nearer than they ever&lt;br /&gt;had been, in this hour of tenderness, this twilight of love, like that&lt;br /&gt;of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A servant entered, announcing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Madame la Comtesse is served."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Have you called my daughter?" the Countess asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mademoiselle is in the dining-room."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All three sat down at the table. The shutters were closed, and two large&lt;br /&gt;candelabra with six candles each illumined Annette's face and seemed&lt;br /&gt;to powder her hair with gold dust. Bertin, smiling, looked at her&lt;br /&gt;continually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Heavens, now pretty she is in black!" he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And he turned toward the Countess while admiring the daughter, as if to&lt;br /&gt;thank the mother for having given him this pleasure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they returned to the drawing-room the moon had risen above the&lt;br /&gt;trees in the park. Their somber mass appeared like a great island, and&lt;br /&gt;the country round about like a sea hidden under the light mist that&lt;br /&gt;floated over the plains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, mamma, let us take a walk," said Annette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess consented.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I will take Julio."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well, if you wish."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They set out. The young girl walked in front, amusing herself with the&lt;br /&gt;dog. When they crossed the lawn they heard the breathing of the cows,&lt;br /&gt;which, awake and scenting their enemy, raised their heads to look.&lt;br /&gt;Under the trees, farther away, the moon was pouring among the branches&lt;br /&gt;a shower of fine rays that fell to earth, seeming to wet the leaves that&lt;br /&gt;were spread out on the path in little patches of yellow light. Annette&lt;br /&gt;and Julio ran along, each seeming to have on this serene night, the same&lt;br /&gt;joyful and unburdened hearts, the gaiety of which expressed itself in&lt;br /&gt;graceful gambols.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the little openings, where the wave of moonlight descended as into&lt;br /&gt;a well, the young girl looked like a spirit, and the painter called her&lt;br /&gt;back, marveling at this dark vision with its clear and brilliant face.&lt;br /&gt;Then when she darted away again, he took the Countess's hand and pressed&lt;br /&gt;it, often seeking her lips as they traversed the deeper shadows, as if&lt;br /&gt;the sight of Annette had revived the impatience of his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last they reached the edge of the plain, where they could just&lt;br /&gt;discern, afar, here and there, the groups of trees belonging to the&lt;br /&gt;farms. Through the milky mist that bathed the fields the horizon&lt;br /&gt;appeared illimitable, and the soft silence, the living silence of that&lt;br /&gt;vast space, so warm and luminous, was full of inexpressible hope, of&lt;br /&gt;that indefinable expectancy which makes summer nights so sweet. Far&lt;br /&gt;up in the heavens a few long slender clouds looked like silver shells.&lt;br /&gt;Standing still for a few seconds, one could hear in that nocturnal peace&lt;br /&gt;a confused, continuous murmur of life, a thousand slight sounds, the&lt;br /&gt;harmony of which seemed like silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A quail in a neighboring field uttered her double cry, and Julio, his&lt;br /&gt;ears erect, glided furtively toward the two flute-like notes of the&lt;br /&gt;bird, Annette following, as softly as he, holding her breath and&lt;br /&gt;crouching low.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah," said the Countess, standing alone with the painter, "why do&lt;br /&gt;moments like this pass so quickly? We can hold nothing, keep nothing. We&lt;br /&gt;have not even time to taste what is good. It is over already."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier kissed her hand, and replied, smiling:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I cannot philosophize this evening! I belong to the present hour&lt;br /&gt;entirely."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You do not love me as I love you," she murmured.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, do not--"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No," she interrupted, "in me you love, as you said very truly before&lt;br /&gt;dinner, a woman who satisfies the needs of your heart, a woman who never&lt;br /&gt;has caused you a pain, and who has put a little happiness into your&lt;br /&gt;life. I know that; I feel it. Yes, I have the good consciousness, the&lt;br /&gt;ardent joy of having been good, useful, and helpful to you. You have&lt;br /&gt;loved, you still love all that you find agreeable in me, my attentions&lt;br /&gt;to you, my admiration, my wish to please you, my passion, the complete&lt;br /&gt;gift I made to you of my whole being. But it is not I you really love,&lt;br /&gt;do you know? Oh, I feel that as one feels a cold current of air. You&lt;br /&gt;love a thousand things about me--my beauty, which is fast leaving me, my&lt;br /&gt;devotion, the wit they say I possess, the opinion the world has of me,&lt;br /&gt;and that which I have of you in my heart; but it is not _I_--I, nothing&lt;br /&gt;but myself--do you understand?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He laughed in a soft and friendly way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I do not understand you very well. You make a reproachful attack&lt;br /&gt;which is quite unexpected."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, my God! I wish I could make you understand how I love you! I am&lt;br /&gt;always seeking, but cannot find a means. When I think of you--and I am&lt;br /&gt;always thinking of you--I feel in the depths of my being an unspeakable&lt;br /&gt;intoxication of longing to be yours, an irresistible need of giving&lt;br /&gt;myself to you even more completely. I should like to sacrifice myself in&lt;br /&gt;some absolute way, for there is nothing better, when one loves, than to&lt;br /&gt;give, to give always, all, all, life, thought, body, all that one has,&lt;br /&gt;to feel that one is giving, to be ready to risk anything to give still&lt;br /&gt;more. I love you so much that I love to suffer for you, I love even my&lt;br /&gt;anxieties, my torments, my jealousies, the pain I feel when I realize&lt;br /&gt;that you are not longer tender toward me. I love in you a someone that&lt;br /&gt;only I have discovered, a you which is not the you of the world that&lt;br /&gt;is admired and known, a you which is mine, which cannot change nor grow&lt;br /&gt;old, which I cannot cease to love, for I have, to look at it, eyes that&lt;br /&gt;see it alone. But one cannot say these things. There are no words to&lt;br /&gt;express them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He repeated softly, over and over:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear, dear, dear Any!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julio came back, bounding toward them, without having found the quail,&lt;br /&gt;which had kept still at his approach; Annette followed him, breathless&lt;br /&gt;from running.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I can't run any more," said she. "I will prop myself up with you,&lt;br /&gt;Monsieur painter!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She leaned on Olivier's free arm, and they returned, walking thus, he&lt;br /&gt;between them, under the shadow of the trees. They spoke no more. He&lt;br /&gt;walked on, possessed by them, penetrated by a sort of feminine essence&lt;br /&gt;with which their contact filled him. He did not try to see them, since&lt;br /&gt;he had them near him; he even closed his eyes that he might feel their&lt;br /&gt;proximity the better. They guided him, conducted him, and he walked&lt;br /&gt;straight before him, fascinated by them, with the one on the left as&lt;br /&gt;well as the one on the right, without knowing, indeed, which was on the&lt;br /&gt;left or which on the right, which was mother, which was daughter.&lt;br /&gt;He abandoned himself willingly to the pleasure of unpremeditated and&lt;br /&gt;exquisite sensuous delight. He even tried to mingle them in his heart,&lt;br /&gt;not to distinguish them in his thought, and quieted desire with the&lt;br /&gt;charm of this confusion. Was it not only one woman beside him, composed&lt;br /&gt;of this mother and daughter, so much alike? And did not the daughter&lt;br /&gt;seem to have come to earth only for the purpose of reanimating his&lt;br /&gt;former love for the mother?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he opened his eyes on entering the castle, it seemed to him that he&lt;br /&gt;had just passed through the most delicious moments of his life; that he&lt;br /&gt;had experienced the strangest, the most puzzling, yet complete emotion&lt;br /&gt;a man might feel, intoxicated with the same love by the seductiveness&lt;br /&gt;emanating from two women.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, what an exquisite evening!" said he, as soon as he found himself&lt;br /&gt;between them in the lamplight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am not at all sleepy," said Annette; "I could pass the whole night&lt;br /&gt;walking when the weather is fine."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess looked at the clock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, it is half after eleven. You must go to bed, my child."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They separated, and went to their own apartments. The young girl who did&lt;br /&gt;not wish to go to bed was the only one that went to sleep at once.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning, at the usual hour, when the maid, after opening the&lt;br /&gt;curtains and the shutters, brought the tea and looked at her mistress,&lt;br /&gt;who was still drowsy, she said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Madame looks better to-day, already."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you think so?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yes. Madame's face looks more rested."