The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. Marvel, who, as he had helped to deprive her of her former husbands, thought himself in duty bound to offer to supply their place. ‘You cannot be always with me. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Nor can we. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. ” She laughed softly to herself.
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