After the marriage at the Mairie Bertha and Tarr walked back to the Luxembourg Gardens and sat down. She had not during the three intervening weeks mentioned Anastasya. It was no time for generosity; she had done too much of that. Fräulein Vasek was the last person for whom she felt inclined to revive chivalry. She let Tarr marry her out of pity, and never referred to his confidence about his other love. They sat for some time without speaking, as though they had quarrelled. She said, then: “I am afraid, Sorbert, I have been selfish⸺” “You—selfish? How’s that? Don’t talk nonsense.” He had turned at once to her with a hurried fondness genuinely assumed. She looked at him with her wistful, democratic face, full of effort and sentiment. “You are very unhappy, Sorbert⸺” He laughed convincingly. “No, I’m all right. Don’t worry about me. I’m a little meditative. That is only natural on such a solemn occasion. I was thinking, Bertha, we must set up house somewhere, and announce our marriage. We must do this for appearance’ sake. You will soon be incapacitated⸺” “Oh, I shan’t be just yet.” “In any case, we have gone through this form because⸺We must make this move efficacious. What are your ideas as to an establishment? Let us take a flat together somewhere round here. The Rue Servandoni is a nice street. Do you know it?” “No.” She put her head on one side and puckered up her forehead. “Near the Luxembourg Museum.” They discussed a possible domicile. * * * * * He got up. “It’s rather chilly. Let’s get back.” They walked for some time without speaking. So much unsaid had to be got rid of, without necessarily being said. Bertha did not know at all where she was. Their “establishment,” as discussed by Tarr, appeared very unreal, and also, what there was of it, disagreeable. She wondered what he was going to do with her. “You remember what I said to you some weeks ago—about Anastasya Vasek. I am afraid there has been no change in that. You do not mind that?” “No, Sorbert. You are perfectly free.” “I am afraid I shall seem unkind. This is not a nice marriage for you. Perhaps I was wrong to suggest it?” “How, wrong? I have not been complaining.” They arrived at the iron gate. “Well, I’d better not come up now. I will come along to-morrow—at the usual time.” “Good-bye, Sorbert. _A demain!_” “_A demain!_” CHAPTER VI Anastasya and he were dining that night in Montmartre as usual. His piece of news hovered over their conversation like a bird hesitating as to the right spot at which to establish its nest. “I saw Bertha to-day,” he said, forcing the opening at last. “You still see her then.” “Yes. I married her this afternoon.” “You _what_? What do you mean?” “What I say, my dear. I married her.” “You mean you⸺?” She put an imaginary ring on her finger. “Yes. I married her at the Mairie.”