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though she had not yet looked at herself, the Countess knew that this&lt;br /&gt;was true. Her heart was light, she did not feel it throb, and she felt&lt;br /&gt;once more as if she lived. The blood flowing in her veins was no longer&lt;br /&gt;coursing so rapidly as on the day before, hot and feverish, sending&lt;br /&gt;nervousness and restlessness through all her body, but gave her a sense&lt;br /&gt;of well-being and happy confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the maid had gone she went to look at herself in the mirror. She&lt;br /&gt;was a little surprised, for she felt so much better that she expected&lt;br /&gt;to find herself rejuvenated by several years in a single night. Then&lt;br /&gt;she realized the childishness of such a hope, and, after another glance,&lt;br /&gt;resigned herself to the knowledge that her complexion was only clearer,&lt;br /&gt;her eyes less fatigued, her lips a little redder than on the day&lt;br /&gt;before. As her soul was content, she could not feel sad, and she smiled,&lt;br /&gt;thinking: "Yes, in a few days I shall be quite myself again. I have gone&lt;br /&gt;through too much to recover so quickly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But she remained seated a very long time before her toilet-table, upon&lt;br /&gt;which were laid out in graceful order on a muslin scarf bordered&lt;br /&gt;with lace, before a beautiful mirror of cut crystal, all her little&lt;br /&gt;ivory-handled instruments of coquetry, bearing her arms surmounted by a&lt;br /&gt;coronet. There they were, innumerable, pretty, all different, destined&lt;br /&gt;for delicate and secret use, some of steel, fine and sharp, of strange&lt;br /&gt;shapes, like surgical instruments for operations on children, others&lt;br /&gt;round and soft, of feathers, of down, of the skins of unknown animals,&lt;br /&gt;made to lay upon the tender skin the caresses of fragrant powders or of&lt;br /&gt;powerful liquid perfumes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She handled them a long time with practised fingers, carrying them from&lt;br /&gt;her lips to her temples with touches softer than a kiss, correcting&lt;br /&gt;imperfections, underlining the eyes, beautifying the eyelashes. At last,&lt;br /&gt;when she went down stairs, she felt almost sure that the first glance&lt;br /&gt;cast upon her would not be too unfavorable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Where is Monsieur Bertin?" she inquired of a servant she met in the&lt;br /&gt;vestibule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Monsieur Bertin is in the orchard, playing tennis with Mademoiselle,"&lt;br /&gt;the man replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She heard them from a distance counting the points. One after the other,&lt;br /&gt;the deep voice of the painter and the light one of the young girl,&lt;br /&gt;called: "Fifteen, thirty, forty, vantage, deuce, vantage, game!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The orchard, where a space had been leveled for a tennis-court, was&lt;br /&gt;a great, square grass-plot, planted with apple-trees, inclosed by the&lt;br /&gt;park, the vegetable-garden, and the farms belonging to the castle. Along&lt;br /&gt;the slope that formed a boundary on three sides, like the defenses of&lt;br /&gt;an intrenched camp, grew borders of various kinds of flowers, wild and&lt;br /&gt;cultivated, roses in masses, pinks, heliotrope, fuchsias, mignonnette,&lt;br /&gt;and many more, which as Bertin said gave the air a taste of honey.&lt;br /&gt;Besides this, the bees, whose hives, thatched with straw, lined the&lt;br /&gt;wall of the vegetable-garden, covered the flowery field in their yellow,&lt;br /&gt;buzzing flight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the exact center of this orchard a few apple-trees had been cut down,&lt;br /&gt;in order to make a good court for tennis, and a tarry net, stretched&lt;br /&gt;across this space, separated it into two camps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette, on one side, with bare head, her black skirt caught up, showing&lt;br /&gt;her ankles and half way up to her knee when she ran to catch a ball,&lt;br /&gt;dashed to and fro, with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, tired, out of&lt;br /&gt;breath with the sure and practised play of her adversary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He, in white flannels, fitting tightly over the hips, a white shirt,&lt;br /&gt;and a white tennis cap, his abdomen somewhat prominent in that costume,&lt;br /&gt;awaited the ball coolly, judged its fall with precision, received and&lt;br /&gt;returned it without haste, without running, with the elegant pose, the&lt;br /&gt;passionate attention, and professional skill which he displayed in all&lt;br /&gt;athletic sports.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Annette that spied her mother first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good morning, mamma!" she cried, "wait till we have finished this&lt;br /&gt;play."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That second's distraction lost her the game. The ball passed against&lt;br /&gt;her, almost rolling, touched the ground and went out of the game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin shouted "Won!" and the young girl, surprised, accused him of&lt;br /&gt;having profited by her inattention. Julio, trained to seek and find the&lt;br /&gt;lost balls, as if they were partridges fallen among the bushes, sprang&lt;br /&gt;behind her to get the ball rolling in the grass, seized it in his jaws,&lt;br /&gt;and brought it back, wagging his tail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The painter now saluted the Countess, but, urged to resume the game,&lt;br /&gt;animated by the contest, pleased to find himself so agile, he threw only&lt;br /&gt;a short, preoccupied glance at the face prepared so carefully for him,&lt;br /&gt;asking:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Will you allow me, dear Countess? I am afraid of taking cold and having&lt;br /&gt;neuralgia."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, yes," the Countess replied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sat down on a hay-stack, mowed that morning in order to give a clear&lt;br /&gt;field to the players, and, her heart suddenly touched with sadness,&lt;br /&gt;looked on at the game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her daughter, irritated at losing continually, grew more animated,&lt;br /&gt;excited, uttered cries of vexation or of triumph, and flew impetuously&lt;br /&gt;from one end of the court to the other. Often, in her swift movements,&lt;br /&gt;little locks of hair were loosened, rolled down and fell upon her&lt;br /&gt;shoulders. She seized them with impatient movements, and, holding the&lt;br /&gt;racket between her knees, fastened them up in place, thrusting hairpins&lt;br /&gt;into the golden mass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Bertin, from his position, cried to the Countess:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Isn't she pretty like that, and fresh as the day?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, she was young, she could run, grow warm, become red, let her hair&lt;br /&gt;fly, brave anything, dare everything, for all that only made her more&lt;br /&gt;beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, when they resumed their play with ardor, the Countess, more and&lt;br /&gt;more melancholy, felt that Olivier preferred that game, that childish&lt;br /&gt;sport, like the play of kittens jumping after paper balls, to the&lt;br /&gt;sweetness of sitting beside her that warm morning, and feeling her&lt;br /&gt;loving pressure against him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the bell, far away, rang the first signal for breakfast, it seemed&lt;br /&gt;to her that someone had freed her, that a weight had been lifted from&lt;br /&gt;her heart. But as she returned, leaning on his arm, he said to her:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have been amusing myself like a boy. It is a great thing to be, or to&lt;br /&gt;feel oneself, young. Ah, yes, there is nothing like that. When we do not&lt;br /&gt;like to run any more, it is all over with us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they left the table the Countess, who on the preceding day had for&lt;br /&gt;the first time omitted her daily visit to the cemetery, proposed that&lt;br /&gt;they should go there together; so all three set out for the village.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were obliged to go through some woods, through which ran a stream&lt;br /&gt;called "La Rainette," no doubt because of the frogs that peopled it;&lt;br /&gt;then they had to cross the end of a plain before arriving at the church,&lt;br /&gt;situated in the midst of a group of houses that sheltered the grocer,&lt;br /&gt;the baker, the butcher, the wine-merchant, and several other modest&lt;br /&gt;tradesmen who supplied the needs of the peasants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The walk was made in thoughtful silence, the recollection of the dead&lt;br /&gt;weighing on their spirits. Arrived at the grave, the women knelt and&lt;br /&gt;prayed a long time. The Countess, motionless, bent low, her handkerchief&lt;br /&gt;at her eyes, for she feared to weep lest her tears run down her cheeks.&lt;br /&gt;She prayed, but not as she had prayed before this day, in a sort of&lt;br /&gt;invocation to her mother, a despairing appeal penetrating under the&lt;br /&gt;marble of the tomb until she seemed to feel by the poignancy of her&lt;br /&gt;own anguish that the dead must hear her, listen to her, but a simple,&lt;br /&gt;hesitating, and earnest utterance of the consecrated words of the _Pater&lt;br /&gt;Noster_ and the _Ave Maria_. She would not have had that day sufficient&lt;br /&gt;strength and steadiness of nerve necessary for that cruel communion that&lt;br /&gt;brought no response with what remained of that being who had disappeared&lt;br /&gt;in the tomb where all that was left of her was concealed. Other&lt;br /&gt;anxieties had penetrated her woman's heart, had agitated, wounded, and&lt;br /&gt;distracted her; and her fervent prayer rose to Heaven, full of vague&lt;br /&gt;supplications. She offered her adoration to God, the inexorable God who&lt;br /&gt;has made all poor creatures on the earth, and begged Him to take pity on&lt;br /&gt;her as well as on the one He had recalled to Himself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She could not have told what she had asked of God, so vague and&lt;br /&gt;confused were her fears still; but she felt the need of Divine aid, of a&lt;br /&gt;superhuman support against approaching dangers and inevitable sorrows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette, with closed eyes, having also murmured the formulas, sank into&lt;br /&gt;a reverie, for she did not wish to rise before her mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Olivier Bertin looked at them, thinking that he never had seen a&lt;br /&gt;more ravishing picture, and somewhat regretful that it was out of the&lt;br /&gt;question for him to be permitted to make a sketch of the scene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On their way back they talked of human life, softly stirring those&lt;br /&gt;bitter and poetic ideas of a tender but pessimistic philosophy, which is&lt;br /&gt;a frequent subject of conversation between men and women whom life has&lt;br /&gt;wounded a little, and whose hearts mingle as they sympathize with each&lt;br /&gt;other's grief.