for it. Was it the mere advancement of his fortunes--or something
infinitely subtler and sweeter? It was as though waves of softness and
of yearning welled up from some unknown source, seeking an object and an
outlet.

As he stood there dreaming, he suddenly became conscious of sounds in
the room overhead. Or rather in the now absolute stillness of the rest
of the house he realized that the movements and voices above him, which
had really been going on since he entered his room, persisted when
everything else had died away.

Two people were talking; or rather one voice ran on perpetually, broken
at intervals by the other. He began to suspect to whom the voice
belonged; and as he did so, the window above his own was thrown open. He
stepped back involuntarily, but not before he had caught a few words in
French, spoken apparently by Lady Kitty.

"Ciel! what a night!--and how the flowers smell! And the stars--I adore
the stars! Mademoiselle--come here! Mademoiselle! answer me--I won't
tell tales--now do you--_really and truly_--believe in God?"

A laugh, which was a laugh of pleasure, ran through Ashe, as he
hurriedly put out his lights.

"Tormentor!" he said to himself--"must you put a woman through her
theological paces at this time of night? Can't you go to sleep, you
little whirlwind?--What's to be done? If I shut my window the noise will
scare her. But I can't stand eavesdropping here."

He withdrew softly from the window and began to undress. But Lady Kitty