not even a cradle--was present at my birth. But in what you say of
my flowers and my dancing your penetration has led you to a great
discovery. I will tell you the secret of the fresh morning dew
which lies on the flowers. It is the tears, Monsieur le Comte,
which envy and shame, disappointment and remorse, have wept over
them. And if you seem to feel the floor swaying as we dance, that
is because it trembles under the hatred of millions."

She had spoken with her customary repose, and with a friendly bow
she disappeared into the salon.

***

The Count remained rooted to the spot. He cast a glance over the
crowd outside. It was a right he had often seen, and he had made
sundry snore or less trivial witticisms about the "many-headed
monster." But to-night it struck him for the first time that this
monster was, after all, the most unpleasant neighbor for a palace
one could possibly imagine.

Strange and disturbing thoughts whirled in the brain of Monsieur le
Comte, where they found plenty of space to gyrate. He was entirely
thrown off his balance, and it was not till after the next polka
that his placidity returned.



THE PARSONAGE.

It seemed as though the spring would never come. All through April