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette, who was not ripe for such thoughts, left them frequently to&lt;br /&gt;gather wild flowers beside the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Olivier, desiring to keep her near him, nervous at seeing her&lt;br /&gt;continually darting away, never removed his eyes from her. He was&lt;br /&gt;irritated that she should show more interest in the colors of the&lt;br /&gt;plants than in the words he spoke. He experienced an inexpressible&lt;br /&gt;dissatisfaction at not being able to charm her, to dominate her, as he&lt;br /&gt;had captivated her mother; and he felt a desire to hold out his hand&lt;br /&gt;and seize her, hold her, forbid her to go away. He felt that she was too&lt;br /&gt;alert, too young, too indifferent, too free--free as a bird, or like&lt;br /&gt;a little dog that will not come back, will not obey, which has&lt;br /&gt;independence in its veins, that sweet instinct of liberty which neither&lt;br /&gt;voice nor whip has yet vanquished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In order to attract her he talked of gayer things, and at times he&lt;br /&gt;questioned her, trying to awaken her feminine curiosity so that she&lt;br /&gt;would listen; but one would think that the capricious wind of heaven&lt;br /&gt;was blowing through Annette's head that day, as it blew across the&lt;br /&gt;undulating grain, carrying away and dispersing her attention into space,&lt;br /&gt;for she hardly uttered even the commonplace replies expected of her,&lt;br /&gt;between her short digressions, and made them with an absent air, then&lt;br /&gt;returned to her flowers. Finally he became exasperated, filled with a&lt;br /&gt;childish impatience, and as she ran up to beg her mother to carry her&lt;br /&gt;first bouquet so that she could gather another, he caught her by the&lt;br /&gt;elbow and pressed her arm, so that she could not escape again. She&lt;br /&gt;struggled, laughing, pulling with all her strength to get away from&lt;br /&gt;him; then, moved by masculine instinct, he tried gentler means, and, not&lt;br /&gt;being able to win her attention he tried to purchase it by tempting her&lt;br /&gt;coquetry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tell me," said he, "what flower you prefer, and I will have a brooch&lt;br /&gt;made of it for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She hesitated, surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, a brooch?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"In stones of the same color; in rubies if it is the poppy; in sapphires&lt;br /&gt;if it is the cornflower, with a little leaf in emeralds."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette's face lighted up with that affectionate joy with which promises&lt;br /&gt;and presents animate a woman's countenance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The cornflower," said she, "it is so pretty."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The cornflower it shall be. We will go to order it as soon as we return&lt;br /&gt;to Paris."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She no longer tried to leave him, attracted by the thought of the jewel&lt;br /&gt;she already tried to see, to imagine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Does it take very long to make a thing like that?" she asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He laughed, feeling that he had caught her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't know; it depends upon the difficulties. We will make the&lt;br /&gt;jeweler do it quickly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A dismal thought suddenly crossed her mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But I cannot wear it since I am in deep mourning!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had passed his arm under that of the young girl, and pressed it&lt;br /&gt;against him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, you will keep the brooch until you cease to wear mourning," said&lt;br /&gt;he; "that will not prevent you from looking at it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As on the preceding evening, he was walking between them, held captive&lt;br /&gt;between their shoulders, and in order to see their eyes, of a similar&lt;br /&gt;blue dotted with tiny black spots, raised to his, he spoke to them in&lt;br /&gt;turn, moving his head first toward the one, then toward the other. As&lt;br /&gt;the bright sunlight now shone on them, he did not so fully confound the&lt;br /&gt;Countess with Annette, but he did more and more associate the daughter&lt;br /&gt;with the new-born remembrances of what the mother had been. He had a&lt;br /&gt;strong desire to embrace both, the one to find again upon cheek and neck&lt;br /&gt;a little of that pink and white freshness which he had already tasted,&lt;br /&gt;and which he saw now reproduced as by a miracle; the other because he&lt;br /&gt;loved her as he always had, and felt that from her came the powerful&lt;br /&gt;appeal of long habit. He even realized at that moment that his desire&lt;br /&gt;and affection for her, which for some time had been waning, had revived&lt;br /&gt;at the sight of her resuscitated youth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette went away again to gather more flowers. This time Olivier&lt;br /&gt;did not call her back; it was as if the contact of her arm and the&lt;br /&gt;satisfaction of knowing that he had given her pleasure had quieted him;&lt;br /&gt;but he followed all her movements with the pleasure one feels in seeing&lt;br /&gt;the persons or things that captivate and intoxicate our eyes. When&lt;br /&gt;she returned, with a large cluster of flowers, he drew a deep breath,&lt;br /&gt;seeking unconsciously to inhale something of her, a little of her breath&lt;br /&gt;or the warmth of her skin in the air stirred by her running. He looked&lt;br /&gt;at her, enraptured, as one watches the dawn, or listens to music, with&lt;br /&gt;thrills of delight when she bent, rose again, or raised her arms to&lt;br /&gt;arrange her hair. And then, more and more, hour by hour, she evoked in&lt;br /&gt;him the memory of the past! Her laughter, her pretty ways, her motions,&lt;br /&gt;brought back to his lips the savor of former kisses given and returned;&lt;br /&gt;she made of the far-off past, of which he had forgotten the precise&lt;br /&gt;sensation, something like a dream in the present; she confused epochs,&lt;br /&gt;dates, the ages of his heart, and rekindling the embers of cooled&lt;br /&gt;emotions, she mingled, without his realizing it, yesterday with&lt;br /&gt;to-morrow, recollection with hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked himself as he questioned his memory whether the Countess in&lt;br /&gt;her brightest bloom had had that fawn-like, supple grace, that bold,&lt;br /&gt;capricious, irresistible charm, like the grace of a running, leaping&lt;br /&gt;animal. No. She had had a riper bloom but was less untamed. First, a&lt;br /&gt;child of the city, then a woman, never having imbibed the air of the&lt;br /&gt;fields and lived in the grass, she had grown pretty under the shade of&lt;br /&gt;the walls and not in the sunlight of heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they reentered the castle the Countess began to write letters at&lt;br /&gt;her little low table in the bay-window; Annette went up to her own room,&lt;br /&gt;and the painter went out again to walk slowly, cigar in mouth, hands&lt;br /&gt;clasped behind him, through the winding paths of the park. But he did&lt;br /&gt;not go away so far that he lost sight of the white facade or the pointed&lt;br /&gt;roof of the castle. As soon as it disappeared behind groups of trees or&lt;br /&gt;clusters of shrubbery, a shadow seemed to fall over his heart, as when a&lt;br /&gt;cloud hides the sun; and when it reappeared through the apertures in&lt;br /&gt;the foliage he paused a few seconds to contemplate the two rows of&lt;br /&gt;tall windows. Then he resumed his walk. He felt agitated, but content.&lt;br /&gt;Content with what? With everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The air seemed pure to him, life was good that day. His body felt once&lt;br /&gt;more the liveliness of a small boy, a desire to run, to catch the yellow&lt;br /&gt;butterflies fluttering over the lawn, as if they were suspended at the&lt;br /&gt;end of elastic threads. He sang little airs from the opera. Several&lt;br /&gt;times he repeated the celebrated phrase by Gounod: "_Laisse-moi&lt;br /&gt;contempler ton visage_," discovering in it a profoundly tender&lt;br /&gt;expression which never before he had felt in the same way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly he asked himself how it was that he had so soon become&lt;br /&gt;different from his usual self. Yesterday, in Paris, dissatisfied&lt;br /&gt;with everything, disgusted, irritated; to-day calm, satisfied with&lt;br /&gt;everything--one would say that some benevolent god had changed his soul.&lt;br /&gt;"That same kind god," he thought, "might well have changed my body&lt;br /&gt;at the same time, and rejuvenated me a little." Suddenly he saw Julio&lt;br /&gt;hunting among the bushes. He called him, and when the dog ran up to put&lt;br /&gt;his finely formed head, with its curly ears, under his hand, he sat down&lt;br /&gt;on the grass to pet him more comfortably, spoke gentle words to him,&lt;br /&gt;laid him on his knees, and growing tender as he caressed the animal, he&lt;br /&gt;kissed it, after the fashion of women whose hearts are easily moved to&lt;br /&gt;demonstration.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dinner, instead of going out as on the evening before, they spent&lt;br /&gt;the hours in the drawing-room.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the Countess said: "We must leave here soon."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, don't speak of that yet!" Olivier exclaimed. "You would not leave&lt;br /&gt;Roncieres when I was not here; now what I have come, you think only of&lt;br /&gt;going away."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, my dear friend," said she, "we three cannot remain here&lt;br /&gt;indefinitely."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It does not necessarily follow that we need stay indefinitely, but just&lt;br /&gt;a few days. How many times have I stayed at your house for whole weeks?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, but in different circumstances, when the house was open to&lt;br /&gt;everyone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, mamma," said Annette, coaxingly, "let us stay a few days more, just&lt;br /&gt;two or three. He teaches me so well how to play tennis. It annoys me to&lt;br /&gt;lose, but afterward I am glad to have made such progress."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only that morning the Countess had been planning to make this mysterious&lt;br /&gt;visit of her friend's last until Sunday, and now she wished to go away,&lt;br /&gt;without knowing why. That day which she had hoped would be such a&lt;br /&gt;happy one had left in her soul an inexpressible but poignant sadness, a&lt;br /&gt;causeless apprehension, as tenacious and confused as a presentiment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she was once more alone in her room she even sought to define this&lt;br /&gt;new access of melancholy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had she experienced one of those imperceptible emotions whose touch has&lt;br /&gt;been so slight that reason does not remember it, but whose vibrations&lt;br /&gt;still stir the most sensitive chords of the heart? Perhaps? Which? She&lt;br /&gt;recalled, certainly, some little annoyances, in the thousand degrees of&lt;br /&gt;sentiment through which she had passed, each minute having its own. But&lt;br /&gt;they were too petty to have thus disheartened her. "I am exacting," she&lt;br /&gt;thought. "I have no right to torment myself in this way."