WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
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 FOR THE NEXT HALF HOUR WE RELIEVED HIM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE.
 
 N 
 
 TRAGEDY 
 GRJN S 
 
 GRACE MILLER. WHITE 
 
 WTW 
 
 Illustrations by 
 SCHABELITZ 
 
 N E W Y O P- K 
 
 J .WATT & COMPANY 
 
 PVB L. I 8 H B R. 5
 
 COPYRIGHT 1912, BY 
 W. J. WATT & COMPANY 
 
 Puilishtd January
 
 LOVINGLY I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 
 TO THE FIVE OF THEM 
 
 NANINE, MARIE, ANTOINETTE, DAVID AND BOB 
 
 2133695
 
 Deliver me, 'Almighty God, into the hands of mine enemies, 
 rather than unto the man I love!
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I WAS beginning to feel lonely in this big Hotel 
 Ritz when Countess Larodi came to call upon me 
 in response to Colonel Coster's letter. She's not so 
 good looking as I had been given to believe ; but she patted 
 my hand kindly, saying she hoped she would see me often 
 now that I had to come to live in Paris. 
 
 " I shall always feel a special interest in any friend of 
 Colonel Coster's," said she, measuring me from my new 
 blouse to my slippers. " You will find that you need 
 many more dresses in Paris than in your own town," she re- 
 marked later when she brought up the sub j ect of shopping. 
 
 Indeed, when I think about it, she talked of little else 
 save dresses and dressmakers, except when she told me of 
 her son, whom she was very anxious I should meet. 
 
 I am obliged to smile when I think of how Aunty used 
 to say, " Never talk of your toilette to strangers, my dear : 
 it's such bad taste." 
 
 She always thought I was inclined to be vain ; but the 
 Countess apparently doesn't think me vain enough. She 
 is going to bring her son here next Monday, and on that 
 evening I am going to dine with them. 
 
 I'm longing to begin my singing lessons. My piano came 
 today, and I have been practising scales all the morning. 
 I suppose Marquise will tell me that my breathing is 
 
 1
 
 2 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 wrong, and that I must unlearn all that I have learned. 
 She makes every new pupil do that, they say. 
 
 I want to be really famous, to become a great prima 
 donna like Melba or Patti. I should be miserable if I 
 had to live the ordinary and uninteresting life of a girl 
 with money. 
 
 If it were not for Eliza, I should be feeling rather lost 
 she is more like a friend than a maid. It is the first 
 time she has been away from America, and she didn't rel- 
 ish coming to Paris. It annoys her to hear people talking 
 French. She takes it as a kind of intentional rudeness, 
 and makes moody comparisons between American and 
 French manners. Although she is quite forty, she has 
 never married, and says the reason is that she despises 
 men. 
 
 There is a lady's maid at the table at which Eliza takes 
 her meals, whose mistress has had three husbands, and is 
 going to take a fourth. Eliza said she ought to know- 
 better, and that the woman who married even a second 
 time was tempting Providence. When I asked her why, 
 she told me that one day I would find out for myself. I 
 often wonder if Eliza was ever crossed in love. There 
 must be some reason why she hates men. I don't know 
 very much about men ; but there is one man who is, I am 
 sure, nearly perfect at least he seems so to me. 
 
 It's ridiculous to be bored in Paris, the gayest city in 
 the world. I'm here to study and see things, and I don't 
 intend to sit in this hotel, day after day, looking out of 
 the window, and imagining what might be going on be- 
 yond that curve at the Place Vendome. 
 
 Just for something to do I am going to take a list of 
 cafes, shut my eyes, and stick a pin at random into one 
 of the names. I'll go this evening to the cafe that the
 
 point indicates, even if I have to go alone; for I believe 
 Eliza will object. 
 
 There! the point of the pin fell directly upon "Le 
 Rat Mort." I rang the bell and asked the chambermaid 
 what it meant. With an impertinent stare she answered: 
 
 " The Dead Rat, Mademoiselle." 
 
 Whew! The name isn't very savory; but the pin has 
 decided it, and I'm going. I shall take Eliza, too, al- 
 though she does object, as I prophesied. 
 
 
 
 Eliza will hardly speak to me this morning, she is so 
 offended about last night. I have been obliged to put 
 my arms about her and promise that I will never take her 
 out to a cafe again ; for I didn't really mean to hurt her 
 feelings I wouldn't do that for the whole world. Per- 
 haps it was rather a silly thing to do; for it might have 
 been one of those dangerous places where Nihilists as- 
 semble. There are cafes like that in Paris. 
 
 We left the hotel about nine last night, Eliza sitting up 
 as straight as a post in the cab. 
 
 The Dead Rat is the prettiest cafe I have ever seen, and 
 far more brilliant than either the Waldorf in New York 
 or the Ritz where I am staying. There are three stories. 
 The furniture on the first floor is upholstered in plush, 
 like our family pew in the church at home. Other people 
 were entering as we arrived. We followed them up the 
 long flight of stairs, and turning to the right sat down 
 upon one of the red seats running along the wall, with a 
 table in front of it. 
 
 " We shall have to do the same as other people, Eliza," 
 I whispered, when the waiter told us that they served noth- 
 ing but champagne. I ordered a bottle, and looked about. 
 I never felt so grown up before. 
 
 Ever so many people sat at a long table, and among 
 them one girl especially attracted my attention. I could
 
 4 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 scarcely take my eyes from her. She wore no hat, and 
 her dress glittered with spangles. I thought it the pret- 
 tiest dress in the room; and I shouldn't mind having one 
 like it, only I should have it made longer. She drank 
 three glasses of champagne one after the other. When 
 ours was brought, I poured two glasses, and tasted mine, 
 although Eliza was looking sourly at me from the tail of 
 her eye. 
 
 " Drink yours, Eliza," I coaxed. " It's very sweet." 
 
 " I should expect to be roasted by the devil if I did, 
 Miss Phyllis and now that you have seen this place will 
 you come back to the hotel? " 
 
 " Not until I have seen more, Eliza. Don't tease 
 there's a dear ! " 
 
 After that we were silent, and I noticed that Eliza had 
 set her jaw hard. She glared fiercely at the other occu- 
 pants of the room, and shuddered as her respectable eyes 
 took in the toilettes of the women. She pushed her glass 
 farther away, simply refusing to lift it to her lips. 
 
 Presently the girl with the spangled dress asked a dark 
 man to dance with her. They walked to the end of the 
 room, and went through some curious dances which placed 
 the body in what I considered awkward postures, although 
 I suppose it was one of the peculiar ideas the French have 
 of a dance. 
 
 Among the people I noticed some men so small in stature 
 that they looked like boys. They wore knee breeches, and 
 one dressed in green reminded me of a fat caterpillar. 
 Eliza said he looked like a heathenish doll. His lips were 
 reddened into a clearly defined cupid's bow, and his cheeks 
 were highly rouged. His eyelashes had little black knobs 
 attached to the ends of them which I supposed were in- 
 tended to cast a shadow upon his cheek. He danced once 
 with the girl in the spangled dress and twice with a man 
 in a red costume. After that he came up to our table.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 5 
 
 " Do you want all your wine, Mademoiselle ? " he asked 
 in fairly good English, and I replied: 
 
 " No, we've finished. Please help yourself." 
 
 He thanked me, and drank Eliza's champagne. The 
 girl in the spangled dress came up too and, putting her 
 arm round his shoulder, reached over and took all that 
 was left in the bottle. How much this shocked Eliza was 
 plainly written upon her mortified face. She gathered 
 her skirts tightly about her, and shrank back against the 
 wall as if afraid the swishing orange-colored dress would 
 bite her ; but I think she was relieved to see the wine go. 
 
 Presently she rose to her feet and said firmly, " For a 
 girl only seventeen you're very forward, Miss Phyllis. If 
 you don't come home now, I shall go back to America to- 
 morrow." 
 
 I was obliged to follow her out, and in the cab she 
 cried. Then I really was repentant, and felt that in drag- 
 ging her out against her will I had done wrong. So I 
 comforted her by promising that I would never do it again. 
 
 What a round of excitement I've had for two weeks ! 
 Oh, why did I tease Colonel Coster into allowing me to 
 come to Paris? But I was so full of hope, of belief in 
 myself. I wanted to learn to sing so that everybody, and 
 one man in particular, would listen lost in admiration. I 
 do want to make Roger Everard proud of me some day ; 
 but tonight I want to be back in America. I believe that if 
 the dear, good old Colonel came into the room this minute 
 I'd kiss his bald head. But I have nobody to blame but 
 myself. I think my headstrong ways come from a certain 
 bad kink in my nature. 
 
 Aunty once said, " Phyllis, you ought to try and be 
 more reserved, less impulsive, more like other New Eng- 
 land girls." 
 
 " I can't," 1 I replied. " I'm like my father, and he was
 
 6 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Irish. Haven't I his curly black hair, his blue eyes, and 
 his strong white teeth? " 
 
 Aunty sighed, and ever afterward placed to my Irish 
 blood every rash thing I did. 
 
 
 
 I fancy the reason that I'm so lonely is that Eliza has 
 gone back to America. Poor Eliza! She disliked to 
 leave me; but when one has a dying sister duty makes it 
 imperative to go to her. Eliza wouldn't have gone for 
 any other reason. I shall soon find someone else, perhaps 
 a French maid. Countess Larodi told me not to be in a 
 hurry: she'd help me find a suitable companion. But I 
 want to go home, even without carrying out my ambitions. 
 
