which we never open. And yet, if we happen now and again to cast a
glance into this secret drawer, we at once notice if a single one
of the roses, or the least bit of ribbon, is wanting. For we
remember them all to a nicety; the memories are ran fresh as ever--
as sweet as ever, and as bitter.

It was thus she had forgotten her past--locked it up and thrown
away the key.

But at night she sometimes dreamed frightful things. She could once
more feel the old witch with whom she lived shaking her by the
shoulder, and driving her out in the cold mornings to work at her
artificial flowers.

Then she would jump up in her bed, and stare out into the darkness
in the most deadly fear. But presently she would touch the silk
coverlet and the soft pillows; her fingers would follow the rich
carvings of her luxurious bed; and while sleepy little child-angels
slowly drew aside the heavy dream-curtain, she tasted in deep
draughts the peculiar, indescribable well-being we feel when we
discover that an evil and horrible dream was a dream and nothing
more.

***

Leaning back among the soft cushions, she drove to the great ball
at the Russian ambassador's. The nearer they got to their
destination the slower became the pace, until the carriage reached
the regular queue, where it dragged on at a foot-pace.