“That’s my kind mother!” he said, tenderly--“Always indulgent to me and my fancies as you have been, I know you will not fail me now! And so,--whatever change you observe or _think_ you observe in my ‘subject,’ you must accept it as perfectly natural (for it will be) and not surprising or disturbing. And you must tactfully check the comments and questions of others. I foresee that Chauvet will be tiresome,--he has taken a great fancy to Diana. And Farnese, of course, is a perpetual note of interrogation. But these people must be kept at a distance. You have grown fond of Diana, you say,--fond of this complete stranger in our house!--but I am glad of it, for she needs some sort of tenderness in a life which seems to have been exceptionally lonely. Grow still fonder of her, if you like!--indeed, it is probable you will. For though she is anything but a child, she has all a child’s affection in her which apparently has been wasted, or has met with scant return.” “You think so?” And Madame Dimitrius looked up with a smile. “I do think so, assuredly, but because I think so it does not follow that any return can come from _me_,” he said. “You are a person of sentiment--I am not. _You_ are the one to supply her with the manna which falls from the heaven of a loving heart. And by doing so you will help my experiment.” “You will not tell me what the experiment really is?” she asked. “No. Because, if it fails I prefer to ridicule myself rather than that you should ridicule me. And if I succeed the whole value of my discovery consists in keeping it secret.” “Very well!” And his mother rose and put away her knitting. “You shall do as you will, Féodor!--you were always a spoilt boy and you will be spoilt to the end! My fault, I know!” “Yes, your fault, beloved!” he said--“But a fault of instinctive knowledge and wisdom! For if you had not let me follow my own way I might not have stumbled by chance on another way--a way which leads----” He broke off abruptly with a wonderful “uplifted” look in his eyes. She came to him and laid her gentle hands upon his shoulders. “A way which leads--where, my Féodor? Tell me!” He drew her hands down and held them warmly clasped together in his. “The way to that ‘new heaven and new earth’ where God is with men!” he answered, in a low, rapt tone--“‘Where there shall be no more death, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain,’ and where ‘the former things are passed away!’ Be patient with my dream! It may come true!” CHAPTER XIII