mild evenings of spring, and last night I receive in the mail an invitation card to a wedding. But whose wedding? Her wedding — hers — to a young man of means.

O mockery of fate!...

I hasten to her at once to shake her hand with the glee of the gloating victor; but when she appears before me with her wasted body, her quiet eyes, and her languid smile, I find this question stumbling on my lips in spite of me:

— And your worshipped young man??

— I have lost him, my friend, and with him I have lost everything... But do you know for the sake of what this sacrifice was made?

— ...?!

— For the sake of matter itself — the matter I so long mocked and loathed. Yes: for the sake of preserving my existence in a way that costs my dignity nothing, in which no shame or wrong can touch me if my guardian should depart this life and leave me to the tyranny of fate...

And I saw a tear glistening in the tormented eyes, and I cried encouragingly:

— Where is your pride, my dear...?

She answered, as though all the powers of the earth had gathered to move those two lips:

— This tear, my friend, is only one of those passing drops that come before the blowing of the storm. Tomorrow you will see how I shall send it forth as ring-ing cries in the ears of girlhood. You will see how I shall take this poor creature by the hand from the cradle, that she may trace the steps of her brother the boy and follow him to the very end. You will see, in the near future, how woman will do without man's help, if do without it she must. You will see how I shall raise her

up a new creation, if Providence grants me to live long.

And I saw another tear glisten among the long lashes with a trembling in which I fancied I saw the flutterings of her spirit and the breathings of her heart;

and I knew that this tear was not that one; and I knew that it would not dry until life had dried in her thin body; and I knew that the fates try those of understanding more than they try those of placid temper...