“Ah, my dear!” sighed the old lady--“If I could only understand Féodor!--but I cannot! He does not seem to be my son--he grows harsh and impatient,--this wicked science of his has robbed him of nature! He is altogether unlike what he used to be when he first began these studies--and to-day the reason I am sad is that he tells me I am not to come to you any more till the afternoon of the twenty-fifth!--five days!--it seems so strange! It frightens me----” “Dear, why be frightened?” and Diana smiled encouragingly. “You know now what he is trying to do--and you can see for yourself that he has partially succeeded! I’m quite pleased to hear that you are coming to see me again in five days!--that shows he thinks I shall be alive to receive you!” Madame Dimitrius looked at her in a scared way. “Alive? But of course! Surely, oh, surely, you have never thought it possible----” “That Science may kill me?” Diana finished, carelessly. “Very naturally I _have_ thought it possible! Science sometimes kills more than it saves,--owing to our fumbling ignorance. And I wonder--supposing Dr. Féodor makes sure of his discovery--supposing he _can_ give youth and beauty to those who are willing to go through his experiment--I wonder whether it is worth while to possess these attractions without any emotional satisfaction?” “Then you are not satisfied?” asked Madame a little sorrowfully. “You are not happy?” Diana moved to the open window, and with an expressive gesture, pointed to the fair landscape of lake and mountain. “With this I am happy!” she answered. “With this I am satisfied! I feel that all this is part of _Me_!--it is one with me and I with it--my own blood cannot be closer to me than this air and light. But the pleasure a woman is supposed to take in her looks if she is beautiful,--the delight in pretty things for one’s self,--this does not touch me. I have lost all such sensations. When I was a girl I rather liked to look at myself in the glass,--to try contrasts of colour or wear a dainty jewelled trinket,--but now when I see in the mirror a lovely face that does not belong to me, I am not even interested!” “But, my dear Diana, the lovely face _does_ belong to you!” exclaimed Madame Dimitrius. “You are yourself, and no other!” Diana looked at her rather wistfully.