Bonnibel makes no move to retire when Lucy has gone. The little white bed awaits her, tempting to repose by its daintiness and coolness, but she does not look toward it; only sits still as Lucy left her, with her face bowed on her hand. Colonel Carlyle has gone back to the ball-room again, trying to steel his heart against the upbraidings of his conscience. He moves among the revelers pale and _distrait_, yet still trying to bear his part in the gaieties lest people should whisper that he is unhappy, and fearful that some one may read the secret of his jealousy and cruelty to his beautiful darling. Curious glances follow him, whispers breathe the story that he fain would conceal, every eye notes Bonnibel's absence. They shrug their shoulders and tell each other in confidence that Colonel Carlyle is a perfect Bluebeard, and has banished his wife from the festal scene because he is jealous of Byron Penn. And the music and the dancing go on until daylight warns the gay ones to flee from that too true light that reveals their weariness and haggardness so plainly. But the ball is long since over for Bonnibel. Lucy finds her as she left her, curled up in the great arm-chair, sleeping like a grieved child, with the trace of tears on her cheek. CHAPTER XXII. Long Branch is electrified next day by the sudden departure of the Carlyles for New York. Surprise and wonder run high, and the curious ones seek Felise, thinking that she, if any one, must be acquainted with the whys and wherefores. But Felise is rather reticent on the subject. "I will tell you all I know," she says, with a pretty affectation of frankness. "That is not much. The Carlyles are going abroad next week and the colonel is going to put his wife at a convent school in Paris to finish her education and perfect herself in music. He told me that much this morning, and I did not ask him why he proposed taking such a singular step." "You thought him so crazed by jealousy that he could hardly account for his whims in a rational manner, eh?" inquired one. "It is monstrous!" says another. "Why, the girl was as finished and elegant in her manners as mortal could be. It were impossible to add another charm to her." While Byron Penn quoted with enthusiasm: "To gild refined gold, to paint the lily, To smooth the ice; or add another hue Unto the rainbow; or with taper light To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish, Were wasteful and ridiculous excess." It was a nine days' wonder, and then it was over. People voted Colonel Carlyle a bear and a Bluebeard, and his lovely young bride a victim and martyr. They said that he was secluding her from the world because he was too jealous for the light of Heaven to shine upon her. The young poet indited some charming verses for his favorite magazine: "To Those Blue Eyes Across the Sea," and then the gossip began to die out, and new subjects engrossed society's mind.