Already Jules had begun to think of his wife in the past tense chiefly, as if she lived in the triumphs she had made by her nightly flight through the air. Indeed, she seemed to him almost another person now. Instead of looking on her almost with reverence, as he had done, he felt sorry for her, as if she were his inferior; and though he continued to treat her with kindness, there was a suggestion of pity, almost of contempt, in his manner toward her. She sought consolation in her child, who, she thought, grew stronger and more beautiful every day. For Jeanne's sake she tried to be glad the time was so near when she should give up risking her life; but the nearer it grew, the more depressed she became, and the more she thought about that woman who was to take her place. Mrs. Tate, who had definitely taken Blanche under her protection, and called at the little hotel several times each week, had been delighted at what she considered the fortunate solution of a shocking difficulty. Now that Blanche was to stop making that horrible dive, there was no reason why she shouldn't be the happiest woman in the world. With her keen instinct, however, she observed that Blanche was not happy; she wondered, too, at the frequent absence of the husband from this _ménage_. Jules couldn't be very devoted, she thought, for a man who had been married little more than a year. Perhaps, however, he avoided her; for, in spite of his French politeness, he had not been able to conceal his dislike for her. For this reason she did not ask him to dinner again. She often took Blanche and Jeanne to drive in the afternoon, and pointed out the celebrities that they passed in the Park. "My husband says I take you to drive just to show you off," she said jokingly one day. "He thinks I have a mania for celebrities." "Ah, but I'm not a celebrity!" Blanche replied, with a smile that was almost sad. "Not a celebrity? Of course you are. I haven't a doubt that half the people we meet recognize you. You know, it's been quite the fashion to go to the Hippodrome this year." "But I sha'n't be a celebrity much longer," said Blanche, glancing at the bare boughs of the trees, and wondering if any other place could be as desolate as London in winter. "Why not? You don't think of retiring into private life altogether, do you?" Mrs. Tate laughed. "No, but I shall only be an ordinary performer after this week." "But I'd rather be an ordinary performer and keep my neck whole than be an _ex_traordinary one and risk my life every night," Mrs. Tate retorted sharply. She was vexed with Blanche for not appreciating her emancipation. They rode on in silence for a few moments. Then Blanche said,-- "There's some one going to take my place, you know." "Some one that's going to make that dreadful plunge?" Mrs. Tate cried in horror. "No, not that. She jumps into a tank of water--from a platform--only about forty feet. My jump is more than seventy-five feet," Blanche added with a touch of pride.