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She opened her window, to breathe the night air, and leaned on the&lt;br /&gt;window-sill, gazing at the moon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A slight noise made her look down. Olivier was pacing before the castle.&lt;br /&gt;"Why did he say that he was going to his room?" she thought; "why did he&lt;br /&gt;not tell me he was going out again? Why did he not ask me to come with&lt;br /&gt;him? He knows very well that it would have made me so happy. What is he&lt;br /&gt;thinking of now?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This idea that he had not wished to have her with him on his walk, that&lt;br /&gt;he had preferred to go out alone this beautiful night, alone, with a&lt;br /&gt;cigar in his mouth, for she could see its fiery-red point--alone, when&lt;br /&gt;he might have given her the joy of taking her with him; this idea that&lt;br /&gt;he had not continual need of her, that he did not desire her always,&lt;br /&gt;created within her soul a new fermentation of bitterness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was about to close the window, that she might not see him or be&lt;br /&gt;tempted to call to him, when he raised his eyes and saw her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, are you star-gazing, Countess?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes," she answered. "You also, as it appears."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I am simply smoking."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She could not resist the desire to ask: "Why did you not tell me you&lt;br /&gt;were going out?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I only wanted to smoke a cigar. I am coming in now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then good-night, my friend."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Good-night, Countess."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She retired as far as her low chair, sat down in it and wept; and her&lt;br /&gt;maid, who was called to assist her to bed, seeing her red eyes said with&lt;br /&gt;compassion:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, Madame is going to make a sad face for herself again to-morrow."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess slept badly; she was feverish and had nightmare. As soon as&lt;br /&gt;she awoke she opened her window and her curtains to look at herself&lt;br /&gt;in the mirror. Her features were drawn, her eyelids swollen, her skin&lt;br /&gt;looked yellow; and she felt such violent grief because of this that&lt;br /&gt;she wished to say she was ill and to keep her bed, so that she need not&lt;br /&gt;appear until evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, suddenly, the necessity to go away entered her mind, to depart&lt;br /&gt;immediately, by the first train, to quit the country, where one could&lt;br /&gt;see too clearly by the broad light of the fields the ineffaceable marks&lt;br /&gt;of sorrow and of life itself. In Paris one lives in the half shadow&lt;br /&gt;of apartments, where heavy curtains, even at noontime, admit only a&lt;br /&gt;softened light. She would herself become beautiful again there, with the&lt;br /&gt;pallor one should have in that discreetly softened light. Then Annette's&lt;br /&gt;face rose before her eyes--so fresh and pink, with slightly disheveled&lt;br /&gt;hair, as when she was playing tennis. She understood then the unknown&lt;br /&gt;anxiety from which her soul had suffered. She was not jealous of her&lt;br /&gt;daughter's beauty! No, certainly not; but she felt, she acknowledged for&lt;br /&gt;the first time that she must never again show herself by Annette's side&lt;br /&gt;in the bright sunlight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She rang, and before drinking her tea she gave orders for departure,&lt;br /&gt;wrote some telegrams, even ordering her dinner for that evening&lt;br /&gt;by telegraph, settled her bills in the country, gave her final&lt;br /&gt;instructions, arranged everything in less than an hour, a prey to&lt;br /&gt;feverish and increasing impatience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she went down stairs, Annette and Olivier, who had been told of her&lt;br /&gt;decision, questioned her with surprise. Then, seeing that she would&lt;br /&gt;not give any precise reason for this sudden departure, they grumbled a&lt;br /&gt;little and expressed their dissatisfaction until they separated at the&lt;br /&gt;station in Paris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess, holding out her hand to the painter, said: "Will you dine&lt;br /&gt;with us to-morrow?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Certainly, I will come," he replied, rather sulkily. "All the same,&lt;br /&gt;what you have done was not nice. We were so happy down there, all three&lt;br /&gt;of us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 3&lt;br /&gt;A DANGEROUS WARNING&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the Countess was alone with her daughter in her carriage,&lt;br /&gt;which was taking her back to her home, she suddenly felt tranquil&lt;br /&gt;and quieted, as if she had just passed through a serious crisis. She&lt;br /&gt;breathed easier, smiled at the houses, recognized with joy the look of&lt;br /&gt;the city, whose details all true Parisians seem to carry in their eyes&lt;br /&gt;and hearts. Each shop she passed suggested the ones beyond, on a line&lt;br /&gt;along the Boulevard, and the tradesman's face so often seen behind his&lt;br /&gt;show-case. She felt saved. From what? Reassured. Why? Confident. Of&lt;br /&gt;what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the carriage stopped under the arch of the porte-cochere, she&lt;br /&gt;alighted quickly and entered, as if flying, the shadow of the stairway;&lt;br /&gt;then passed to the shadow of her drawing-room, then to that of her&lt;br /&gt;bedroom. There she remained standing a few moments, glad to be at home,&lt;br /&gt;in security, in the dim and misty daylight of Paris, which, hardly&lt;br /&gt;brightening, compels one to guess as well as to see, where one may show&lt;br /&gt;what he pleases and hide what he will; and the unreasoning memory of&lt;br /&gt;the dazzling glare that bathed the country remained in her like an&lt;br /&gt;impression of past suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she went down to dinner, her husband, who had just arrived at home,&lt;br /&gt;embraced her affectionately, and said, smiling: "Ah, ha! I knew very&lt;br /&gt;well that our friend Bertin would bring you back. It was very clever of&lt;br /&gt;me to send him after you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette responded gravely, in the peculiar tone she affected when she&lt;br /&gt;said something in jest without smiling:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, he had a great deal of trouble. Mamma could not decide for&lt;br /&gt;herself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess said nothing, but felt a little confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doors being closed to visitors, no one called that evening. Madame&lt;br /&gt;de Guilleroy passed the whole of the following day in different shops,&lt;br /&gt;choosing or ordering what she needed. She had loved, from her youth,&lt;br /&gt;almost from her infancy, those long sittings before the mirrors of&lt;br /&gt;the great shops. From the moment of entering one, she took delight in&lt;br /&gt;thinking of all the details of that minute rehearsal in the green-room&lt;br /&gt;of Parisian life. She adored the rustle of the dresses worn by the&lt;br /&gt;salesgirls, who hastened forward to meet her, all smiles, with their&lt;br /&gt;offers, their queries; and Madame the dressmaker, the milliner, or&lt;br /&gt;corset-maker, was to her a person of consequence, whom she treated as an&lt;br /&gt;artist when she expressed an opinion in asking advice. She enjoyed&lt;br /&gt;even more to feel herself in the skilful hands of the young girls who&lt;br /&gt;undressed her and dressed her again, causing her to turn gently around&lt;br /&gt;before her own gracious reflection. The little shiver that the touch of&lt;br /&gt;their fingers produced on her skin, her neck, or in her hair, was one of&lt;br /&gt;the best and sweetest little pleasures that belonged to her life of an&lt;br /&gt;elegant woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This day, however, she passed before those candid mirrors, without&lt;br /&gt;her veil or hat, feeling a certain anxiety. Her first visit, at&lt;br /&gt;the milliner's, reassured her. The three hats which she chose were&lt;br /&gt;wonderfully becoming; she could not doubt it, and when the milliner&lt;br /&gt;said, with an air of conviction, "Oh, Madame la Comtesse, blondes should&lt;br /&gt;never leave off mourning" she went away much pleased, and entered other&lt;br /&gt;shops with a heart full of confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she found at home a note from the Duchess, who had come to see&lt;br /&gt;her, saying that she would return in the evening; then she wrote some&lt;br /&gt;letters; then she fell into dreamy reverie for some time, surprised&lt;br /&gt;that this simple change of place had caused to recede into a past that&lt;br /&gt;already seemed far away the great misfortune that had overwhelmed her.&lt;br /&gt;She could not even convince herself that her return from Roncieres dated&lt;br /&gt;only from the day before, so much was the condition of her soul modified&lt;br /&gt;since her return to Paris, as if that little change had healed her&lt;br /&gt;wounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, arriving at dinner-time, exclaimed on seeing her:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are dazzling this evening!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this exclamation sent a warm wave of happiness through her being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they were leaving the table, the Count, who had a passion for&lt;br /&gt;billiards, offered to play a game with Bertin, and the two ladies&lt;br /&gt;accompanied them to the billiard-room, where the coffee was served.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The men were still playing when the Duchess was announced, and they&lt;br /&gt;all returned to the drawing-room. Madame de Corbelle and her husband&lt;br /&gt;presented themselves at the same time, their voices full of tears. For&lt;br /&gt;some minutes it seemed, from the doleful tones, that everyone was about&lt;br /&gt;to weep; but little by little, after a few tender words and inquiries,&lt;br /&gt;another current of thought set in; the voices took on a more cheerful&lt;br /&gt;tone, and everyone began to talk naturally, as if the shadow of the&lt;br /&gt;misfortune that had saddened them had suddenly been dissipated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Bertin rose, took Annette by the hand, led her under the portrait&lt;br /&gt;of her mother, in the ray of light from the reflector, and said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Isn't this stupefying?