“Not to her, madame, for our honeymoon shall last till the golden wedding day comes round. Shall it not, cariña?” “There is no sign of waning yet, Manuel,” and Pauline looked up into her husband's face with a genuine affection which made her own more beautiful and filled his with a visible content. Gilbert read the glance, and in that instant suffered the first pang of regret that Pauline had foretold. He spoke abruptly, longing to be away. “Babie, we may dance now, if you will.” “I am going, but not with you--so give me my fan, and entertain Pauline till my return.” He unclosed his hand, but the delicately carved fan fell at his feet in a shower of ivory shreds--he had crushed it as he watched his first love with the bitter thought “It might have been!” “Forgive me, Babie, it was too frail for use; you should choose a stronger.” “I will next time, and a gentler hand to hold it. Now, Monsieur Laroche, I am ready.” Mrs. Redmond rose in a small bustle of satisfaction, shook out her flounces, glanced at the mirror, then Manuel led her away; and the other pair were left alone. Both felt a secret agitation quicken their breath and thrill along their nerves, but the woman concealed it best. Gilbert's eye wandered restlessly to and fro, while Pauline fixed her own on his as quietly as if he were the statue in the niche behind him. For a moment he tried to seem unconscious of it, then essayed to meet and conquer it, but failed signally and, driven to his last resources by that steady gaze, resolved to speak out and have all over before his wife's return. Assuming the seat beside her, he said, impetuously, “Pauline, take off your mask as I do mine--we are alone now, and may see each other as we are.” Leaning deep into the crimson curve of the couch, with the indolent grace habitual to her, yet in strong contrast to the vigilant gleam of her eye, she swept her hand across her face as if obeying him, yet no change followed, as she said with a cold smile, “It is off; what next?” “Let me understand you. Did my letter reach your hands?” “A week before my marriage.” He drew a long breath of relief, yet a frown gathered as he asked, like one loath and eager to be satisfied, “Your love died a natural death, then, and its murder does not lie at my door?” Pointing to the shattered toy upon the ground, she only echoed his own words. “It was too frail for use--I chose a stronger.” It wounded, as she meant it should; and the evil spirit to whose guidance she had yielded herself exulted to see his self-love bleed, and pride vainly struggle to conceal the stab. He caught the expression in her averted glance, bent suddenly a fixed and scrutinizing gaze upon her, asking, below his breath, “Then why are you here to tempt me with the face that tempted me a year ago?” “I came to see the woman to whom you sold yourself. I have seen her, and am satisfied.”