Now, as she threw her wraps aside, and paced up and down her room, a feeling of delicious exultation possessed her, and the physical weakness which she had lately felt was gone and forgotten. It had been a draught of intoxicating joy simply to look at him with free and unbridled eyes. Was he not her husband, who could not be, by any act of man, really parted from her? What had she shown him but a woman’s feeling for her wedded lover? Was she crazy, she wondered, that she could have done it then, and could feel now no regret--only a wild delight--in having done it? O God, O God, how long it was that she had shut herself off from feeling, and how good it was to feel once more! She was alive in every nerve and pulse, as she had not been for so long; and the throbbing of life was sweet, sweet, sweet! Never mind about the future; she would meet it boldly, and make up some excuse--that she had been ill or unconscious in the cab--pretend that she had forgotten the whole thing--do anything that was needed, as to that!--but the throbbing bliss of that one half-hour, she exulted that she had been bold enough to make her own. XIX THE _cours_ was closed at Etienne’s, but Sonia, who could not bear to face the hours of idleness which each day must contain during the few weeks which her aunt was still to spend in Paris, got permission to come and work in the atelier during the afternoons. She was privileged to get her own models as she required them, and Martha was to come also when she had time and inclination. The day after her encounter with Harold at the Salon, Sonia, strong in purpose and confident in will, went to the atelier with only Inkling to protect her and keep her company, and set resolutely to work to do some severe drawing. She had abundance of both time and space now, and she settled herself with great care and deliberation, with the anatomical figures and numerous copies of Ingres’ drawings full in view. She had not worked very long, however, before her enthusiasm began to ebb, and she put down her charcoal and went across to the model-throne, where she sat down with her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and fell to thinking deeply. Inkling came and jumped up in her lap, but she pushed him away with a roughness unusual to her, and he had to content himself with curling up on her skirt. As she sat there, conscious of being quite alone, she was as absolutely still as any of the customary holders of this position; but the varied expressions which crossed and changed her face would have made any class of students in the world despair of such a model. Sometimes she would look quite happy for an instant, as if a thought of joy had forced its way uppermost. Then again deep pain would come into her face, and shadows of doubt, perplexity, and hopelessness.