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess was so greatly surprised that she seemed dazed; she repeated&lt;br /&gt;many times: "Heavens! is it possible? Heavens! is it possible? It is&lt;br /&gt;like someone raised from the dead. To think that I did not see that when&lt;br /&gt;I came in! Oh, my little Any, I find you again, I, who knew you so well&lt;br /&gt;then in your first mourning as a woman--no, in your second, for you had&lt;br /&gt;already lost your father. Oh, that Annette, in black like that--why, it&lt;br /&gt;is her mother come back to earth! What a miracle! Without that portrait&lt;br /&gt;we never should have perceived it. Your daughter resembles you very&lt;br /&gt;much, but she resembles that portrait much more."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu now appeared, having heard of Madame de Guilleroy's return,&lt;br /&gt;as he wished to be one of the first to offer her the "homage of his&lt;br /&gt;sorrowful sympathy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He interrupted his first speech on perceiving the young girl standing&lt;br /&gt;against the frame, illumined by the same ray of light, appearing like&lt;br /&gt;the living sister of the painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, that is certainly one of the most astonishing things I ever have&lt;br /&gt;seen," he exclaimed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Corbelles, whose convictions always followed established opinions,&lt;br /&gt;marveled in their turn with a little less exuberant ardor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess's heart seemed to contract, little by little, as if all&lt;br /&gt;these exclamations of astonishment had hurt it. Without speaking, she&lt;br /&gt;looked at her daughter standing by the image of herself, and a sudden&lt;br /&gt;feeling of weakness came over her. She longed to cry out: "Say no more!&lt;br /&gt;I know very well that she resembles me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the end of the evening she remained in a melancholy mood, having&lt;br /&gt;lost once more the confidence she had felt the day before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin was chatting with her when the Marquis de Farandal was announced.&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the painter saw him enter and approach the hostess he rose&lt;br /&gt;and glided behind her armchair, murmuring: "This is delightful! There&lt;br /&gt;comes that great animal now." Then, making a detour of the apartment, he&lt;br /&gt;reached the door and departed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After receiving the salutations of the newcomer, the Countess looked&lt;br /&gt;around to find Olivier, to resume with him the talk in which she had&lt;br /&gt;been interested. Not seeing him, she asked:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, has the great man gone?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I believe so, my dear," her husband answered; "I just saw him going&lt;br /&gt;away in the English fashion."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was surprised, reflected a few moments, and then began to talk to&lt;br /&gt;the Marquis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her intimate friends, however, discreetly took their leave early, for,&lt;br /&gt;so soon after her affliction, she had only half-opened her door, as it&lt;br /&gt;were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she found herself again lying on her bed, all the griefs that had&lt;br /&gt;assailed her in the country reappeared. They took a more distinct form;&lt;br /&gt;she felt them more keenly. She realized that she was growing old!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That evening, for the first time, she had understood that, in her own&lt;br /&gt;drawing-room, where until now she alone had been admired, complimented,&lt;br /&gt;flattered, loved, another, her daughter, was taking her place. She had&lt;br /&gt;comprehended this suddenly, when feeling that everyone's homage was paid&lt;br /&gt;to Annette. In that kingdom, the house of a pretty woman, where she will&lt;br /&gt;permit no one to overshadow her, where she eliminated with discreet and&lt;br /&gt;unceasing care all disadvantageous comparisons, where she allows the&lt;br /&gt;entrance of her equals only to attempt to make them her vassals, she saw&lt;br /&gt;plainly that her daughter was about to become the sovereign. How strange&lt;br /&gt;had been that contraction of her heart when all eyes were turned upon&lt;br /&gt;Annette as Bertin held her by the hand standing before the portrait!&lt;br /&gt;She herself felt as if she had suddenly disappeared, dispossessed,&lt;br /&gt;dethroned. Everyone looked at Annette; no one had a glance for her any&lt;br /&gt;more! She was so accustomed to hear compliments and flattery, whenever&lt;br /&gt;her portrait was admired, she was so sure of eulogistic phrases, which&lt;br /&gt;she had little regarded but which pleased her nevertheless, that&lt;br /&gt;this desertion of herself, this unexpected defection, this admiration&lt;br /&gt;intended wholly for her daughter, had moved, astonished, and hurt her&lt;br /&gt;more than if it had been a question of no matter what rivalry under any&lt;br /&gt;kind of conditions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, as she had one of those natures which, in all crises, after the&lt;br /&gt;first blow, react, struggle, and find arguments for consolation, she&lt;br /&gt;reasoned that, once her dear little daughter should be married, when&lt;br /&gt;they should no longer live under the same roof, she herself would&lt;br /&gt;no longer be compelled to endure that incessant comparison which&lt;br /&gt;was beginning to be too painful for her under the eyes of her friend&lt;br /&gt;Olivier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the shock had been too much for her that evening. She was feverish&lt;br /&gt;and hardly slept at all. In the morning she awoke weary and overcome by&lt;br /&gt;extreme lassitude, and then within her surged up an irresistible longing&lt;br /&gt;to be comforted again, to be succored, to ask help from someone who&lt;br /&gt;could cure all her ills, all her moral and physical ailments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indeed, she felt so ill at ease and weak that she had an idea of&lt;br /&gt;consulting her physician. Perhaps she was about to be seriously&lt;br /&gt;affected, for it was not natural that in a few hours she should pass&lt;br /&gt;through those successive phases of suffering and relief. So she sent him&lt;br /&gt;a telegram, and awaited his coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He arrived about eleven o'clock. He was one of those dignified,&lt;br /&gt;fashionable physicians whose decorations and titles guarantee their&lt;br /&gt;ability, whose tact at least equals mere skill, and who have, above all,&lt;br /&gt;when treating women, an adroitness that is surer than medicines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He entered, bowed, looked at his patient, and said with a smile: "Come,&lt;br /&gt;this is not a very grave case. With eyes like yours one is never very&lt;br /&gt;ill."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She felt immediate gratitude to him for this beginning, and told him&lt;br /&gt;of her troubles, her weakness, her nervousness and melancholy; then she&lt;br /&gt;mentioned, without laying too much stress on the matter, her alarmingly&lt;br /&gt;ill appearance. After listening to her with an attentive air, though&lt;br /&gt;asking no questions except as to her appetite, as if he knew well the&lt;br /&gt;secret nature of this feminine ailment, he sounded her, examined her,&lt;br /&gt;felt of her shoulders with the tips of his fingers, lifted her arms,&lt;br /&gt;having undoubtedly met her thought and understood with the shrewdness of&lt;br /&gt;a practitioner who lifts all veils that she was consulting him more for&lt;br /&gt;her beauty than for her health. Then he said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, we are a little anemic, and have some nervous troubles. That is&lt;br /&gt;not surprising, since you have experienced such a great affliction. I&lt;br /&gt;will write you a little prescription that will set you right again. But&lt;br /&gt;above all, you must eat strengthening food, take beef-tea, no water, but&lt;br /&gt;drink beer. I will indicate an excellent brand. Do not tire yourself by&lt;br /&gt;late hours, but walk as much as you can. Sleep a good deal and grow a&lt;br /&gt;little plumper. This is all that I can advise you, my fair patient."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had listened to him with deep interest, trying to guess at what his&lt;br /&gt;words implied. She caught at the last word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I am too thin," said she. "I was a little too stout at one time,&lt;br /&gt;and perhaps I weakened myself by dieting."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Without any doubt. There is no harm in remaining thin when one has&lt;br /&gt;always been so; but when one grows thin on principle it is always at the&lt;br /&gt;expense of something else. Happily, that can be soon remedied. Good-bye,&lt;br /&gt;Madame."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She felt better already, more alert; and she wished to send for the&lt;br /&gt;prescribed beer for her breakfast, at its headquarters, in order to&lt;br /&gt;obtain it quite fresh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was just leaving the table when Bertin was announced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It is I, again," said he, "always I. I have come to ask you something.&lt;br /&gt;Have you anything particular to do this afternoon?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, nothing. Why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And Annette?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nothing, also."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then, can you come to the studio about four o'clock?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, but for what purpose?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am sketching the face of my _Reverie_, of which I spoke to you when&lt;br /&gt;I asked you whether Annette might pose for me a few moments. It would&lt;br /&gt;render me a great service if I could have her for only an hour to-day.&lt;br /&gt;Will you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess hesitated, annoyed, without knowing the reason why. But she&lt;br /&gt;replied:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Very well, my friend; we shall be with you at four o'clock."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you! You are goodness itself!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went away to prepare his canvas and study his subject, so that he&lt;br /&gt;need not tire his model too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then the Countess went out alone, on foot, to finish her shopping.