 The reason I stopped writing was that the maid an- 
 nounced Madame the Countess Larodi. I felt quite 
 ashamed to go to her with red eyes ; but she didn't seem to 
 notice them. Her son was with her. I don't like French 
 Counts nor the impertinent way in which they kiss your 
 hand. Fancy an American kissing one's hand! 
 
 I suppose I should never have known any French 
 Counts if it hadn't been for Aunty's and Uncle's money 
 and the prestige I possess just because Colonel Coster is 
 my guardian. I am sure that is why the Count and his 
 mother called at the hotel this afternoon. I never knew 
 before that I really amounted to so much, although I have 
 a secret notion it is my money that made them anxious for 
 my friendship ; for, after all, I am only a girl, and I don't 
 understand enough French to converse with them. But, 
 never mind, I'm glad I've got the money, and some day, 
 when I'm older and can sing, I'll go out and conquer the 
 world. 
 
 Countess Larodi says it isn't just the thing for a girl 
 to live alone in a hotel, especially if she is going to stay 
 in Paris a long time. So I suppose I shall have to give
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 7 
 
 up this little suite of rooms. I like Paris better than I 
 did ; but I still feel a little like a homing pigeon that has 
 forgotten its way. Uncle used to keep pigeons in the 
 dear old days. Once one flew out and never came back. 
 I've always wondered what became of it. Poor thing, I 
 know now how it felt when it was longing for home. 
 
 
 
 Paris, beautiful romantic Paris, toward which my eyes 
 have turned since childhood! Paris, the city of art and 
 beauty, where I shall make my voice lovely enough to please 
 all men and women, and to please Roger Everard; for 
 really it is just to please him that I desire to reach the 
 heights of my ambition! 
 
 Aunty used to say, " Child, profit by the experience of 
 others, and don't fall in love with any man. It's the ru- 
 ination of a woman's life and hopes. Remember the ter- 
 rors of your Aunt Ruth's life, and your own mother's 
 troubles with your handsome Irish father." 
 
 Then I would look slyly at her and answer with a ques- 
 tion, "How about you and Uncle, Aunty?" For they 
 were two of the happiest dears on earth. 
 
 And Aunty would say, *' You will never get a man as 
 good as your uncle as long as you live." 
 
 
 
 I am beside myself with happiness; for I have seen 
 Marquise, the greatest singing mistress in the world, and 
 she says my voice is wonderfully sweet. But she looked 
 over her glasses at me and said: 
 
 " Child, you'll have to suffer to sing ! " 
 
 What did she mean? I wonder. It makes me shiver 
 when I think of suffering. I can't even bear to cut my 
 finger or to knock my elbow against anything. Pain 
 makes me faint and ill. I wonder what I must endure be- 
 fore I shall be able to sing? Still, suffering would be a
 
 8 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 little thing if I could obtain fame and success and so win 
 his approbation. How strange that a girl can feel to- 
 ward a man as I do toward Roger Everard when she has 
 seen him only a few times ! I think it is because he is 
 good and so different from other men. When Aunty saw 
 him, she said: 
 
 " For so young a man he's quite wonderful, such a 
 carriage and such an earnest face ! I do like to see a 
 young man religious, too." 
 
 It would be queer if I should marry an artist, and a re- 
 ligious one at that; for I haven't got the serious, godly 
 sense. In fact, I don't know what I do believe. I know 
 one thing, that I love the whole world, everybody and 
 everything ; men, women, and children, especially babies ; 
 cats and dogs and cows; toads and snakes well, just 
 everything that has life. That's my religion, I believe ! 
 I suppose that if I should dig deep down in my heart, I'd 
 find a belief of some sort ; but to me churches and the like 
 are always associated with old age and death. And I want 
 to live and love and be loved always, always ! I wonder 
 what Roger is doing now? 
 
 ** 
 
 I have been so busy that I have not written for ten days. 
 I believe that Casperone Larodi is going to ask me to 
 marry him. His mother is an American, and was married 
 when very young to a French Count who squandered her 
 fortune. She came from a Quaker family in Philadelphia ; 
 but she has lost every tendency to Quakerism she ever had, 
 for now she uses decidedly red rouge and wears a wig, and 
 when she grows vivacious the little pink feather that deco- 
 rates her false hair bobs fitfully to and fro. I have no- 
 ticed that all Frenchwomen, when somewhat old, frou-frou 
 themselves to look younger. I suppose it is excusable; 
 for it must be dreadful to be thirty and have to be con- 
 tinually thinking of wrinkles. Yet I ought to be ashamed
 
 9 
 
 to write this ; for it was kind of her to take me to the opera 
 last night. 
 
 I don't believe that I shall ever marry, unless Roger 
 Everard asks me somehow I feel certain that I could 
 love him devotedly, just as my poor dead mother loved 
 my father, and as Aunty loved Uncle. How many times 
 I have heard Aunty's low voice coming out of the darkness 
 on winter nights, during that last sad illness of Uncle's, 
 hushing his moans with the same little song ! Her teeth 
 chattered with the cold; but the song never ceased. She 
 couldn't have lived through those sleepless nights if she 
 hadn't loved him the thought of them brings tears to 
 my eyes. Aunty must have loved Uncle, she must have ! 
 and I am sure that he loved her, though he used to call 
 her " a good old soul." 
 
 
 
 The Countess looked sharply at me when I told her I 
 was going to motor in the Bois with a friend of her son's. 
 
 " I will speak English very slowly, so he will be able to 
 understand me," I said in explanation. " You know in 
 America girls can always ride with men friends." 
 
 " American girls are too rapid," she said severely. 
 " Before they are out of their teens they read all sorts 
 of books, learn more than they should, and go about too 
 often unchaperoned. We in this country give those liber- 
 ties to married women, if you want a good French hus- 
 band you must live in accordance with French customs. 
 Profit by my experiences, my dear." 
 
 I didn't tell her that I didn't care a fig for French cus- 
 toms ; that if I married it would be to an American. 
 
 I mean to ride with Count Larodi's friend in the Bois; 
 for he said he had something important to ask me, and 
 I am curious to find out what it is. I haven't told any- 
 one ; but I don't care for the Countess nor any of her 
 friends. They seem to have no aim in life. I wish I
 
 10 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 could meet the real people of Paris. The Countess makes 
 me so uncomfortable by her patronizing ways I Her son 
 says he thinks girls ought to be allowed to go about here 
 the same as they do in America. He. told me that if his 
 mother didn't discover it we should make many little trips 
 together in the Bois. 
 
 * ' 
 
 I didn't write any. more yesterday, because I went mo- 
 toring with the Count de Grimaud in a car that he said 
 he had only recently purchased. It was such a funny ex- 
 perience ! The automobile was a lovely red one. It had a 
 little iron flag sticking straight up in the air with the one 
 word " Libre " on it. When we started, the chauffeur 
 pushed it down, and up came some figures. I have an idea 
 it was an arrangement that indicated the number of miles 
 we drove. 
 
 When the Count asked me in faltering English if I 
 ididn't think this was the most beautiful drive I had ever 
 taken, my mind buried itself in memories of New England, 
 with its valleys and hills, its magnificent old elms and 
 sleepy rivers. Oh, yes ! there are other places quite as 
 beautiful as the Paris Bois. 
 
 My companion showed by his manner that he was 
 pleased with my appearance. I knew I looked well in my 
 fresh muslin dress and my hat covered with flowers the 
 color of my frock. My shoes, too, were of the same 
 shade. De Grimaud's eyes were half-closed, and after 
 awhile he reached over and took my hand. I suddenly re- 
 alized what he was doing and drew my fingers away. He 
 pretended to be dreadfully hurt. 
 
 We sped out into the country, the trees flying by as if 
 they were on wings, and the figures on the little machine 
 in front of us constantly changing like lightning flashes. 
 No automobile ever made so many miles in so short a time. 
 I can understand why the French people plume themselves
 
 11 
 
 about their Bois ; for one leaves the city and in a few min- 
 utes is surrounded by nothing but trees and natural scen- 
 ery. 
 
 Suddenly Monsieur de Grimaud said in a sympathetic 
 voice, " Mademoiselle is without relations, is she not ? " 
 
 I felt a quick pain as I thought of Aunty, and answered, 
 ** Yes, I am practically alone now." 
 
 " But you are rich you will never want friends." He 
 looked at me as if half anticipating a denial. 
 
 " Yes, I am rich, I suppose. My aunt left me all of 
 her money when she died. Darling old Aunty ! " 
 
 He sighed and gradually got nearer to me. I edged 
 back into the corner. 
 
 " America is a very rich country I know it, I know 
 it ! " said Monsieur de Grimaud with another laugh. He 
 took my hand again and almost whispered, " I love the 
 Americans ah, I love you ! " Then he went on inco- 
 herently, snatching my fingers. " I like American women 
 much. Like French women, no; Italian women, no; but 
 American women Mon Dleu! Mon Dieul I love them, 
 I love them ! " 
 
 I made an effort to disengage my hand. He said that 
 my face attracted him. This made my cheeks burn hotly. 
 
 "You will love me, won't you?" he exclaimed. His 
 fingers wandered slowly, almost dissectingly, over my 
 arms. " I love you ! I want you ! Oh, Frenchmen 
 know how to love! Yes, beautiful American woman, we 
 know how! Your countrymen live but to make money. 
 They do not love." 
 
