THE day after the wedding, when the bridal pair had left Paris by one train and the bride’s mother and younger sisters by another, when Harold had gone off to attend to some business which formed one part of the reason of his coming to Paris, Martha, having now full use of the carriage, ordered it to wait outside the atelier while she went in to see if the princess was there. It confirmed a suspicion which had somehow got into her head when she found that her friend was absent. With scarcely a glance at the model and the busy students, she withdrew, and, reëntering her carriage, ordered her coachman to drive her to the Rue Presbourg. Upon going at once to her friend’s private rooms, she found her lying on the lounge in semi-darkness, as she had seen her once before; but now there were no tears, nor any trace of them. “I have a real headache this time,” she said, as she stretched out her hand, with a smile. “It’s better than it was, though, and I am glad to see you.” “Were you at the wedding?” was Martha’s first eager question, when she had kissed her friend and taken the seat beside her. “Yes, I was there,” said the other promptly. “How charming you looked in your bridesmaid’s dress, and how handsome your Alice really is!” She wondered what Martha would think if she knew the truth--that she had seen Alice and herself scarcely more than if they had not been present! “And you saw Harold?” was the next question. “Yes; I saw your paragon of paragons,” was the answer, spoken in light and well-guarded tones. Martha’s face fell. Still, she was too earnest to be lightly rebuffed, so she went on: “And what did you think of him? Now, Sonia, don’t tease me! You know how important it is to me--what you think of Harold. Do tell me, dear, and don’t laugh.” In response to this earnest appeal the princess’s face grew grave. She did not look at Martha, however, but occupied herself with twisting up her loosened hair as she answered: “I thought him handsome, dear. I thought his face both strong and clever. I could understand you loving him so much. I could see nothing in his face, or figure, or expression, that looked in the least degree unworthy of the great ideal that you have of him. There! Does that satisfy you?” She caught Martha’s chin between her thumb and forefinger, and for a second she met her gaze full. Then she got up hastily, and walked across the room. When she presently came back, she had the air of a person thoroughly on guard, and conscious of her ability to cope with circumstances. She did not return to the lounge, but sat upright on a stiff sofa which admitted of no lounging. Martha, glowing with pleasure at her heroine’s praise of her hero, was determined to follow up her advantage.