"No, no, bad one! I don't intend to spend an exotic, temperamental morning. I want to go out and take a walk or something. The snow and the sunshine make me think of the Engadine." He sighed loudly, and then brightened. After all, Anne was here, and she had promised to stay until to-morrow, at least. It was hardly decent to hurry her. "Very well, we'll do anything you wish. How would you like to toboggan? There's a splendid hill right here in the grounds and I came upon an old sled in the basement the other day." "Oh, I should love that!" She clasped her hands with genuine enthusiasm. He smiled delightedly. "And then there is an old inn, I believe it was a mill once, where we might lunch or tea. It is very out of the way and quite safe." "That sounds very gay. Hurry up and go, dear. I just can't wait to toboggan. Do you suppose we'll kill ourselves?" She pushed him out into the hall and continued laughingly: "I'll leave my door open while I dress and you can play to me, will you? You know you won't have another chance to practice to-day." "Slave driver! Female Svengali!" he chuckled happily. "Trilby hastens to obey." A few moments later the exquisite wail of the violin drifted up the stairs. A contented smile upon her lips, Anne slipped hastily into her lingerie. The joy of the creator pulsed within her. The day proved a huge success. Smooth as an uncrumpled rose-leaf, it unfolded itself for the lovers without a hint of the hectic jealousy, the frenzied bickering that Anne had learned to dread. The hills were steep and possessed of a real thrill. Their happy shrieks rang out as they tumbled over each other on to the crisp, blue-shadowed snow. Followed a quiet lunch at home, ensparkled by a bubbling old red wine, which Anne had brought on purpose from her own cellar. Then a drive over glistening roads under the snow-hung trees, after which they partook of tea at the quaint, deserted old inn, where Anne extravagantly purchased the entire stock of Spanish pottery and other useless, but amusing trifles. After dinner, Alexis played and Anne accompanied him at the piano. The music rose, a frenzied crescendo. It strung their quivering senses higher and ever higher to a bliss almost unbearable, a culmination of rapture that was pain. Their souls blent in a single ecstasy. As the last quivering notes died into silence, Anne rose from the piano. "That is enough," she whispered hoarsely. "I cannot bear any more." Alexis laid his violin in the case with his usual mechanical care. He approached Anne slowly. Their glances mingled like two fires. Extending their arms in a single gesture, they melted against each other in a violent embrace. In her new chaste, little room, Anne undressed with trembling fingers. The virginal panic which renewed itself at each contact with Alexis seized upon her like a species of stage-fright. But when he came, it vanished beneath the fervor of his kisses.