 I didn't wish him to touch me, so I tried to slip my arm 
 from his long white fingers; but he, thinking I liked it, 
 still persisted as he said: 
 
 " We love you, we Frenchmen. You have much charm, 
 much much " But before he could say another word, 
 I finished sweetly, " Much money."
 
 12 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 A.. 
 
 *' Om, oul oh, much money \ " 
 
 " Please do not put your hands on me again," I said, 
 " and allow me a little more room." I sat up straight. 
 
 Now I understand why it is that young women in France 
 are not allowed to go out alone with their countrymen. 
 The men are much too familiar, and crush one's dresses. 
 
 After imploring in vain for one little kiss, he asked me 
 if I would go motoring with him tomorrow, and I said 
 quietly and in very plain English: 
 
 " Not for anything in all the world. Nothing could 
 ever tempt me to go out with you again. I want to go 
 home." 
 
 " Bon, bon, bon! " he shouted, and gave an order to the 
 chauffeur to go back. He evidently mistook what I said 
 for an assurance that I would go again with him; for I 
 know that " Bon, bon, bon! " means " Good, good, good ! " 
 I was not very cordial, nor did I care for the signs of 
 love in his rolling eyes. 
 
 At the hotel I left him with a curt nod. 
 
 * 
 
 I'm sorry now that I never learned French. Of course, 
 I know a few expressions. I've picked them up here and 
 there. Mr. Greenaway, my tutor, had never studied the 
 language himself, and there was no one else in our village 
 with any pretentious to schooling. Aunty thought Mr. 
 Greenaway, who could read Hebrew as easily as most men 
 read English, could give me a better education than any 
 modern governess. And in a way she was right; for he 
 gave me a knowledge of the old classics that few girls 
 who have been to a fashionable boarding school possess. 
 But, unfortunately for me, French did not come into the 
 dear old man's curriculum, and I am here in a French city 
 without being able to speak intelligibly in any other 
 language than my own.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 13 
 
 Two weeks ago I made a resolution to write a little 
 every day, for I want to be able to call back my happen- 
 ings in Paris ; but, since my account of the Bois, I haven't 
 had time to write a word. 
 
 Count Larodi has asked me to marry him six different 
 times. He's rather nice I almost believe that he likes 
 me a little. He has shown me a great deal of Paris, 
 the different hotels and theaters, and once we went to Chan- 
 tiny, but he has never allowed me to sit outside in the 
 little chairs in front of the teahouses and cafes to watch 
 the people as they go by. It would be such a novel thing 
 if I could; but Count Larodi is deaf to my appeals. He 
 says it's not the thing for a young girl to be seen outside, 
 sipping tea. 
 
 I hear French on all sides of me; but I don't understand 
 it. However, in a few days I am to begin to study it, 
 and I shall use every word I learn every day. That's the 
 only way, they say, to learn a language. 
 
 Count Larodi's mother said that her eldest son married 
 a very rich American girl. They showed me her photo, 
 and the Countess seemed to be proud of her beauty and 
 wealth. It must be dreadful to love a man and have him 
 marry you for the dot you bring him.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IT'S almost six weeks since I've looked into this book 
 and Uncle's money is lost and Colonel Coster is 
 dead. I never realized that a girl could be so miser- 
 able because of money. 
 
 This morning I went to the bank to present my letter 
 of credit, and the cashier fingered it thoughtfully for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I'm sorry," he said, " but we can't 
 honor this paper. We've received news from America 
 that the bank of which Colonel Coster was president has 
 closed its doors. He has committed suicide." 
 
 I stood powerless to utter a word. 
 
 " He made unwise speculations," went on the bank man. 
 " It was unfortunate " 
 
 " I don't understand," I gasped. " Colonel Coster was 
 my uncle's most trusted adviser. But but " my eyes 
 filled with tears. " Tell me oh, tell me, please, about his 
 death ! " 
 
 " That he committed suicide, Mademoiselle, is all I 
 know. Your letter of credit is useless." 
 
 He shoved it through the window opening, and I went 
 out. 
 
 I walked along Rue de la Paix, and mechanically 
 stopped before a window and looked in at the blazing dia- 
 monds. A man peered out upon me, and I turned ab- 
 ruptly away as he looked at my reddened eyes. I've never 
 studied the financial question of a country, and I don't 
 understand how a bank could lose money; that is, such a 
 lot as I had. 
 
 14
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 15 
 
 The whole of Paris had changed in a few moments. 
 Place Vendome seemed to shrink into a circle too small for 
 upright people to walk- through. The buildings looked 
 abominably low-sized, under-made, and mean. 
 
 I suppose the porter at the hotel smiled as usual ; but in 
 my overwrought brain I imagined he grinned, and I had 
 never noticed before that he was so small and bandy- 
 legged. In my room I stood before the glass for a few 
 moments, to inspect the new girl reflected in it, a girl 
 without money, without friends. It was only yesterday 
 nay, even this morning, before going to the bank that I 
 had been buoyantly happy in beautiful Paris, and now I 
 am wondering how I can get back to America without 
 money. 
 
 ;... 
 
 " You have lost your fortune, Miss Fitzpatrick? " 
 Countess Larodi looked over my head at the opposite cor- 
 ner as she spoke. She had invited me to the five o'clock. 
 
 I nodded, tears choking my utterance. 
 
 " America is a stupid place," she continued in a hard 
 tone. 
 
 " No, no, not that ! " I cried. 
 
 "You will return home?" 
 
 " I don't know," I answered dully, almost hopelessly. 
 
 I had had a hope that the Countess would be kind to 
 me; for I longed for a woman's sympathy. 
 
 " The papers said this morning that your money will 
 never be recovered; that you will be entirely without 
 funds." 
 
 " Please, please ! " I stammered, and hid my head and 
 wept as only a girl in Paris with scarcely a sou is able to 
 weep. 
 
 "Will you have tea?" she asked not unkindly. 
 
 I took the cup, and choked down the bitter stuff. I've 
 always hated tea. At that moment Casperone came in
 
 16 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 gloomily and seated himself. His mother gave him an 
 order with authoritative plainness. 
 
 " You dine tonight with Baronesse Salsladie," said she. 
 
 " I can't." And he gave a significant glance at me. I 
 knew what it meant, and the blood rushed into my face. 
 In an instant I had learned the lesson of a lifetime. 
 
 " If you have an appointment with Mademoiselle Fitz- 
 patrick this evening, she will excuse you," insisted the 
 Countess, and again I nodded my head. 
 
 Rising, I quickly took my leave; but not before Cas- 
 perone had whispered: 
 
 " I shall never forgive you if you do not keep your 
 appointment with me this evening. I've many things to 
 talk over with you." 
 
 It eased my heart to hear him speak so. I would dine 
 with him in spite of his austere parent! 
 
 " Your mother " I began, and dropped my eyes. 
 
 " My mother doesn't rule me," he replied as he placed 
 me in the cab. " Meet me understand? " 
 
 " Yes," I answered. " I meant to meet you all the 
 time." 
 
 In my room I took my purse from my pocket, and 
 counted the money over like a miser. Twelve francs in 
 silver, ten in gold, and a fifty-franc note. It would take 
 this and the money realized on my jewels to pay my hotel 
 bill and the debts I had contracted by the advice of the 
 Countess. I shall be absolutely without money. Yester- 
 day this was the price of a bit of lace, of a few trinkets, 
 or a day's trip to Fontainebleau ; but today it's every sou 
 I possess in the world. I felt as if I were going to a 
 funeral, the funeral of my own happiness, instead of to a 
 dinner with Casperone. Phyllis Fitzpatrick, the heiress, 
 was dead! I was now Phyllis Fitzpatrick, the penniless 
 orphan ! 
 
 The gown I selected to wear to the dinner was a black
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 17 
 
 crepe de chine. I had been told that it was too old look- 
 ing for a young girl like myself; but tonight it seemed 
 suitable: I had grown older in a few hours. 
 
 Much as I distrusted Count Larodi, I felt a warmth in 
 his sympathy and a satisfaction at his defiance of his 
 mother. But his first words recalled my misgivings. 
 
 " Are you sure," he asked, " that your money is gone? " 
 
 I bowed my head. He would have stood higher in my 
 estimation had he waited awhile, and I was oh, so miser- 
 able! He noticed my agitation, and refrained from ask- 
 ing more. 
 
 When dinner was finished, he twirled his little black 
 mustache and looked at me dubiously. 
 
 " Let's go outside somewhere for coffee," he suggested. 
 
 "Where?" I asked dully. 
 
 " Cafe de la Paix, or somewhere else." 
 
 " I thought," I objected, flushing, " that it was unusual 
 for a young girl to sit outside a cafe? " 
 
 " Oh, it will do," he drawled, and I followed him in 
 silence. 
 
 A boy, madly waving his arms, shouting a monologue in 
 French, ran to and fro on Boulevard des Capucines. He 
 had a funny little way of pulling down his cornered hat 
 that made him resemble Napoleon, whom he was admirably 
 imitating. 
 
 Casperone, looking thin and dark, so unlike our hand- 
 some Americans, silently studied my face as I watched the 
 boy. Suddenly he spoke to me. 
 
