This was a woman, and, as he saw when she turned her face towards him, an exceedingly handsome woman. Her white lawn and black silk headdress, coming to a tiny crown just covering the parting of her full, wavy hair, proclaimed her of the neighboring town of Arles. She had all the Arlésienne's Roman beauty--the finely chiselled features, the calm, straight brows, the ripe lips, the soft oval contour, the clear olive complexion. She had also lustrous brown eyes; but these were full of tears. She only turned them on him for a moment; then she resumed her apparently interrupted occupation of sobbing. Aristide was a soft-hearted man. He drew nearer. "Why, you're crying, madame!" said he. "Evidently," murmured the lady. "To cry scalding tears in this weather! It's too hot! Now, if you could only cry iced water there would be something refreshing in it." "You jest, monsieur," said the lady, drying her eyes. "By no means," said he. "The sight of so beautiful a woman in distress is painful." "Ah!" she sighed. "I am very unhappy." Aristide drew nearer still. "Who," said he, "is the wretch that has dared to make you so?" "My husband," replied the lady, swallowing a sob. "The scoundrel!" said Aristide. The lady shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her wedding-ring, which gleamed on a slim, brown, perfectly kept hand. Aristide prided himself on being a connoisseur in hands. "There never was a husband yet," he added, "who appreciated a beautiful wife. Husbands only deserve harridans." "That's true," said the Arlésienne, "for when the wife is good-looking they are jealous." "Ah, that is the trouble, is it?" said Aristide. "Tell me all about it." The beautiful Arlésienne again contemplated her slender fingers. "I don't know you, monsieur." "But you soon will," said Aristide, in his pleasant voice and with a laughing, challenging glance in his bright eyes. She met it swiftly and sidelong. "Monsieur," she said, "I have been married to my husband for four years, and have always been faithful to him." "That's praiseworthy," said Aristide. "And I love him very much." "That's unfortunate!" said Aristide. "Unfortunate?" "Evidently!" said Aristide. Their eyes met. They burst out laughing. The lady quickly recovered and the tears sprang again. "One can't jest with a heavy heart; and mine is very heavy." She broke down through self-pity. "Oh, I am ashamed!" she cried. She turned away from him, burying her face in her hands. Her dress, cut low, showed the nape of her neck as it rose gracefully from her shoulders. Two little curls had rebelled against being drawn up with the rest of her hair. The back of a dainty ear, set close to the head, was provoking in its pink loveliness. Her attitude, that of a youthful Niobe, all tears, but at the same time all curves and delicious contours, would have played the deuce with an anchorite.