"Oh, dear, no! The madame was very chatty, very communicative. It's
funny I've not told you before. She confessed that she was the happiest
woman on earth; not only was she married to a grand genius,--for the
life of me I can't see where _that_ comes in!--but he was a good man
into the bargain. It appears that his life is made weary by women who
pester him with their attentions. Even our princess--yes, _the_
princess; isn't it shocking?--was a perfect nuisance until Mr. Kéroulan
assured her that, though he owed much of his success in the world to
her, yet he would never betray the trust reposed in him by his wife.
What's the matter, dear, does the motion of the car affect you? It
_does_ rock! And _he_ shows her all the letters he gets from silly women
admirers--oh, these foreign women and their queer ways! And he tells her
the way they make up to him when he meets them in society."

Ermentrude shivered. The princess also! And with all her warning about
the Superman! Now she understood. Then she took the hand of Mrs.
Sheldam, and, stroking it, whispered:--

"Auntie, I'm so glad I am going to Havre, going to see Charlie soon."
The lids of her eyes were wet. Mrs. Sheldam had never been so motherly.

"You _are_ a darling!" she answered, as she squeezed Ermentrude's arm.
"But there is some one who doesn't seem to care much for Havre." She
pointed out Mr. Sheldam, who, oblivious of picturesque Normandy through
which the train was speeding, slept serenely. Ermentrude envied him his
repose. He had never stared into the maddening mirror which turned poets
into Supermen and--sometimes monsters. Had she herself not gazed into
this distorting glass? The tune of her life had never sounded so
discouragingly faint and inutile. Perhaps she did not posses the higher