 " You look charming tonight." His eyes traveled fur- 
 tively over my black costume. " I can scarcely keep my 
 hands from you," he finished abruptly. 
 
 It was the first time he had spoken like this, and I flushed 
 in confusion. Trying not to heed his admiration, I par- 
 ried vaguely, " There are many charming women passing 
 all the time,"
 
 18 
 
 " But they are not like you," he insisted. * 4 There is 
 something about you, Phyllis, that sets my soul on fire." 
 
 " Hush ! " I commanded. " I want to watch that boy's 
 imitation of Napoleon." 
 
 Casperone breathed something that sounded like an oath, 
 and angrily shrugged his shoulders. " I like you very] 
 much," he said after a pause. 
 
 The boy had disappeared with his hand full of sous. 
 
 " So you told me before," I replied simply, and then I 
 went on, " That's such a pretty girl ! " I nodded toward 
 a slight figure on the pavement, more for the purpose of 
 changing the subject than for any other reason. " Look! 
 Isn't she pretty?" 
 
 " Cocotte ! " breathed Casperone. 
 
 "Is that her name? " I asked. "Do you know her?" 
 
 He smiled. " A little." 
 
 " Cocotte? She has a pretty name, too." 
 
 " That's not her name : that's what she is." 
 
 Casperone's white teeth gleamed through the cigarette 
 smoke. The girl's eyes were roving searchingly over the 
 tables filled with people. The white and pink skin was 
 unwrinkled. The deep, velvety eyes looked inquiringly, 
 almost babyishly, about. Then, not finding whom she 
 sought, she moved on. 
 
 "You say, That's what she is.' What is she?" I 
 asked. " I have seldom seen a woman so beautiful." 
 
 " You haven't been in Paris long," he replied. " A 
 cocotte? Well, a cocotte is a what do you call it in 
 America? a cocotte is a cloak model, and she's a famous 
 one." He laughed softly, eying me through narrowed lids. 
 
 " Oh," I hesitated, " do cloak models make much money 
 in Paris ? " 
 
 " I believe they do," replied Casperone, becoming grave. 
 " I believe they do." 
 
 " Do they have to speak French? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 19 
 
 He would have noticed the eagerness in my tones if he 
 hadn't been tearing away at the end of a cigarette. " It 
 isn't necessary," he drawled ; " but most of them do." 
 
 " Is there a shop where they work? " 
 
 He laughed again. " Yes." 
 
 "Do they all have such beautiful figures?" My eyes 
 were still straining through the glare of the bright elec- 
 tric light after the receding figure of the lovely cloak 
 model. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And all pretty?" 
 
 "Oui, oui!" 
 
 " Where are the shops where the models work ? " 
 
 " On every Boulevard in Paris," Casperone snapped. 
 His voice was getting raspy, with a little French snarl in. 
 it. 
 
 " But," I insisted, " where on the boulevards are the 
 shops, and what are their names?" 
 
 My persistence seemed to anger him, and he laughed 
 sarcastically. " Oh, if you're thinking of trying for a 
 place, just ask for a cloak model shop and well, a 
 cloak that would fit that figure of yours ah, Mon 
 Dieu! " Casperone's eyes grew soft with midnight black- 
 ness; but he embarrassed me by thrusting his face near 
 mine. " I want to talk to you," he breathed. " I love 
 you ! I love you ! " 
 
 " Without any money ? " I asked. A sob caught my 
 throat as I forced a laugh that was nearer a groan to my 
 lips. 
 
 " Well," he hesitated, " it makes some difference, I must 
 say. Not that I love you less, though. A Frenchman 
 can't marry a woman without a dot. You see, your voice 
 is worth a lot; though to train it you must have money. 
 But the failure of the bank doesn't mean that you and I 
 ah can't be friends."
 
 20 
 
 I looked at him curiously, fearfully. Friends ! And lie 
 had asked me to marry him every day for a week! I 
 hadn't allowed myself to think of the future. Of course, 
 without my monthly allowance, lessons would be out of the 
 question. My voice had never seemed quite so precious, 
 never so much to be desired. 
 
 The boy was back again mimicking Napoleon. I won- 
 dered how many sous he had earned. His fat little hand 
 bulged with coins. 
 
 Casperone was still pulling savagely at his cigarette. 
 " I said we could be friends," he resumed hurriedly. " I 
 like you immensely more than any girl I know. Phyl- 
 lis, I simply can't talk to you here! Couldn't we go to 
 my rooms for a quiet little chat? " 
 
 " Would you ask a girl to to your rooms a girl 
 whom you want to marry ? " 
 
 I didn't recognize my own voice. It mingled harshly 
 with the even-running French of the boy-Napoleon. The 
 crowd was laughing at his antics, while I was biting my 
 lips in despair. 
 
 " I want to go home," I cut in quickly. " Please put 
 me in a cab. I don't want you to come with me ! " 
 
 As the cab-horse trotted away, Casperone was delicately 
 twirling the tip of his small French mustache, and I 
 thought I caught a glimpse of regret in his eyes. 
 
 So Casperone has gone out of my life and I don't 
 care ! He has made no impression upon my heart. All I 
 want is money money money and money I must 
 have, like other people, whether they are girls or not ! 
 Tears came into my eyes as a little dog shot across Place 
 Vendome after a woman in a blue robe. She picked the 
 little fellow up in her arms lovingly. I almost wished I 
 were a little dog. 
 
 I am so lonely so afraid ! Oh, to be with Eliza, or 
 someone I know ! " Cloak model " keeps ringing in my
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 21 
 
 ears. Casperone seemed to think that on account of my 
 figure I ought to be able easily to get a place as one. I 
 haven't qualifications enough to be a governess. If every- 
 thing else fails, I'll try for a cloak model position. 
 
 My rooms seem more comfortable than ever. The 
 piano with the book of scales open upon it makes the 
 tears start afresh. 
 
 Yesterday oh, to go back to yesterday, to know again 
 the feeling of security! Soon the piano will be gone, 
 and I sha'n't have money either to study or to go home 
 with. I must find work of some sort! There's an awful 
 feeling in my heart when I think that I have to go out 
 alone in the world to get a living. But now I am going 
 to bed, because I shall have to start early tomorrow morn- 
 ing to seek employment. There must be something for a 
 girl to do in Paris I
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 I'M footsore and weary, having tramped from bureau 
 to bureau in search of employment every day since 
 learning of the loss of my fortune. At the United 
 States consul's office the man in charge said that the con- 
 sul general was in America on a commission of some sort. 
 They could do nothing for me. 
 
 Two Americans committed suicide today! All this 
 tragedy comes from the financial turmoil in our beloved 
 country America! I wonder what caused it? 
 
 The piano man growled fiercely because he had rented 
 the instrument for several months and it had been returned 
 in so short a time. 
 
 " Like all you Americans ! " he said harshly. " It's 
 bluff, bluff, bluff!" 
 
 My misery restrained me from retort: I had no spirit 
 left for contention or resentment of indignities to which 
 I was growing accustomed. I turned away, struggling 
 with suppressed emotions. 
 
 Dear God ! For a hundred francs ! I'm heartsick with 
 failure ! 
 
 v : : 
 
 I came to the Latin Quarter, discovered a renting 
 agency, and asked for cheap rooms. 
 
 "I want a suite in a house where cocottes live," I ex- 
 plained. 
 
 The man understood, and brought me to these rooms 
 on Boulevard St. Michel. As everything else has failed, 
 I've resolved to try and get a place in one of the French
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 23 
 
 shops. It may be the " Bon Marche " French stores 
 have such queer names ! I do hope that I shall succeed ; 
 for this morning I went without breakfast. I've pawned 
 my last jewels to get rent money. At least I've discovered 
 this: that gems and baubles are not necessary to happi- 
 ness. Food and a bed are! 
 
 In my sleeping-room corner is a dressing table. The 
 mirror, brushes, and knickknacks spread upon it look quite 
 like home. To find this place took me many wearisome 
 days, days of starvation, days when death seemed prefer- 
 able to life, and the Seine seemed constantly calling me 
 by name. 
 
 But I am happier tonight I appreciate what it 
 means to be in a little place of my own. When I spoke 
 of getting work to the agent, he told me in faltering Eng- 
 lish that he knew nothing of the cloak model shops; but 
 said that many cocottes lived in this house. And I be- 
 lieve it is so ; for yesterday about four o'clock in the after- 
 noon I heard voices, high pitched and strained, talking in 
 rapid French from door to door. The girls must leave 
 their shops early. 
 
 I went out this morning to find someone who could speak 
 English fluently; but to my question everyone shook his 
 head, and I thought noses went up at my efforts to make 
 myself understood. Oh, for someone to help me ! I could 
 almost wish for Casperone, if it were not for my pride. 
 
 My only comfort, so far, is in venting out my heart 
 upon these poor little blistered pages. It is a relief to 
 write about my troubles. 
 
 I remember attending a small church when I was a little 
 girl, where they sang a hymn that I had forgotten until 
 today : 
 
 " Lead, Kindly Light, Lead Thou me on."
 
 24 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I wonder if God will lead me, and if there is really such 
 a being, and and if He will help me to be a cocotte ? 
 For what's the use of a God if He doesn't guide you? 
 