&lt;br /&gt;She went down to the great central streets, then walked slowly up the&lt;br /&gt;Boulevard Malesherbes, for she felt as if her limbs were breaking. As&lt;br /&gt;she passed Saint Augustin's, she was seized with a desire to enter the&lt;br /&gt;church and rest. She pushed open the door, sighed with satisfaction in&lt;br /&gt;breathing the cool air of the vast nave, took a chair and sat down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was religious as very many Parisians are religious. She believed&lt;br /&gt;in God without a doubt, not being able to admit the existence of the&lt;br /&gt;universe without the existence of a creator. But associating, as does&lt;br /&gt;everyone, the attributes of divinity with the nature of the created&lt;br /&gt;matter that she beheld with her own eyes, she almost personified the&lt;br /&gt;Eternal God with what she knew of His work, without having a very clear&lt;br /&gt;idea as to what this mysterious Maker might really be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She believed in Him firmly, adored Him theoretically, feared Him very&lt;br /&gt;vaguely, for she did not profess to understand His intentions or His&lt;br /&gt;will, having a very limited confidence in the priests, whom she regarded&lt;br /&gt;merely as the sons of peasants revolting from military service.&lt;br /&gt;Her father, a middle-class Parisian, never had imposed upon her any&lt;br /&gt;particular principles of devotion, and she had lived on thinking little&lt;br /&gt;about religious matters until her marriage. Then, her new station in&lt;br /&gt;life indicating more strictly her apparent duties toward the Church, she&lt;br /&gt;had conformed punctiliously to this light servitude, as do so many of&lt;br /&gt;her station.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was lady patroness to numerous and very well known infant asylums,&lt;br /&gt;never failed to attend mass at one o'clock on Sundays, gave alms for&lt;br /&gt;herself directly, and for the world by means of an abbe, the vicar of&lt;br /&gt;her parish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had often prayed, from a sense of duty, as a soldier mounts guard&lt;br /&gt;at a general's door. Sometimes she had prayed because her heart was&lt;br /&gt;sad, especially when she suspected Olivier of infidelity to her. At such&lt;br /&gt;times, without confiding to Heaven the cause for her appeal, treating&lt;br /&gt;God with the same naïve hypocrisy that is shown to a husband, she asked&lt;br /&gt;Him to succor her. When her father died, long before, and again quite&lt;br /&gt;recently, at her mother's death, she had had violent crises of religious&lt;br /&gt;fervor, and had passionately implored Him who watches over us and&lt;br /&gt;consoles us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, now behold! to-day, in that church where she had entered by chance,&lt;br /&gt;she suddenly felt a profound need to pray, not for some one nor for some&lt;br /&gt;thing, but for herself, for herself alone, as she had already prayed the&lt;br /&gt;other day at her mother's grave. She must have help from some source,&lt;br /&gt;and she called on God now as she had summoned the physician that very&lt;br /&gt;morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She remained a long time on her knees, in the deep silence of the&lt;br /&gt;church, broken only by the sound of footsteps. Then suddenly, as if a&lt;br /&gt;clock had struck in her heart, she awoke from her memories, drew out her&lt;br /&gt;watch and started to see that it was already four o'clock. She hastened&lt;br /&gt;away to take her daughter to the studio, where Olivier must already be&lt;br /&gt;expecting them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They found the artist in his studio, studying upon the canvas the pose&lt;br /&gt;of his _Reverie_. He wished to reproduce exactly what he had seen in the&lt;br /&gt;Parc Monceau while walking with Annette: a young girl, dreaming, with an&lt;br /&gt;open book upon her knees. He had hesitated as to whether he should make&lt;br /&gt;her plain or pretty. If she were ugly she would have more character,&lt;br /&gt;would arouse more thought and emotion, would contain more philosophy. If&lt;br /&gt;pretty, she would be more seductive, would diffuse more charm, and would&lt;br /&gt;please better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The desire to make a study after his little friend decided him. The&lt;br /&gt;_Reveuse_ should be pretty, and therefore might realize her poetic&lt;br /&gt;vision one day or other; whereas if ugly she would remain condemned to a&lt;br /&gt;dream without hope and without end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the two ladies entered Olivier said, rubbing his hands:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well, Mademoiselle Nane, we are going to work together, it seems!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess seemed anxious. She sat in an armchair, and watched Olivier&lt;br /&gt;as he placed an iron garden-chair in the right light. He opened his&lt;br /&gt;bookcase to get a book, then asked, hesitating:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What does your daughter read?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear me! anything you like! Give her a volume of Victor Hugo."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"'_La Legende des Siecles_?'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That will do."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little one, sit down here," he continued, "and take this volume of&lt;br /&gt;verse. Look for page--page 336, where you will find a poem entitled 'Les&lt;br /&gt;Pauvres Gens.' Absorb it, as one drinks the best wines, slowly, word by&lt;br /&gt;word, and let it intoxicate you and move you. Then close the book, raise&lt;br /&gt;your eyes, think and dream. Now I will go and prepare my brushes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went into a corner to put the colors on his palette, but while&lt;br /&gt;emptying on the thin board the leaden tubes whence issued slender,&lt;br /&gt;twisting snakes of color, he turned from time to time to look at the&lt;br /&gt;young girl absorbed in her reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His heart was oppressed, his fingers trembled; he no longer knew what&lt;br /&gt;he was doing, and he mingled the tones as he mixed the little piles of&lt;br /&gt;paste, so strongly did he feel once more before this apparition,&lt;br /&gt;before that resurrection, in that same place, after twelve years, an&lt;br /&gt;irresistible flood of emotion overwhelming his heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Annette had finished her reading and was looking straight before&lt;br /&gt;her. Approaching her, Olivier saw in her eyes two bright drops which,&lt;br /&gt;breaking forth, ran down her cheeks. He was startled by one of those&lt;br /&gt;shocks that make a man forget himself, and turning toward the Countess&lt;br /&gt;he murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"God! how beautiful she is!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But he remained stupefied before the livid and convulsed face of Madame&lt;br /&gt;de Guilleroy. Her large eyes, full of a sort of terror, gazed at her&lt;br /&gt;daughter and the painter. He approached her, suddenly touched with&lt;br /&gt;anxiety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What is the matter?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I wish to speak to you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rising, she said quickly to Annette; "Wait a moment, my child; I have a&lt;br /&gt;word to say to Monsieur Bertin."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She passed swiftly into the little drawing-room near by, where he&lt;br /&gt;often made his visitors wait. He followed her, his head confused,&lt;br /&gt;understanding nothing. As soon as they were alone, she seized his hands&lt;br /&gt;and stammered:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Olivier! Olivier, I beg you not to make her pose for you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But why?" he murmured, disturbed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why? Why?" she said precipitately. "He asks it! You do not feel it,&lt;br /&gt;then yourself? Why? Oh, I should have guessed it sooner myself, but I&lt;br /&gt;only discovered it this moment. I cannot tell you anything now. Go and&lt;br /&gt;find my daughter. Tell her that I am ill; fetch a cab, and come to see&lt;br /&gt;me in an hour. I will receive you alone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But, really, what is the matter with you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She seemed on the verge of hysterics.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Leave me! I cannot speak here. Get my daughter and call a cab."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had to obey and reentered the studio. Annette, unsuspicious, had&lt;br /&gt;resumed her reading, her heart overflowing with sadness by the poetic&lt;br /&gt;and lamentable story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Your mother is indisposed," said Olivier. "She became very ill when she&lt;br /&gt;went into the other room. I will take some ether to her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He went out, ran to get a flask from his room and returned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He found them weeping in each other's arms. Annette, moved by "Les&lt;br /&gt;Pauvres Gens," allowed her feelings full sway, and the Countess was&lt;br /&gt;somewhat solaced by blending her grief with that sweet sorrow, in&lt;br /&gt;mingling her tears with those of her daughter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He waited for some time, not daring to speak; he looked at them, his own&lt;br /&gt;heart oppressed with an incomprehensible melancholy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," said he at last. "Are you better?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, a little," the Countess replied. "It was nothing. Have you ordered&lt;br /&gt;a carriage?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, it will come directly."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank you, my friend--it is nothing. I have had too much grief for a&lt;br /&gt;long time."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"The carriage is here," a servant announced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Bertin, full of secret anguish, escorted his friend, pale and almost&lt;br /&gt;swooning, to the door, feeling her heart throb against his arm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he was alone he asked himself what was the matter with her, and why&lt;br /&gt;had she made this scene. And he began to seek a reason, wandering around&lt;br /&gt;the truth without deciding to discover it. Finally, he began to suspect.&lt;br /&gt;"Well," he said to himself, "is it possible she believes that I am&lt;br /&gt;making love to her daughter? No, that would be too much!" And, combating&lt;br /&gt;with ingenious and loyal arguments that supposititious conviction, he&lt;br /&gt;felt indignant that she had lent for an instant to this healthy and&lt;br /&gt;almost paternal affection any suspicion of gallantry. He became more and&lt;br /&gt;more irritated against the Countess, utterly unwilling to concede&lt;br /&gt;that she had dared suspect him of such villainy, of an infamy so&lt;br /&gt;unqualifiable; and he resolved, when the time should come for him to&lt;br /&gt;answer her, that he would not soften the expression of his resentment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He soon left his studio to go to her house, impatient for an&lt;br /&gt;explanation. All along the way he prepared, with a growing irritation,&lt;br /&gt;the arguments and phrases that must justify him and avenge him for such&lt;br /&gt;a suspicion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He found her on her lounge, her face changed by suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," said he, drily, "explain to me, my dear friend, the strange&lt;br /&gt;scene that has just occurred."