apparition they looked for was that of a little man in a cocked hat
and a long grey coat.

This was not an age in which the individual life was highly valued.
Men were great to-day and gone to-morrow. Women were of small
account. It was the day of deeds and not of words.

Desiree had never been oppressed by a sense of her own importance,
which oppression leaves its mark on many a woman's face in these
times. She had not, it would seem, expected much from life; and
when much was given to her she received it without misgivings. She
was young and light-hearted, and she lived in a reckless age.

She was not surprised when Charles failed to return. The chaise
that was to carry them to Zoppot stood in the Frauengasse on the
shady side of the street in the heat of the afternoon for more than
an hour. Then she ran out and told the driver to go back to his
stables.

"One cannot go for a honeymoon alone," she explained airily to her
father, who was peevish and restless, standing by the window with
the air of one who expects without knowing what to expect. "It is,
at all events, quite clear that there is nothing for me to do but
wait."

She made light of it, and laughed at her father's grave face.
Mathilde said nothing, but her silence seemed to suggest that this
was no more than she had foretold, or at all events foreseen. She
was too proud or too generous to put her thoughts into words. For
pride and generosity are often confounded. There are many who give