 
 
 I am bewildered with troubled thought. I haven't a sou 
 left, and I'm frantic with fear. On the stairs as I was 
 going out this afternoon I met the beautiful cloak model 
 whom I pointed out to Casperone that last night at the 
 Cafe de la Paix. I smiled pleasantly; for I felt that I 
 had at least one friend in the house. She took me in from 
 head to foot, her soft, velvety eyes filled with anger. My 
 face was red when I reached the street tears blinded me 
 so that I bumped into another woman coming in. I was 
 unable to express my apology in French. 
 
 " Oh, pardon me," I said in my mother tongue. 
 
 " It is nozzing," she replied, and I wheeled round. 
 
 " You speak English ? " I asked eagerly. 
 
 " A leetle." 
 
 " And you live here ? " 
 
 She nodded. 
 
 " So do I," I went on rapidly, fearing that she would 
 run away before I had a chance to ask her some questions. 
 
 " Zat's nice," she said. " You come to my room some 
 day tomorrow, sure, and I talk English weez you. 
 You cocotte? " 
 
 I nodded " Yes," and supplemented it by saying, " A 
 cloak model." 
 
 She shook her head slowly, her eyes gathering an ex- 
 pression of noncomprehension. 
 
 " You haf sweetheart here ? " she demanded. 
 
 " No," I replied, astonished. 
 
 " You leetle American girl? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Poor baby ! Come see me tomorrow." 
 
 From her purse she took a card emblazoned with a bird
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 25 
 
 carrying some kind of message, and handed it to me. 
 After wiping away the silly tears, I read: 
 
 " Message de V amour." 
 
 I did not know what it meant. I shall ask her when 
 I see her. Her name is " Captain Zadie " nothing 
 more. 
 
 . 
 
 It was about five o'clock when I got to the boulevard 
 again ; and I felt as though I had found friends, for the 
 electric lights and brilliant advertisements gave it the fa- 
 miliarity of New York. 
 
 Once or twice Frenchmen spoke to me; but I turned 
 from them scornfully. How dare such creatures accost 
 a decent girl in the street? A commotion at the corner 
 attracted my attention. Two women, one with a bleeding 
 face, were being separated from each other by an officer. 
 I couldn't understand the rapid French that was being 
 shouted backward to the eager crowd. As I turned aside, 
 the woman with the bruised face was trying, with shaking 
 hands, to pin on a battered hat. I remember that when the 
 bleeding woman had gone away with a friend I felt posi- 
 tive that the two had been quarreling over a man. I have 
 never been really in love. It must be a dreadful thing to 
 love a man in that awful, maddening way. 
 
 A policeman spoke to me roughly. 
 
 " I'm an American girl I don't understand you ! " I 
 said slowly. 
 
 He touched his hat and turned away. A strange, sweet 
 feeling crept over me. He seemed, at least, to respect my 
 country. 
 
 Not one of the shops on the boulevard looked like those 
 I've seen on Broadway ; for in these gaily lighted win- 
 dows there was not a single cloak. Suddenly I noticed 
 a Frenchman with a pointed beard coming toward me. I 
 would ask him my all-important question. Perhaps this
 
 26 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 man could tell me where I'd be able to locate the shops. 
 I stopped him by a gesture of my hand. He looked down 
 upon me ; for he was taller than his countrymen. 
 
 " Where are the shops that cocottes work in ? " I asked 
 aloud. My voice didn't seem natural. 
 
 I repeated my question, enunciating the syllables care- 
 fully. Even if he didn't understand the English, he would 
 gather something of my desire. Instead of answering, he 
 took his hand from his pocket and pushed a large silver 
 five-franc piece into my fingers. He was gone in an in- 
 stant. 
 
 For a moment the blood leaped to my face like a surging 
 tide I did not believe my eyes. He couldn't have un- 
 derstood me. No doubt he thought I was begging. I 
 turned to run after him ; but he was lost in the crowd. 
 
 Five francs, and my purse empty! In bewilderment I 
 hurried past the cafes down the boulevard with the strong, 
 dark face of the foreigner as vivid as a picture before 
 me. Of course, he had not understood, or he wouldn't 
 have so insulted me ; for it was an insult for a man to throw 
 money at a woman as one would throw a bone to a hungry 
 dog. But he was gone and tightly pressed between my 
 fingers was the five-franc piece. 
 
 I resolved to try again someone else might under- 
 stand. If I could but meet an American, or even an Eng- 
 lishman, he would, perhaps, be able to tell me where I 
 should inquire for the work that would bring enough 
 money to take me back to America. 
 
 Near the end of the boulevard a lonely man came to- 
 ward me. He was not walking with the quick jerks of 
 the Frenchman. There was something English about his 
 appearance that raised hope in my breast. I stopped di- 
 rectly in front of him, and repeated the question I had put 
 to the first man. This time my voice sounded more like 
 my own. The man came to an abrupt standstill. 

 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 27 
 
 I said it over again a little timidly. He was not an 
 Englishman, after all. He ran his glance over me. 
 
 " Cocotte? " he said. He had understood at last! 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " I replied. " Cocotte, cocotte cloak 
 model. Tell me where the place is, please." 
 
 " Out, oui, oui! Come weez me. Thees way." 
 
 Even to hear, a word of English gave me courage, and 
 I turned and walked at his side. 
 
 He put his hand caressingly upon my arm. 
 
 " Don't touch me, please," I said nervously. " Please 
 don't!" 
 
 My drawing away seemed to puzzle him: he bent for- 
 ward and looked into my face. " D'Angleterre ? " asked 
 he. 
 
 I knew what that meant, because I always wrote 
 '* England " that way on my letters to some people in 
 London. 
 
 I shook my head. " No," I said, " American. You 
 are taking me to the shop where I can get work? " 
 
 " Oui, oui! Thees way, thees way ! " 
 
 Following him, I kept to the edge of the pavement. I 
 could not use the five francs so questionably received: 
 it was not mine. Even to see the shops where I could 
 present myself early the next morning would be some sat- 
 isfaction. If they were only open, and the manager 
 should engage me, then I could borrow money from the 
 woman in the back room on the strength of it, and go out 
 for something to eat. 
 
 My guide made me uncomfortable by his furtive eyes, and 
 if I turned to meet his gaze he would either drop it or 
 raise it, humming some air. We turned into a narrow 
 dark street that ran up the short hill from the boulevard. 
 I could see no stores ; only illy-lit halls and narrow, wind- 
 ing stairways. 
 
 We paused before an open door, and again the white,
 
 28 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 effeminate hand, with finely polished nails, pressed my 
 arm. 
 
 " Is it here? " I asked doubtfully. 
 
 " Oui, out! " whispered the Frenchman. " Here ees 
 cadeau for you money good cadeau. Ah ! You are 
 ravishing ! " 
 
 " I don't want money," I cried indignantly. " I want 
 employment." 
 
 He lifted his hands deprecatingly. " Come up," he 
 coaxed. " Mademoiselle ees cold." 
 
 I was shaking to the bone. 
 
 ** Warm supper," added he, and I could see the dark 
 eyes close as he leaned forward. 
 
 Supper! the mere word sent a faintness through my 
 limbs. Hunger suddenly clamored within me. I became 
 dizzy, and put out my hand to steady myself. He must 
 have thought that I was giving him my fingers ; for he 
 took them in his soft, warm palm, and led me through a 
 small stone alleyway, where we passed a man who nodded 
 comprehendingly. At the first bend of the stairs I 
 stopped, sobs shaking me until I felt that if I did not cry 
 I should die on the spot. 
 
 " Mademoiselle ees hungry ; Mademoiselle ees cold. 
 Come, come, my belle, my petite cherie! " 
 
 Still holding my hand, he took a key from his pocket 
 and placed it in the lock. Supper! Supper! A ticking 
 sound from the corner of the hallway mingled with the 
 grating of the key. I turned my eyes, and saw the upper 
 part of a small, dark insect lifting itself from an aperture 
 in the wall. It scuttled into the light for an instant, 
 seemed to scan me with a thousand eyes, and tailed back 
 into the hole again. It woke me thoroughly from the 
 hideous nightmare into which I had fallen. A sickening 
 suspicion rushed into my mind. This was no shop ! 
 
 " I'm going home ! " I cried, and darted down the stairs.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 29 
 
 The man in the alleyway stared after me. I heard follow- 
 ing footsteps ; but did not wait to see if I were pursued. 
 My flesh tingled as I fled into Boulevard St. Michel; and 
 here and there, as I rushed along, I passed a lonely woman 
 or a crowd of students. I went on and on toward the 
 river. At last the lights, which strung themselves miles 
 up and down the Seine, came across my view. I dropped 
 upon a bench and listened to the water as it stole under the 
 huge bridge and took its almost silent way through the 
 lighted city. As I heard the river rolling onward and 
 ever onward, poor Colonel Coster came into my mind. He 
 had been such a good friend ever since I could remember, 
 and as yet I did not know how he had lost my money. I 
 was so truly grateful for his sympathy since Aunty's 
 death that I could hold no bitterness in my heart against 
 him. I wondered, as I searched the sky longingly, whether 
 in that far-away spirit land he had met Uncle and Aunty, 
 and if they knew of the shadow of tragedy that hung over 
 me. 
 
 But the five-franc piece seemed a barrier between me 
 and the river. The dark face of the Frenchman came con- 
 stantly before me. He had thought I was begging, and 
 had given me the money out of the kindness of his heart. 
 I felt that I could forever place that one good deed 
 against all the bad in a country seemingly without con- 
 science. The silver spoke of the cloak models; while the 
 river sang its endless tune of liberty and freedom from 
 insults. 
 
