“Oh, no doubt _he_ is quite, quite the immaculate,” said her friend, lightly; and then, with a sudden change, she added in tones of extreme earnestness: “Martha, you have never told him one word about me--have you? Nothing, I mean, of what I have told you or let you see concerning myself. All that was and must remain sacred between you and me.” “Not a word, not a syllable!” cried Martha. “How could you even ask? He knows of you only as my atelier friend, and that you are a Russian princess, and he knows of my visits to you, and my love and admiration for you; but not one word of what your confidence has taken me into about yourself personally. I told him how little I knew or cared to know about you--that you were a young and beautiful widow, whose past history was wholly unknown to me. What you have let me see of the writing which that history has made upon your heart was a sacred confidence which no power could ever draw out of me.” “I knew it, dear. I never doubted it. Don’t defend yourself, as if I had distrusted you. It is because I do trust you that I consent to meet your brother. I would certainly not willingly make the acquaintance of any man who could possibly be supposed to know as much of my heart and its weaknesses as I have revealed to you.” “And when will you come to me again?” said Martha, allowing herself to feel unchecked the joy which the prospect before her stirred within her heart. “I will dine with you to-morrow, if you like,” said Sonia, with an air of decision. It was an intense surprise to Harold when Martha told him that the princess was to dine with her next evening. He at once proposed to go out and leave them _tête-à-tête_, but his wonder increased when he was told that the princess had avowed her willingness to meet him. After hearing that, there was but one thing for him to do. This he saw plainly; but at the same time he realized that a more difficult ordeal could not possibly be put before him. What could be her object in a course so extraordinary, and what could be the feeling in her heart to make such a course possible? He had believed her to be deeply moved, as no sensitive woman could fail to be, by their unexpected meeting of the day before; but that she should deliberately wish to repeat the meeting looked like the most heartless caprice. She had always been capricious, daring, and impetuous, and had loved to do unusual and exciting things; but that he could excuse as a part of her character and individuality. Heartless he had never had occasion to think her. Even her sudden recoil from him and repudiation of their marriage he believed to be the result of some commanding quality of her fine nature, which he could not help reverencing, even though he did not comprehend it.