She had to pass the door of the one she had occupied on that never-to-be-forgotten night. She pushed open the door with a frightful feeling of melancholy. The little cabin, now unoccupied, was so blank, seemed so ready to welcome any passing guest, to afford a refuge for other happiness, other sorrows, other dreams, or other regrets! Was it possible that the joy felt in this place had disappeared forever? Whether it was Marsh's conversation which had communicated some of his energy and confidence to the young woman or that, like the instinct to struggle to the last that animates a drowning man, the soul is moved by a vital energy at a certain point of discouragement, whether it were one or the other motive it is hard to say, but Ely replied, No! to her own question. Standing upon the threshold of the narrow cell that had been for her an hour's paradise, she vowed that she would not surrender, that she would fight for her happiness, that she would again recover it. It was only a minute's respite, but it sufficed to give her courage to compose her features so that Miss Marsh, a keener observer than her uncle, did not notice the marks of a deep sadness imprinted too plainly upon her face. The young American girl was painting. She was copying a magnificent bunch of pinks and roses, of yellow, almost golden pinks, and of blood-red, purple roses, whose deep tints seemed almost black. The harmonious combination of yellow and red had attracted her eye, always sensible to bright colors. Her unskilful brush laid coats of harsh color upon the canvas, but she stuck to her task with an obstinacy and energy and patience equal to that displayed by her uncle in his business. And yet she was a true woman, in spite of all her decision and firm manner. Her emotion upon Ely's entrance was only too visible. She divined that the Baroness, whose villa she had avoided for several days, was going to talk to her about Verdier. She did not employ any artifice with her friend. At her first allusion she replied:-- "I know it is my uncle who has sent you as intermediary. He was quite right. What I would not tell him, what, in fact, I could not tell him, I can tell you. It is quite true, I have quarrelled with Monsieur Verdier. He believed some wicked calumnies that he heard about me. That is all." "In other words you mean that it is the Archduke who has slandered you, do you not?" asked Madame de Carlsberg, after a short silence. "Everything appeared to condemn me," replied Florence, ignoring the Baroness's remark, "but when there is faith there can be no question of trusting to appearances. Do you not think so?" "I think that Verdier loves you," said Ely, in reply, "and that in love there is jealousy. But what was the matter?"