 The five-franc piece has given me more courage than 
 anything else could have, unless it might have been to 
 meet Roger Everard. 
 
 On my way home I passed the pretty cloak model. I 
 didn't smile again. I couldn't forget the affront she had 
 given me earlier in the day. 
 
 It is almost two o'clock. I hear a rap upon the door.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 SINCE I wrote last, I have heard such things such 
 terrible things ! My head is whirling, and I'm mis- 
 erable. But Captain Zadie says that this will pass, 
 and she ought to know. It was her rap I heard on the 
 door. She invited me to take coffee in her cozy little 
 rooms, which are curtained and daintily arranged. 
 
 " You come een," said she slowly, " and sect there until 
 I have made the drink." 
 
 Captain Zadie is fat, good natured, and divinely moth- 
 erly. Immediately I began to love her. Like a kitten, I 
 curled up in an old-fashioned armchair, and a feeling of 
 contentment crept over me; for I thought that now some- 
 one would tell me where I could find work. Perhaps Cap- 
 tain Zadie would take me with her. 
 
 The gas-stove shot out little flames of red and green, 
 and once the colors mingled into a dark blue. The warmth 
 made me drowsy. The coffee was hot and fragrant. I 
 took three lumps of sugar. Aunty used to say it was 
 bad for my teeth to gobble sweets like a greedy child. 
 
 " Where should girls apply for positions as cloak mod- 
 els?" I asked, sipping the brown beverage with enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Again as in the morning Captain Zadie slowly shook 
 her head. " I know not what cloak models means." 
 
 " Then cocottes," I explained. " It's the same thing." 
 
 " Ah, yes, cocottes. You a cocotte, eh ? " 
 
 " Not yet : I want to be very much, Captain Zadie," I 
 explained. " You see, I lost my income lately, and I must 
 do something. I haven't any money left." 
 
 30
 
 31 
 
 Captain Zadie stared hard into my face. For fully one 
 minute we looked directly into each other's eyes ; then 
 she dropped hers, and went on stirring her coffee as if she 
 were thinking deeply, and I were no longer in the vision 
 of her mind. 
 
 I wondered if she didn't want to tell me if she were 
 one of those women who wouldn't help another to get 
 work. 
 
 Suddenly I caught a strange expression in her face, 
 an expression that blanched my cheeks. My common- 
 sense was forcing upon me a fact I did not understand. 
 
 " Tell me," I cried, frightened, " what is a cocotte ? " 
 
 Captain Zadie got up deliberately, slowly filled my cup 
 with coffee, and then served herself. With as much de- 
 liberation she sat down again ; but not one word did she 
 utter. I waited. 
 
 " Haf you always been a gude girl?" she asked pres- 
 ently in a low voice. 
 
 I hastily reviewed my past life, not forgetting my tem- 
 per, Aunty's trouble with me since the death of my father, 
 and all manner of schoolday escapades. The remem- 
 brance of Aunt Sarah's deathbed came into my mind, and 
 her last words drifted into my heart. " You have always 
 been such a sweet, good girl, Phyllis," said she; but my 
 conscience told me that I had not always always been 
 good. Then I answered Captain Zadie: 
 
 " No, not always ; but I'm sorry now. I thought only 
 last night that maybe I was being punished for my wicked- 
 ness to my aunt. She was so unselfish with her loved ones 
 that she spoiled me. She brought me up, you see, and 
 left me her money. I came over here alone to train my 
 voice. I have no relatives left in America." 
 
 " I mean other kind of gude," demanded Captain Zadie 
 relentlessly. " I mean haf you effer lufed a man? " 
 
 I vividly remember how I felt when Roger Everard
 
 32 WHEN THAGEDY GRINS 
 
 touched my hand or looked into my eyes, and I answered 
 hesitatingly, " I know an ideal man. He is an American, 
 and good and noble." 
 
 " Cocotte, cocotte ! " murmured Captain Zadie. She 
 filled my cup with coffee, this time forgetting hers. " I 
 think your American people could haf given you some- 
 t'ing to do," said she after a pause. " Eferybody haf 
 to care for hees own people, and Mademoiselle ees such a 
 baby." 
 
 " Oh, I did try before I came to this house, and I have 
 tried since I came, too; but all the Americans here are 
 as badly off as I. There seems to be nothing in the city 
 for me. In the typist office they smiled when I asked for 
 work, and I couldn't even get a position to take care of 
 babies. I do not speak French, you see. I interviewed 
 ever so many ladies." 
 
 " Pauvre mignonne! " she murmured. Her eyes dark- 
 ened during her musing; but she lifted her shoulders and 
 asked curtly, " Haf you no money here? " 
 
 I shook my head forlornly. 
 
 " You must haf friends where ees they ? " 
 
 I repeated the story of my guardian's death, of how I 
 had been left to shift for myself. 
 
 Several times Captain Zadie stopped me, imploring that 
 I speak more slowly. After I had finished, she raised one 
 great shoulder, lit a cigarette, settled back in the large 
 chair, and fell to thinking. We were silent for a long time. 
 The little white dog on the fur mat in the corner lifted its 
 body, whined, turned about, and again sank to sleep. 
 
 " I have no friends now in America to whom I can apply 
 for money," I put in finally ; " so I want to work like 
 you do, and like the tall pretty girl I saw coming in who 
 wouldn't smile at me." 
 
 " Ah, Lady Jane Grey," interposed Zadie. *' Out, she 
 is a cocotte, like you haf said."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 33 
 
 Zadie showed her white teeth in a smile. I noticed there 
 was rouge still left on her lips. I suppose the hot coffee 
 had washed if off in patches. Before I could question her 
 she spoke again. 
 
 " You not be like Lady Jane and me," she exclaimed. 
 " I say no, no ! " 
 
 " But I must work," I said miserably. " And I'd rather 
 stay here with you. I don't know anyone else in Paris 
 who would trouble with me. Mayn't I go with you to 
 work?" 
 
 She narrowed her eyes and looked at me, then reached 
 out and took up her little dog. " If you stay here, you 
 beg money, see? You stay weez me no other way." 
 
 " Beg money ! " I gasped. " Beg money ! " 
 
 " Oui, oui! If you can't work, then you beg. Voila! " 
 
 I shook my head. " But a cloak model isn't a co- 
 cotte the same as a cloak model, one who tries on cloaks 
 at stores ? " 
 
 At my explanation her mystified expression cleared. 
 *' Non, non! Cocottes cocottes ees human leafs oni 
 life's river. Failures petite s! Pauvres petit es! " 
 
 In infinite pity, her voice sank to a whisper, and she 
 said no more. Nor did I ask her just then. Suddenly 
 I realized what she meant. The spot where the five-franc 
 piece had been in my hand burned as if an iron straight 
 from the forge were branding my flesh. Casperone Larodi 
 had lied to me ! 
 
 Presently Captain Zadie raised her head. " You vish 
 to stay weez me here, in thees house ? " 
 
 " I haven't any other friends," I sobbed. 
 
 " Then if you stay," she said almost fiercely, " you be 
 gude, or I think I keel you ! " 
 
 After awhile she asked, " You ef er hear Donnez moi un 
 cadeau? " 
 
 " No."
 
 34 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Then you say that to boulevard men till you get 
 money to go to your country. Donnez moi un cadeau," 
 she whispered drearily again, and yet again there fell 
 from her lips, " Donnez moi un cadeau." 
 
 She dropped the dog and got up, and I burst out : 
 
 " What does Donnez moi un cadeau mean ? " 
 
 " Donnez moi un cadeau in your tongue, leetle Ameri- 
 can fool, eet means, * Will you gif me a leetle gift ? ' 
 
 She was standing with her hands on her hips, looking 
 at me gravely as if she would read my very thoughts. I 
 looked into her soulful, faded eyes and whispered : 
 
 " Do you do you say just, Donnez moi un cadeau in 
 your work? " 
 
 For a few minutes she didn't reply. Shaking herself, 
 she turned away, dropping her head. " I not lie to you," 
 she murmured. " I not say eet. I ees old, ugly, and 
 bad." 
 
 I sprang to her side, wringing the hand she thrust out 
 to ward me off. " You're not bad. Neither are you old 
 or ugly," I exclaimed. " You are not ! You're the best 
 woman in the world, I'm sure. Don't, don't push me 
 away ! " 
 
 For one short minute she gathered me close. I imagine 
 I felt as I should if my own mother had hugged me. Bless 
 big Captain Zadie, dear Heaven, with all thy strength! 
 Bless her! 
 
 After a short silence I asked Zadie about the pretty girl 
 Casperone knew. 
 
 " Lady Jane lufs an American," she explained. " Her 
 name is Jeanne; but he called her Lady Jane firs'. He 
 say she look like some great lady in England who had 
 her head comme ca cut off, I mean." She made a 
 motion with her fingers about her neck. 
 
 " He come here often. He has lot money and ees good
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 35 
 
 Christian. He has try to make Jeanne be gude, too. He 
 pray for she, Jeanne say." 
 
 Through my mind comes the passionate wish that some 
 good man would be interested in me ; for I'm lonely, and 
 my hopes of earning money have been dashed from me by 
 the wicked misleading of Larodi and the plain words of 
 Captain Zadie. 
 
