That was Hera’s thought when they were seated in their moving drawing-room. Oddly enough she found herself studying his attire. She recalled that hitherto it had never given her any distinct impression; he had always appeared dressed in the height of fashion, with a certain mercantile brilliancy best described, perhaps, as stylish. Now it seemed that he looked a trifle too much like a bridegroom. In this moment she awoke sharply to the truth that he was, irreparably, for better or for worse, her husband. Again she heard the solemn voice of the cardinal proclaiming, “This bond may not be severed so long as you do live.” Before, the fact had not assumed a phase of such vivid actuality; it all had been so utterly opposed to the current of her thoughts and the desire of her heart. Now the trial she had accepted in a sentiment of duty came home to her in its practical aspect. And in the spirit of a gentlewoman she resolved to meet the situation with good grace. As well look the fact in the eye and make the best of it. Then and there she decided that under the chafing of the yoke she would not fret and lose her peace. It turned out that the wedding journey began with a pleasant surprise for Tarsis. He found his wife a most cheerful companion. She talked with him lightly and let her laughter ripple. Of course, she overplayed the part in her first essay. But Tarsis, in his exultation, was completely _hors de critique_. This unexpected melting of his iceberg produced cups of vanity which went to his head and intoxicated him to the verge of blindness. All he could see was his own supposed success in making himself agreeable to his wife. After dinner, when the attendant had set out the Marsala and cigars, she bade him smoke, and while he did so she read to him from the Milanese _Firefly_. Together they laughed over the droll jests and anecdotes told so quaintly in the Lombardian patter. He told her about his career in the money-making world; how success there was once his only aspiration, but that now he was aware of a waning zest in the game. He paused to look into her eyes, while a certain softness, as of meek appeal, showed in his own. Then he said, rising and standing near her chair: “Life holds only one prize for me to-day. It is your tender regard.” A deep tide of colour dyed Hera’s cheeks, and, without making other reply, she turned her head and gazed upon the sparkling electric lamps of a village that was sailing by. A moment more, and she rose, but only to bid him good-night and withdraw to the compartment prepared for her. Tarsis followed her with his eyes, an amused smile on his lips, and when she had disappeared he took a cigar from the box, lighted it, and threw himself into a long-cushioned chair. For an hour he stayed there, meditative, cheerful, while the train wound and climbed and burrowed its way across the Alps.