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, you have not yet understood it?" she said, in a broken voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, I confess I have not."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Come, Olivier, search your own heart well."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My heart?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, at the bottom of your heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I don't understand. Explain yourself better."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Look well into the depths of your heart, and see whether you find&lt;br /&gt;nothing there that is dangerous for you and for me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I repeat that I do not comprehend you. I guess that there is something&lt;br /&gt;in your imagination, but in my own conscience I see nothing."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I am not speaking of your conscience, but of your heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I cannot guess enigmas. I entreat you to be more clear."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, slowing raising her hands, she took the hands of the painter and&lt;br /&gt;held them; then, as if each word broke her heart, she said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Take care, my friend, or you will fall in love with my daughter!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He withdrew his hands abruptly, and with the vivacity of innocence which&lt;br /&gt;combats a shameful accusation, with animated gesture and increasing&lt;br /&gt;excitement, he defended himself, accusing her in her turn of having&lt;br /&gt;suspected him unjustly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She let him talk for some time, obstinately incredulous, sure of what&lt;br /&gt;she had said. Then she resumed:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But I do not suspect you, my friend. You were ignorant of what was&lt;br /&gt;passing within you, as I was ignorant of it until this morning. You&lt;br /&gt;treat me as if I had accused you of wishing to seduce Annette. Oh,&lt;br /&gt;no, no! I know how loyal you are, worthy of all esteem and of every&lt;br /&gt;confidence. I only beg you, I entreat you to look into the depths of&lt;br /&gt;your heart and see whether the affection which, in spite of yourself,&lt;br /&gt;you are beginning to have for my daughter, has not a characteristic a&lt;br /&gt;little different from simple friendship."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now he was offended, and, growing still more excited, he began once more&lt;br /&gt;to plead his loyalty, just as he argued all alone in the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She waited until he had finished his defense; then, without anger, but&lt;br /&gt;without being shaken in her conviction, though frightfully pale, she&lt;br /&gt;murmured:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Olivier, I know very well all that you have just said to me, and I&lt;br /&gt;think as you do. But I am sure that I do not deceive myself. Listen,&lt;br /&gt;reflect, understand. My daughter resembles me too much, she is too much&lt;br /&gt;what I was once when you began to love me, that you should not begin to&lt;br /&gt;love her, too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Then," he exclaimed, "you dare to throw in my face such a thing as that&lt;br /&gt;on this simple supposition and ridiculous reasoning: 'He loves me; my&lt;br /&gt;daughter resembles me; therefore he will love her'!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But seeing the Countess's face changing more and more, he continued in a&lt;br /&gt;softer tone:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now, my dear Any, it is precisely because I do find you once more in&lt;br /&gt;her that this young girl pleases me so much. It is you, you alone, that&lt;br /&gt;I love when I look at her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, and it is just that from which I begin to suffer, and which makes&lt;br /&gt;me so anxious. You are not yet aware of what you feel, but by and by you&lt;br /&gt;will no longer be able to deceive yourself regarding it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Any, I assure you that you are mad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Do you wish proofs?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You had not come to Roncieres for three years, in spite of my desire to&lt;br /&gt;have you come. But you rushed down there when it was proposed that you&lt;br /&gt;should come to fetch us."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, indeed! You reproach me for not leaving you alone down there,&lt;br /&gt;knowing that you were ill, after your mother's death!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So be it! I do not insist. But look: the desire to see Annette again is&lt;br /&gt;so imperious with you that you could not pass this day without asking me&lt;br /&gt;to take her to your studio, under the pretext of posing her."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"And do you not suppose it was you I wished to see?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"At this moment you are arguing against yourself, trying to convince&lt;br /&gt;yourself--but you do not deceive me. Listen again: Why did you leave&lt;br /&gt;abruptly, the night before last, when the Marquis de Farandal entered?&lt;br /&gt;Do you know why?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He hesitated, very much surprised, disturbed, disarmed by this&lt;br /&gt;observation. Then he said slowly:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But--I hardly know--I was tired, and then, to be candid, that imbecile&lt;br /&gt;makes me nervous."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Since when?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Always."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pardon me, I have heard you sing his praises. You liked him once. Be&lt;br /&gt;quite sincere, Olivier."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He reflected a few moments; then, choosing his words, he said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, it is possible that the great love I have for you makes me love&lt;br /&gt;so much everything that belongs to you as to modify my opinion of that&lt;br /&gt;bore, whom I might meet occasionally with indifference, but whom I&lt;br /&gt;should not like to see in your house almost every day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My daughter's house will not be mine. But this is sufficient. I know&lt;br /&gt;the uprightness of your heart. I know that you will reflect deeply&lt;br /&gt;on what I have just said to you. When you have reflected you will&lt;br /&gt;understand that I have pointed out a great danger to you, while yet&lt;br /&gt;there is time to escape it. And you will beware. Now let us talk of&lt;br /&gt;something else, will you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He did not insist, but he was much disturbed; he no longer knew what to&lt;br /&gt;think, though indeed he had need for reflection. He went away after a&lt;br /&gt;quarter of an hour of unimportant conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the Countess was alone with her daughter in her carriage,&lt;br /&gt;which was taking her back to her home, she suddenly felt tranquil&lt;br /&gt;and quieted, as if she had just passed through a serious crisis. She&lt;br /&gt;breathed easier, smiled at the houses, recognized with joy the look of&lt;br /&gt;the city, whose details all true Parisians seem to carry in their eyes&lt;br /&gt;and hearts. Each shop she passed suggested the ones beyond, on a line&lt;br /&gt;along the Boulevard, and the tradesman's face so often seen behind his&lt;br /&gt;show-case. She felt saved. From what? Reassured. Why? Confident. Of&lt;br /&gt;what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the carriage stopped under the arch of the porte-cochere, she&lt;br /&gt;alighted quickly and entered, as if flying, the shadow of the stairway;&lt;br /&gt;then passed to the shadow of her drawing-room, then to that of her&lt;br /&gt;bedroom. There she remained standing a few moments, glad to be at home,&lt;br /&gt;in security, in the dim and misty daylight of Paris, which, hardly&lt;br /&gt;brightening, compels one to guess as well as to see, where one may show&lt;br /&gt;what he pleases and hide what he will; and the unreasoning memory of&lt;br /&gt;the dazzling glare that bathed the country remained in her like an&lt;br /&gt;impression of past suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she went down to dinner, her husband, who had just arrived at home,&lt;br /&gt;embraced her affectionately, and said, smiling: "Ah, ha! I knew very&lt;br /&gt;well that our friend Bertin would bring you back. It was very clever of&lt;br /&gt;me to send him after you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Annette responded gravely, in the peculiar tone she affected when she&lt;br /&gt;said something in jest without smiling:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, he had a great deal of trouble. Mamma could not decide for&lt;br /&gt;herself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess said nothing, but felt a little confused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doors being closed to visitors, no one called that evening. Madame&lt;br /&gt;de Guilleroy passed the whole of the following day in different shops,&lt;br /&gt;choosing or ordering what she needed. She had loved, from her youth,&lt;br /&gt;almost from her infancy, those long sittings before the mirrors of&lt;br /&gt;the great shops. From the moment of entering one, she took delight in&lt;br /&gt;thinking of all the details of that minute rehearsal in the green-room&lt;br /&gt;of Parisian life. She adored the rustle of the dresses worn by the&lt;br /&gt;salesgirls, who hastened forward to meet her, all smiles, with their&lt;br /&gt;offers, their queries; and Madame the dressmaker, the milliner, or&lt;br /&gt;corset-maker, was to her a person of consequence, whom she treated as an&lt;br /&gt;artist when she expressed an opinion in asking advice. She enjoyed&lt;br /&gt;even more to feel herself in the skilful hands of the young girls who&lt;br /&gt;undressed her and dressed her again, causing her to turn gently around&lt;br /&gt;before her own gracious reflection. The little shiver that the touch of&lt;br /&gt;their fingers produced on her skin, her neck, or in her hair, was one of&lt;br /&gt;the best and sweetest little pleasures that belonged to her life of an&lt;br /&gt;elegant woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This day, however, she passed before those candid mirrors, without&lt;br /&gt;her veil or hat, feeling a certain anxiety. Her first visit, at&lt;br /&gt;the milliner's, reassured her. The three hats which she chose were&lt;br /&gt;wonderfully becoming; she could not doubt it, and when the milliner&lt;br /&gt;said, with an air of conviction, "Oh, Madame la Comtesse, blondes should&lt;br /&gt;never leave off mourning" she went away much pleased, and entered other&lt;br /&gt;shops with a heart full of confidence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she found at home a note from the Duchess, who had come to see&lt;br /&gt;her, saying that she would return in the evening; then she wrote some&lt;br /&gt;letters; then she fell into dreamy reverie for some time, surprised&lt;br /&gt;that this simple change of place had caused to recede into a past that&lt;br /&gt;already seemed far away the great misfortune that had overwhelmed her.