 " Jeanne want to marry her American," Zadie said more 
 slowly. 
 
 " Then why doesn't she do what he wants her to ? Have 
 you seen him ? " 
 
 " Out! He is good looking for American. Nearly al- 
 ways they ees not that way. Most of them ees inseepid, 
 you see, weez pale faces an' light eyes." 
 
 I looked my amazement. Was it possible that Captain 
 Zadie could admire Frenchmen more than our splendid 
 Americans? Lady Jane's friend is a good man, then. 
 How I should like to see him ! Paris is such a lonely 
 place ! I want to go home ! I want to go back to Amer- 
 ica! 
 
 * 
 
 Of course, I can't beg! I feel quite ashamed because 
 I've been eating with Captain Zadie ; but have promised to 
 pay everything back to her very soon. 
 
 Every day I've been out searching for something to 
 do; but the city is filled with Americans situated like me. 
 No one seems to have money, and the French people 
 haven't any pity for poor foreigners. 
 
 Yesterday morning I made up my mind to ask Zadie 
 just what to do. In the afternoon she sat beside me, and, 
 like the good soul that she is, told me about Paris and of 
 the class of miserable women who, like myself, are without 
 money and without friends. 
 
 " You be not what we ees, leetle fool ! " she thrust in,
 
 36 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 after a pause. " You go home to your country, back to 
 your States, see? " 
 
 Of course I cried cried just as any girl would. I 
 was ashamed ashamed and so awfully afraid. 
 
 Captain Zadie told me of things that I do not feel like 
 writing at present, about every-day life upon Boulevard 
 St. Michel, sickening things, which set my head aching, 
 and my heart beating. I can't believe it, I can't! It is 
 all so horrible ! 
 
 I'm beginning to understand life now the five francs 
 is on the table before me. I feel the tingle of it on my 
 fingers. Daylight is peeping over the roofs of the build- 
 ings on St. Michel, and the vegetable carts are rattling 
 over the cobbles. Lady Jane has just come in and gone 
 to bed her room is next to mine. 
 
 Donnez moi un cadeau the phrase mingles with the 
 clatter of the carts and the twitter of the birds in the eaves 
 of yonder house. I am holding the five francs pressed in 
 my palm again. It is cold in my hand ; but a hot, tingling 
 sensation goes through me at its contact. I have de- 
 cided to spend it, and I shall never seek the man who 
 forced it upon me. In my imagination the Seine sounds 
 in my ears as I heard it so many times before. The mur- 
 mur is like the spirit of a loved one calling its own into a 
 mysterious land of rest. 
 
 ' 
 
 Lady Jane's American is with her. I hear his voice, 
 deep, musical, and resonant; but I can't follow his conver- 
 sation, for he speaks in French. I surmise that Lady 
 Jane doesn't understand English. 
 
 I have met Lady Jane Grey several times. She is pret- 
 tier than I thought her at first, although her eyes con- 
 tract into narrow slits when she looks at me. I love to 
 listen to the voice of her American. It is a familiar voice,
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 37 
 
 ringing clearer than the bell in the church tower at home. 
 Tears blind me until I can't see to write. 
 
 I have promised Captain Zadie to wait for her. She 
 wants to tell me something very important tonight. We'll 
 have coffee as soon as she comes home. 
 
 
 
 When Captain Zadie knocked at my door and asked 
 me to her room, I nearly flew out of my skin, I was so 
 glad. 
 
 I was surprised to find Lady Jane sitting in my large 
 chair. I took the divan. She smiled lazily, splendidly. 
 With her rounded chin supported on one small hand, she 
 reminded me of a beautiful cat that lifts its furry back 
 and rubs your dress when you speak to it. 
 
 But Lady Jane doesn't like me. I suppose it's the 
 natural antipathy the French have for other nationalities. 
 Still, she loves her American, and he is of my country. 
 
 Zadie and Lady Jane talked rapidly in French for about 
 five minutes. I could hear the words " American bank," 
 and understood other expressions that made me realize that 
 they were talking about me. Presently Lady Jane rose 
 languidly and, nodding to me, went out. Zadie told me 
 that Lady Jane doesn't like me. 
 
 " Eet ees because you ees more pretty than she. Jeanne 
 doesn't like pretty women. She ees afraid for her man to 
 see you." 
 
 " She needn't be," I replied seriously ; " for I don't want 
 to know anyone who loves her." 
 
 " He does not luf her," responded Zadie, helping her- 
 self to coffee. " He makes her angry weez the whole 
 world. He ees only trying to help her. She lufs heem." 
 
 " If he isn't in love with her, then," said I, " he couldn't 
 love me." 
 
 " You ees his countrywoman ? that ees why Jeanne fears.
 
 38 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I ees her friend, too. One time she safed my Violetta 
 that leetle dog, you know from getting into what you 
 call the pound. And now she say send you away and that 
 I mak you leave thees house now, at once. She haf fears 
 for her bon ami to see you." 
 
 My upper lip curled. " Lady Jane need not fear : her 
 friend is safe as far as I am concerned." But I can't for- 
 get the voice, the tones so tenderly familiar, of the co- 
 cotte's American, and I know that my reply had been 
 piqued from me. 
 
 For a few seconds after this declaration Captain Zadie 
 looked into my face. I gazed back at her. Tonight 
 would decide my fate. I had to work ! 
 
 Violetta, the tiny dog, curled comfortably in my lap. 
 I was content to remain silent until my companion spoke, 
 revolving in my mind the events of the last few weeks, 
 which had blackened my whole horizon as the rising of a 
 sudden storm darkens the summer's sun. I understand 
 now something of what life means, to have nothing be- 
 fore one but tears despondency and the river 
 Seine. 
 
 Suddenly Zadie rose and threw away the small end of 
 the cigarette. " I wish you could lif here weez me, in 
 my room," said she; "but I have ma mere (my mother), 
 you know, and it takes much money. For a leetle while 
 you be beggar good cocotte Donnez mol un cadeau 
 cocotte See? " 
 
 That hateful word sickened me. It dinned in my ears 
 and seared itself indelibly on my brain. At first I had 
 thought it the Open Sesame of hope : now it was abhorrent. 
 Of course, Captain Zadie could not add another burden 
 to her already heavy load. Her mother, oh, she has 
 someone to love! while I And with the thought of 
 the new forlornness that had come to me in so short a time 
 I buried my face in Violetta's soft fur and wept.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 39 
 
 As she searched my face, Captain Zadie remained silent. 
 I saw her lips twitch. 
 
 " Eet ees not easy the firs' start," she muttered in an 
 unsteady way. " Mon Dieu! eet ees not ! But one mus' 
 lif. You be good, you see? You beg. You ask, 
 * Dowiez moi un cadeau ' that ees all." 
 
 The satyrlike face of the man who had lured me to the 
 dark hallway rose before me. I shuddered the pain 
 about my heart made me writhe for minutes. 
 
 I, like thousands of others, was to earn my bread in 
 the dark corners of Boulevard St. Michel I was to be- 
 come one of that mass of weary women I had mistaken 
 for cloak models. From the bottom of my aching heart 
 I pitied them ; but most of all myself. It seemed to me like 
 giving the greatest and most sympathetic pity to the dying 
 man instead of the dead one. 
 
 " You preety. sleem, and American," Captain Zadie 
 burst forth. " You get many presents ; you soon go to 
 you country. Don't cry, leetle fool ! " 
 
 I crept back to my room and fell into bed. A terrifying 
 sensation of despair swept over me. In my mental dis- 
 order I could hear the murmuring of the river, calling 
 over and over its invitation to rest. It was the only way 
 to escape Boulevard St. Michel. Of all Paris I love the 
 river best. I went to sleep, and it was three o'clock in the 
 afternoon before I opened my eyes. 
 
 At first I could not imagine what woke me. Then I 
 realized that it was the voice of Lady Jane's American 
 so clear, so firm, so tinged with the richness of the land 
 in which he was born ! I could but turn over and bury 
 my face in the pillow. America! America! Darling 
 land of my birth ! Never shall I see thee again ! Today 
 is the last, the very last, day I shall live ! 
 
 Louder and more pleading came the voice from Lady 
 Jane's room. Then she answered in her lazy, exquisite
 
 40 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 French, and I imagined that she lolled on the divan like 
 a purring tigress, her eyes half closed, her lithe body 
 stretched in the fullness of its every beautiful curve. 
 
 In the last few days the view of life has changed com- 
 pletely. I have turned a dangerous corner, and a grue- 
 some vista, widened and broadened by experience, lies be- 
 fore me. The girl of yesterday is a woman of today, a 
 homeless, heartsick woman. 
 
 The even flow of Lady Jane's French mingled with the 
 entreaty of her companion. If I could but understand! 
 Captain Zadie said that he prays continually for the co- 
 cotte's conversion. 
 
 Suddenly Zadie's words came into my mind : " Jeanne 
 burns a candle every day before the Virgin Mary for the 
 love of her American." 
 
 " And does burning a candle help her? " I had asked. 
 
 " Eet bring her the man," Zadie had answered, " if the 
 blessed Virgin theenks good." 
 
 " What does she say when she prays ? " 
 
 " Fife Hail Marys and one Our Father, and fife Holy 
 Marys." 
 
