he was in Paris, disgusted with everything around him, and fancying
himself in love with Isabella Waring. Poor Isabella! How had such things
ever been possible? Why, he was a schoolboy then--a child--an infant! and
now he was a man, and knew what life meant in its greatest and best. That
was part of the wonder of this lady, with all her intense sensuousness and
absence of what European nations call morality; there was yet nothing low
or degrading in her influence, its tendency was to exalt and elevate into
broad views and logical reasonings. Nothing small would ever again appeal
to Paul. His whole outlook was vaster and more full of wide thoughts.

And then among the other emotions in his breast came one of deep gratitude
to her. For, apart from her love, had she not given him the royalest gift
which mankind could receive--an awakened soul? Like her story of Undine it
had truly been born with that first long kiss.

Then his mind flew to their after-kisses, the immense divine bliss of
these whole six days.

Was it only six days since they had come there? Six days of Paradise. And
surely fate would not part them now. Surely more hours of joy lay in store
for them yet. The moon was seven days old--and his lady had said, "While
she waxes our love will wax." Thus, even by that calculation, there was
still time to live a little longer.

Paul's will was strong. He sternly banished all speculations as to the
future. He remembered her counsel of the riddle which lay hidden in the
eyes of the Sphinx--to live in the present and quaff life in its full.

He was in a mood of such worship that he could have kissed the grey rock
because she had leant against it. And to himself he made vows that, come