&lt;br /&gt;She could not even convince herself that her return from Roncieres dated&lt;br /&gt;only from the day before, so much was the condition of her soul modified&lt;br /&gt;since her return to Paris, as if that little change had healed her&lt;br /&gt;wounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin, arriving at dinner-time, exclaimed on seeing her:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You are dazzling this evening!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this exclamation sent a warm wave of happiness through her being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they were leaving the table, the Count, who had a passion for&lt;br /&gt;billiards, offered to play a game with Bertin, and the two ladies&lt;br /&gt;accompanied them to the billiard-room, where the coffee was served.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The men were still playing when the Duchess was announced, and they&lt;br /&gt;all returned to the drawing-room. Madame de Corbelle and her husband&lt;br /&gt;presented themselves at the same time, their voices full of tears. For&lt;br /&gt;some minutes it seemed, from the doleful tones, that everyone was about&lt;br /&gt;to weep; but little by little, after a few tender words and inquiries,&lt;br /&gt;another current of thought set in; the voices took on a more cheerful&lt;br /&gt;tone, and everyone began to talk naturally, as if the shadow of the&lt;br /&gt;misfortune that had saddened them had suddenly been dissipated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Bertin rose, took Annette by the hand, led her under the portrait&lt;br /&gt;of her mother, in the ray of light from the reflector, and said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Isn't this stupefying?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Duchess was so greatly surprised that she seemed dazed; she repeated&lt;br /&gt;many times: "Heavens! is it possible? Heavens! is it possible? It is&lt;br /&gt;like someone raised from the dead. To think that I did not see that when&lt;br /&gt;I came in! Oh, my little Any, I find you again, I, who knew you so well&lt;br /&gt;then in your first mourning as a woman--no, in your second, for you had&lt;br /&gt;already lost your father. Oh, that Annette, in black like that--why, it&lt;br /&gt;is her mother come back to earth! What a miracle! Without that portrait&lt;br /&gt;we never should have perceived it. Your daughter resembles you very&lt;br /&gt;much, but she resembles that portrait much more."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Musadieu now appeared, having heard of Madame de Guilleroy's return,&lt;br /&gt;as he wished to be one of the first to offer her the "homage of his&lt;br /&gt;sorrowful sympathy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He interrupted his first speech on perceiving the young girl standing&lt;br /&gt;against the frame, illumined by the same ray of light, appearing like&lt;br /&gt;the living sister of the painting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah, that is certainly one of the most astonishing things I ever have&lt;br /&gt;seen," he exclaimed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Corbelles, whose convictions always followed established opinions,&lt;br /&gt;marveled in their turn with a little less exuberant ardor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Countess's heart seemed to contract, little by little, as if all&lt;br /&gt;these exclamations of astonishment had hurt it. Without speaking, she&lt;br /&gt;looked at her daughter standing by the image of herself, and a sudden&lt;br /&gt;feeling of weakness came over her. She longed to cry out: "Say no more!&lt;br /&gt;I know very well that she resembles me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the end of the evening she remained in a melancholy mood, having&lt;br /&gt;lost once more the confidence she had felt the day before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bertin was chatting with her when the Marquis de Farandal was announced.&lt;br /&gt;As soon as the painter saw him enter and approach the hostess he rose&lt;br /&gt;and glided behind her armchair, murmuring: "This is delightful! There&lt;br /&gt;comes that great animal now." Then, making a detour of the apartment, he&lt;br /&gt;reached the door and departed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After receiving the salutations of the newcomer, the Countess looked&lt;br /&gt;around to find Olivier, to resume with him the talk in which she had&lt;br /&gt;been interested. Not seeing him, she asked:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What, has the great man gone?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I believe so, my dear," her husband answered; "I just saw him going&lt;br /&gt;away in the English fashion."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was surprised, reflected a few moments, and then began to talk to&lt;br /&gt;the Marquis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her intimate friends, however, discreetly took their leave early, for,&lt;br /&gt;so soon after her affliction, she had only half-opened her door, as it&lt;br /&gt;were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When she found herself again lying on her bed, all the griefs that had&lt;br /&gt;assailed her in the country reappeared. They took a more distinct form;&lt;br /&gt;she felt them more keenly. She realized that she was growing old!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That evening, for the first time, she had understood that, in her own&lt;br /&gt;drawing-room, where until now she alone had been admired, complimented,&lt;br /&gt;flattered, loved, another, her daughter, was taking her place. She had&lt;br /&gt;comprehended this suddenly, when feeling that everyone's homage was paid&lt;br /&gt;to Annette. In that kingdom, the house of a pretty woman, where she will&lt;br /&gt;permit no one to overshadow her, where she eliminated with discreet and&lt;br /&gt;unceasing care all disadvantageous comparisons, where she allows the&lt;br /&gt;entrance of her equals only to attempt to make them her vassals, she saw&lt;br /&gt;plainly that her daughter was about to become the sovereign. How strange&lt;br /&gt;had been that contraction of her heart when all eyes were turned upon&lt;br /&gt;Annette as Bertin held her by the hand standing before the portrait!&lt;br /&gt;She herself felt as if she had suddenly disappeared, dispossessed,&lt;br /&gt;dethroned. Everyone looked at Annette; no one had a glance for her any&lt;br /&gt;more! She was so accustomed to hear compliments and flattery, whenever&lt;br /&gt;her portrait was admired, she was so sure of eulogistic phrases, which&lt;br /&gt;she had little regarded but which pleased her nevertheless, that&lt;br /&gt;this desertion of herself, this unexpected defection, this admiration&lt;br /&gt;intended wholly for her daughter, had moved, astonished, and hurt her&lt;br /&gt;more than if it had been a question of no matter what rivalry under any&lt;br /&gt;kind of conditions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, as she had one of those natures which, in all crises, after the&lt;br /&gt;first blow, react, struggle, and find arguments for consolation, she&lt;br /&gt;reasoned that, once her dear little daughter should be married, when&lt;br /&gt;they should no longer live under the same roof, she herself would&lt;br /&gt;no longer be compelled to endure that incessant comparison which&lt;br /&gt;was beginning to be too painful for her under the eyes of her friend&lt;br /&gt;Olivier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the shock had been too much for her that evening. She was feverish&lt;br /&gt;and hardly slept at all. In the morning she awoke weary and overcome by&lt;br /&gt;extreme lassitude, and then within her surged up an irresistible longing&lt;br /&gt;to be comforted again, to be succored, to ask help from someone who&lt;br /&gt;could cure all her ills, all her moral and physical ailments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indeed, she felt so ill at ease and weak that she had an idea of&lt;br /&gt;consulting her physician. Perhaps she was about to be seriously&lt;br /&gt;affected, for it was not natural that in a few hours she should pass&lt;br /&gt;through those successive phases of suffering and relief. So she sent him&lt;br /&gt;a telegram, and awaited his coming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He arrived about eleven o'clock. He was one of those dignified,&lt;br /&gt;fashionable physicians whose decorations and titles guarantee their&lt;br /&gt;ability, whose tact at least equals mere skill, and who have, above all,&lt;br /&gt;when treating women, an adroitness that is surer than medicines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He entered, bowed, looked at his patient, and said with a smile: "Come,&lt;br /&gt;this is not a very grave case. With eyes like yours one is never very&lt;br /&gt;ill."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She felt immediate gratitude to him for this beginning, and told him&lt;br /&gt;of her troubles, her weakness, her nervousness and melancholy; then she&lt;br /&gt;mentioned, without laying too much stress on the matter, her alarmingly&lt;br /&gt;ill appearance. After listening to her with an attentive air, though&lt;br /&gt;asking no questions except as to her appetite, as if he knew well the&lt;br /&gt;secret nature of this feminine ailment, he sounded her, examined her,&lt;br /&gt;felt of her shoulders with the tips of his fingers, lifted her arms,&lt;br /&gt;having undoubtedly met her thought and understood with the shrewdness of&lt;br /&gt;a practitioner who lifts all veils that she was consulting him more for&lt;br /&gt;her beauty than for her health. Then he said:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, we are a little anemic, and have some nervous troubles. That is&lt;br /&gt;not surprising, since you have experienced such a great affliction. I&lt;br /&gt;will write you a little prescription that will set you right again. But&lt;br /&gt;above all, you must eat strengthening food, take beef-tea, no water, but&lt;br /&gt;drink beer. I will indicate an excellent brand. Do not tire yourself by&lt;br /&gt;late hours, but walk as much as you can. Sleep a good deal and grow a&lt;br /&gt;little plumper. This is all that I can advise you, my fair patient."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had listened to him with deep interest, trying to guess at what his&lt;br /&gt;words implied. She caught at the last word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, I am too thin," said s
