So, having partly undressed and thrown on a loose wrap, she turned down the light and went to the fire. It was an open wood-fire, and burned cheerily behind a brass fender; a large rug of white fur was spread upon the hearth before it; a low, broad sofa, luxurious with cushions, was drawn up at one side of it, and upon the rug, at the other, stood a deep easy-chair. It was this chair she took, and, having taken it, she glanced up at an oval mirror which was among the ornaments on the opposite wall. In it she saw reflected that portion of the room which seemed to have arranged itself about her own graceful figure,--the faint pinks and blues, the flowered drapery, the puffed and padded furniture, and the hundred and one entirely feminine devices of ornamentation; and she was faintly aware that an expression less thoughtful than the one she wore would have been more in keeping with her surroundings. "I look too serious to harmonize," she said. "If Bertha were here she would detect the incongruity and deplore it." But she was in a thoughtful mood, which was not an uncommon experience with her, and the faint smile the words gave rise to died away as she turned to the fire again. What she thought of as she sat and looked into it, it would have been difficult to tell; but there was evidence that she was mentally well occupied in the fact that she sat entirely still and gazed at its flickering flame for nearly half an hour. She would not have moved then, perhaps, if she had not been roused from her reverie by a sound at the door,--a low knock, and a voice speaking to her. "Agnes!" it said. "Agnes!" She knew it at once as Bertha's, and rose to reply to the summons almost as if she had expected or even waited for it. When she unlocked the door, and opened it, Bertha was standing on the threshold. She had partly undressed, too. She had laid aside the red dress, and put on a long white _negligée_, bordered with white fur; there was no color about her, and it made her look cold. Perhaps she was cold, for Agnes thought she seemed to shiver a little. "May I come in?" she asked. "I know it is very inconsiderate, but I had a sort of conviction that you would not be asleep." "I was not thinking of going to sleep yet," said Agnes. "I am glad you have come." Bertha entered, and, the door being closed, crossed the room to the fire. She did not take a chair, but sat down upon the hearth-rug. "This is very feminine," she said, "and we ought to be in bed; but the day would not be complete without it." Then she turned toward Agnes. "You must have a great deal to think of to-night," she said. Agnes Sylvestre looked at the fire. "Yes," she answered, "I have a great deal to think of." "Are they things you like to think of?" "Some of them--not all." "It must be a curious experience," said Bertha, "to find yourself here again after so many years--with all your life changed for you." Mrs. Sylvestre did not reply.