Why was it that she felt a sudden certainty that he knew who had painted it? It seemed absurd to suppose that he could, and yet she had a conviction about it impossible to shake off. The picture, as Martha knew, had been the hasty work of a few days, and had been painted at home. When Sonia had brought it to show to Etienne, he had been so surprised and delighted at it that he had insisted upon substituting it for the careful and painstaking piece of work which she had done in the atelier on purpose for the exhibition. It was evident that he recognized some rare quality in this picture, and that others had now recognized it also. Martha, looking back, saw that another group had formed in front of it, and that animated comment was in progress. It came over Martha now--a thing she had not thought of before--that in spite of the different contour and coloring of the whole face, there was a certain vague resemblance to Sonia in it. It was not the eyes themselves, for they were blue in the picture; but there was something in the shape and setting of them which suggested Sonia. She wondered if the lovely princess could have been aware of this herself, for she had shown a strong reluctance to exhibit this picture, and had required of Etienne and herself a very strict promise of secrecy about it, saying that it had been seen by them only. Martha, who knew that her friend was unhappy, and that her sorrow had come to her through her marriage, felt in her heart that Sonia had painted this picture from the look of her own eyes in a mirror when off her usual guard. She wondered if by chance Harold had had the same idea. XVIII THE next morning Martha drove to the apartment in the Rue Presbourg, and found her friend in bed, suffering from a headache which had been so severe that she had had a doctor. She had passed a sleepless night, and it distressed Martha much to see how really ill her beautiful princess looked. There were dark rings around the lovely eyes, and the sweet mouth, which the girl so loved, had a pathetic droop which showed that tears were not far off. Martha tried to cheer her up, by telling her how much her picture had been noticed, and repeating some of the comments which she had overheard. It was strange how little all this was to Sonia. Her pulses did not quicken, by one beat, until suddenly Martha said that Harold had been fascinated by it, had lingered before it and gone back to it, and that somehow she could not help thinking that he suspected that she had painted it. “How could he? It is impossible!” Sonia cried, a faint flush rising to her face. “Yes; I suppose it must be,” Martha conceded; “and yet there was something special about the picture to him; and after he had seen it, he certainly took no further interest in looking yours up, which, in the beginning, he had told me he was going to do.”