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mix me another drink of some sort。 Formerly； when it was not
if I should ever sing Brunnhilde； but quite simply when I
should sing Brunnhilde； I was always starving myself and
thinking what I might drink and what I might not。 But broken music
boxes may drink whatsoever they list； and no one cares whether they
lose their figure。 Run over that theme at the beginning again。
That； at least； is not new。 It was running in his head when we
were in Venice years ago； and he used to drum it on his glass at
the dinner table。 He had just begun to work it out when the late
autumn came on； and the paleness of the Adriatic oppressed him；
and he decided to go to Florence for the winter； and lost touch
with the theme during his illness。 Do you remember those
frightful days？ All the people who have loved him are not strong
enough to save him from himself！ When I got word from Florence
that he had been ill I was in Nice filling a concert engagement。
His wife was hurrying to him from Paris； but I reached him first。
I arrived at dusk； in a terrific storm。 They had taken an old
palace there for the winter； and I found him in the librarya
long； dark room full of old Latin books and heavy furniture and
bronzes。 He was sitting by a wood fire at one end of the room；
looking； oh； so worn and pale！as he always does when he is ill；
you know。 Ah； it is so good that you do know！ Even
his red smoking jacket lent no color to his face。 His first words
were not to tell me how ill he had been； but that that morning he
had been well enough to put the last strokes to the score of his
Souvenirs d'Automne。 He was as I most like to remember him：
so calm and happy and tired； not gay； as he usually is； but just
contented and tired with that heavenly tiredness that comes after
a good work done at last。 Outside； the rain poured down in
torrents； and the wind moaned for the pain of all the world and
sobbed in the branches of the shivering olives and about the walls
of that desolated old palace。 How that night comes back to me！
There were no lights in the room； only the wood fire which glowed
upon the hard features of the bronze Dante； like the reflection of
purgatorial flames； and threw long black shadows about us； beyond
us it scarcely penetrated the gloom at all； Adriance sat staring at
the fire with the weariness of all his life in his eves； and of all
the other lives that must aspire and suffer to make up one such
life as his。 Somehow the wind with all its world…pain had got into
the room； and the cold rain was in our eyes； and the wave came up
in both of us at oncethat awful； vague； universal pain； that
cold fear of life and death and God and hopeand we were like
two clinging together on a spar in midocean after the shipwreck
of everything。 Then we heard the front door open with a great
gust of wind that shook even the walls； and the servants came
running with lights； announcing that Madam had returned； 'and in
the book we read no more that night。'〃
She gave the old line with a certain bitter humor； and with
the hard； bright smile in which of old she had wrapped her
weakness as in a glittering garment。 That ironical smile； worn
like a mask through so many years； had gradually changed even the
lines of her face completely； and when she looked in the mirror
she saw not herself； but the scathing critic； the amused observer
and satirist of herself。 Everett dropped his head upon his hand
and sat looking at the rug。 〃How much you have cared！〃 he said。
〃Ah； yes； I cared；〃 she replied； closing her eyes with a
long…drawn sigh of relief； and lying perfectly still； she went
on： 〃You can't imagine what a comfort it is to have you know how I
cared； what a relief it is to be able to tell it to someone。 I
used to want to shriek it out to the world in the long nights when
I could not sleep。 It seemed to me that I could not die with it。
It demanded some sort of expression。 And now that you know； you
would scarcely believe how much less sharp the anguish of it is。〃
Everett continued to look helplessly at the floor。 〃I was
not sure how much you wanted me to know；〃 he said。
〃Oh； I intended you should know from the first time I looked
into your face； when you came that day with Charley。 I flatter
myself that I have been able to conceal it when I chose； though I
suppose women always think that。 The more observing ones may
have seen； but discerning people are usually discreet and often
kind； for we usually bleed a little before we begin to discern。
But I wanted you to know； you are so like him that it is almost
like telling him himself。 At least； I feel now that he will know
some day； and then I will be quite sacred from his compassion；
for we none of us dare pity the dead。 Since it was what my life
has chiefly meant； I should like him to know。 On the whole I am
not ashamed of it。 I have fought a good fight。〃
〃And has he never known at all？〃 asked Everett； in a thick voice。
〃Oh！ Never at all in the way that you mean。 Of course； he
is accustomed to looking into the eyes of women and finding love
there； when he doesn't find it there he thinks he must have been
guilty of some discourtesy and is miserable about it。 He has a
genuine fondness for everyone who is not stupid or gloomy； or old
or preternaturally ugly。 Granted youth and cheerfulness； and a
moderate amount of wit and some tact； and Adriance will always be
glad to see you coming around the corner。 I shared with the
rest； shared the smiles and the gallantries and the droll little
sermons。 It was quite like a Sunday…school picnic； we wore our
best clothes and a smile and took our turns。 It was his kindness
that was hardest。 I have pretty well used my life up at standing
punishment。〃
〃Don't； you'll make me hate him；〃 groaned Everett。
Katharine laughed and began to play nervously with her fan。
〃It wasn't in the slightest degree his fault； that is the most
grotesque part of it。 Why； it had really begun before I
ever met him。 I fought my way to him； and I drank my doom
greedily enough。〃
Everett rose and stood hesitating。 〃I think I must go。 You ought
to be quiet； and I don't think I can hear any more just now。〃
She put out her hand and took his playfully。 〃You've put in
three weeks at this sort of thing； haven't you？ Well； it may
never be to your glory in this world； perhaps； but it's been the
mercy of heaven to me； and it ought to square accounts for a much
worse life