“One.” “So has mine!” said the other, breathlessly. “Now let’s count three, and say the name.” Simultaneously they said: “One, two, three--_Ruth_!” Then they looked at each other with an excited delight that the passers-by must have thought rather amazing even for two artists looking at the Victory. “It’s the most wonderful thing I ever heard of,” said Martha. “Don’t you feel positively creepy?” “I should think I did! Little cold chills are running all over me. Oh, how nice it is that we can think and feel together in this way!” Her face, as she spoke, was glowingly beautiful; and Martha returned her gaze with a look which expressed what no words could possibly have done. V ONE morning the princess did not come to the atelier; and Martha, after working along without her for a while, thinking that her friend might have been delayed and hoping that she would come later, found her mind so preoccupied by the absence of her usual companion that her work would not go at all, and at last she concluded to stop trying, and to go to look the princess up. She called a cab, and drove to the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, where she was now well known. Even the old concierge, with her shining white hair, brilliant black eyes, red cheeks, and bearded upper lip, gave her a smile of welcome as she passed through the court; and the princess’s servant gave her another as he conducted her at once to his mistress’s boudoir. Here he left her. Martha tapped on the door, and waited. Getting no answer, she turned the knob and entered, intending to knock at the inner door; but no sooner had she shut herself into the room than she became aware, although it was almost wholly darkened, that it was not unoccupied. A stifled sound reached her ears, and she could now make out the figure of the princess, lying on the lounge, with her face buried in her hands. The girl’s heart ached with pity, and she did not know whether to yield to her own impulse, and to go forward, or to consult the possible preference of her friend, and go back. While she hesitated, the princess took her hands from her face, and saw her. As she did so, she started up, touching her eyes with her handkerchief, and clearing her voice to speak. “Is it you, Martha? Come in, child,” she said. “I have a headache to-day, and intended to see no one. I forgot, however, that I had given orders that you were always to be the exception. I should not have let you see me like this if I had known beforehand; but now that you have looked upon your poor friend in this humiliated state, sit down, and never mind.” [Illustration: “‘IS IT YOU, MARTHA?’”] Martha had come near, and now took the seat beside the lounge, her face tragic with sympathy. “I am so sorry you are ill,” was all that she could say.