She will be very sorry to leave this haven of peace in which she has rested securely the last two years. She has grown fond of her quiet life among the "passionless, pale-cold" nuns of the convent, and is loth to break its repose by going back to the jar and fret of life with her jealous husband. She wishes that she might stay in the convent all her life. "Do you intend to return at once to the United States, sir?" she inquires, being at a loss for something to say. "Not yet, unless you particularly desire it. I want you to see something of life in the gay French Capital--'dear, delightful Paris,' as we Americans call it. I have rented an elegant _chateau_ and furnished it in handsome style, according to what I fancied your taste would prefer; have engaged a retinue of servants; and there is a lovely garden of roses; in short, the home is ready, and only awaits its mistress. I have tried to arrange everything as you would like it." "Thank you; you are very kind," she murmurs, almost inaudibly. "The next thing," he goes on, "is to take you to Worth, where you may order an outfit as handsome as a queen's, if you choose. And jewels--well, you shall have as many and as costly ones as you like." "I have enough jewels, I think," she answers. "There are the pearls Uncle Francis gave me; then my wedding-gift--the diamonds." "Tut, tut; you will need many more when you are fairly launched on the tide of gay society here. You will see women fairly loaded with jewels--you must not have less than they. Not but that you are beautiful enough to dispense with extraneous ornament, but I wish you to outshine all others in adornment as well as in beauty." The long lashes droop over her cheeks a little sadly as he talks. So these are the things with which she is to fill her life--society, dress, jewels, fashion. A long life, too, perhaps, for she is barely twenty-one now. For other women there may be love and happiness--for her nothing but the gilded pleasures that wealth can purchase. Ah, well, and with a start she remembers Mrs. Arnold's threat and her weak subjugation by it--these are the things for which she sold herself to the old man sitting yonder. She made the bargain herself, and now she must abide by it. She is a fettered slave, but at least her bonds are golden ones. "You are very kind," she answers, trying hard to be cordial and grateful for his generosity. "I do not know how to thank you for your munificence, sir." "I will tell you," he answers, quickly. "Try to like me a little, Bonnibel. Once I dreamed of winning your love; but things went wrong and I--I--perhaps I was too harsh with the bonny bird I had caught--so I came near earning your hatred instead. But that was so long ago. You will try to forgive me and like me just a little now, my wife." The pathos of his words, his aged, weary looks touch a tender chord in her young heart, and thaw out a little of the icy crust of reserve that has been freezing around it these two years.