 I listened intently as Zadie quoted the prayers to me ; 
 for I was ignorant of a religion that made a Paris cocotte 
 kneel before the Mother of Christ and beg the love of a 
 man. Captain Zadie said that Jane once knelt so near the 
 beautiful image of the Mother that her tears dropped upon 
 the folds of the blessed robe and washed some of the gilt 
 off. Lady Jane went out quickly, fearing the suisse 
 would curse her for such desecration. I'm hugging the 
 thought that I, too, need a religion. 
 
 If the Blessed Mother answered Lady Jane, couldn't 
 she help me ? Five Hail Marys ! And Five Holy Marys ! 
 How could I repeat those sacred words? I had never 
 learned them. I didn't know how to cross myself. I had 
 often seen the penitents at the foot of the altar; but had
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 41 
 
 not noticed the symbolic motions of repentance. I knew 
 only the Lord's Prayer. 
 
 I hastened into my clothes, and hurried out into Boule- 
 vard St. Michel over the river at which I gave scarcely 
 a glance on and to the Notre Dame to burn some can- 
 dles. Before leaving my room I had taken the little 
 change that remained of the five francs given me by the 
 dark Frenchman. I would offer my all to the Holy 
 Mother! I knew not how to express my desire in the 
 rhythmic words of the Roman Catholic faith ; but if there 
 is such a being as the Mother of Christ, if she lives be- 
 yond the clouds and the blue, then she will understand. 
 
 The church of Notre Dame loomed up before me; two 
 tall towers lifted themselves into the mist that hung over 
 the city. The curved figures of stone upon the facade 
 represented every mood in the trial of life. One long 
 line of sinners weighed in the balance of Satan's scales 
 were being tied together by small, grinning stone devils 
 who were leading the captives into the lower regions. I 
 fully believe that the tormented souls received their first 
 temptation in the boulevards of Paris. The panic-stricken 
 faces of the tortured mortals, roped in by Satan, seemed to 
 be typical of the terrible life into which I had been thrust. 
 With fast gathering tears, I turned into the church. The 
 altar of the Blessed Virgin, adorned with a few burning 
 candles, was the first thing that arrested my eyes. 
 
 Making my wants known by pointing to the small flick- 
 ering, I offered my sous, and followed the example of a 
 woman with a long veil who knelt before the altar. 
 
 Touching the candle to another, I stood it upon one 
 of the little pointed steel pins used to hold the tapers, and 
 knelt beside the woman in black. Through my fingers, 
 as I bowed reverently before the time-honored Mother of 
 the World's Savior, the bitterest tears of my short years 
 rained.
 
 42 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Our Father which art in Heaven 
 Hallowed be thy name " 
 
 I repeated. 
 
 I felt a touch upon my shoulder. A man with a serious 
 expression and closely drawn eyebrows stood over me. He 
 muttered in English: 
 
 " Mademoiselle has forgotten to cross herself." 
 
 I only dropped my head in reply. 
 
 The man moved away with a whispered petition. He 
 must have known that I was a novice at saying Catholic 
 prayers. My eyes reverted to the Holy Mother, and my 
 thought to my great need. 
 
 " Hail Mary " I began, and stopped. Then, with an 
 onward rush of emotion, I gasped, " Mother, for the sake 
 of the precious Child you hold to your heart, forgive my 
 ignorance. Keep me from taking the life which God, thy 
 Father and mine, hath given me. For the love of the 
 Savior to whom thou gavest His mortal life, give me bread 
 to eat. I am sick at heart alone afraid imploring 
 for the sake of Jesus that I may live." 
 
 It was all the Hail and the Holy Marys that I knew. 
 Then I rose to my feet, leaving the other woman to mutter 
 out her prayers. I felt frightened at the call of the 
 river no longer, nor did I hold out my hands to the swiftly 
 flowing water. Somehow, the faith in the Holy Mother 
 had taken my distress from me. I felt that the unburden- 
 ing of my heart before the altar was the one thing that 
 had saved my life and my soul, and that I could din 
 Donnez moi un cadeau into the ears of every man wander- 
 ing in the boulevards of Paris and yet be safe. I came 
 back to St. Michel with but a backward glance at the 
 river which now seemed to spell my name with whispered 
 hope.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 1DID not tell Captain Zadie that I had offered a prayer 
 for my life she didn't know that I had intended 
 taking it. When I sat with her before coming in here, 
 she asked me what success I had had in the boulevards. 
 
 " I have four francs," I said weakly. " It is nearly all 
 in sous, too." 
 
 Zadie crossed herself as the woman in black had done. 
 I noticed that she did it with her right hand. When I go 
 to church again, I shall remember that. 
 
 "Four francs!" she ejaculated. " Eet ees more than 
 I haf taken. But you ees pretty, while I " she sighed 
 and crossed herself again. " Tell me about eet. You 
 see men, who pinched your arms an' deed comme fa 
 like that, to your what you call eet ? chin." 
 
 " Yes," I confirmed truthfully. 
 
 " An' you deed not smile at them ? " She scrutinized 
 my face with a sharp glance. 
 
 " I told you I would not, and I didn't." 
 
 My wealth made my heart throb madly. Donnez moi 
 un cadeau had saved me from the river. Out of evil had 
 come great good, and the Mother with her Holy Child 
 had directed my feet into a path whereby I might live. 
 
 I laughed at Violetta as she tried to spring to my lap. 
 She tumbled down; but her second effort succeeded in an- 
 choring her on my knees. She stretched out her four 
 paws, and with a contented whine went to sleep. 
 
 " You see," I resumed, " .1 kept thinking 'of what you 
 said to me, that if I were successful, I could go back 
 
 43
 
 44 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 to America, and when I said Donnez moi un cadeau I felt 
 sure that I would get something. Look at all this 1 " 
 
 I held the coppers in my fingers, and counted over tha 
 precious money. 
 
 Captain Zadie then told me she was positive that the 
 " leetle American fool " could soon go back to the land of 
 her birth. 
 
 * 
 
 I came home a little while ago from the patisserie. As I 
 came Zadie handed me a piece of paper. 
 
 " Keep eet about you somewhere," she advised. " The 
 police ees been here, an' I told heem you was my sister, 
 Christobel McCall. They not know your true name. 
 With that you will not be stopped by the police. You can 
 beg and no fear." 
 
 I did not answer a word; for shame ran through every 
 nerve in my body, and a sickening realization of degrada- 
 tion grew in my heart until I almost felt that death was 
 preferable to this licensed life of a beggar on the Paris 
 boulevards. 
 
 : 
 
 A long time has gone by. I'm hoarding every coin 
 with avidity, and handle it like a miser, whose glistening 
 eyes and trembling fingers are the signs of his delight at 
 the cold touch of money. I, too, love it dearly. Through 
 money I shall return to the shores of my beloved America, 
 and no one will ever know of this one dark stain on my 
 life. With my whole soul I loathe the Boulevard St. 
 Michel ; but the gleanings from it mean existence. 
 
 
 
 I have just counted over my money again. In four 
 weeks I have managed to save five dollars. 
 
 A sudden idea has made me catch my breath. Can I 
 go back to America alone and penniless? Why shouldn't 
 I beg enough money to train my voice, which one day may
 
 45 
 
 bring me all that a woman can desire, fame, money, and 
 love. Yes, even he may one day hear me and wonder, 
 not knowing the dark places through which I have been 
 dragged to get my pearl. 
 
 * 
 
 Every day I have taken delight in listening to the voice 
 of Lady Jane's visitor. I like it because it reminds me of 
 home. 
 
 This morning I had a great surprise. I received a letter 
 from Casperone Larodi. He desires to know where I am. 
 
 " I love you as it is not possible for me to love another 
 woman," he wrote. " I cannot marry you now ; but I 
 would help you gladly, if you will permit me. I have my 
 own apartment, to which you are more than welcome. I 
 have spent much time in looking for you ; but without avail, 
 BO I address this letter to your banker, who will give me 
 no information about you. I know that you do not go to 
 the bank for your letters, because I have stationed myself 
 in front of the door for many days, not even moving for 
 dejeuner. Where are you, Dear? If this follows you to 
 America, will you write to me, if only because of my great 
 love? You will always be first in my heart, even if I 
 should be forced to marry another woman." 
 
 I shall never see Casperone again, he is as far from 
 the vista of my life and my future as my present is from 
 my past of yesterday. I have written him a short note 
 saying that I don't wish to see him. He will never think 
 of looking for me over here. I rarely cross the river into 
 newer Paris, lest I meet some of my former acquaintances. 
 I had rather live on the Boulevard St. Michel for the rest of 
 my life than go to Casperone ! Donnez moi un cadeau 
 Dear God ! to what depths have I fallen 1 How I hate this 
 moving lantern show of furtive nighthawks and painted 
 women !
 
 46 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Tonight I had an experience that took me back months 
 to the dear days of respectability. 
 
 For sometime after leaving home this evening, I could 
 not bring myself to open my lips. Donnez moi un cadeau 
 refused to be framed, even in tremulous tones. Near the 
 rue leading to the Pantheon I heard a voice murmur in my 
 ear: 
 
 " Bon soir, Mademoiselle." 
 
 " I do not speak French," I replied frigidly. 
 
 " Oh, English ! " said he in broken tones. " I speak 
 English, too. I lived in London and New York for awhile. 
 Come with me and have something to drink." 
 
 The voice was kindly, although the French ring in it 
 was unmistakable. The eyes were dark and piercing, and 
 raven curls clustered from beneath a soft hat. 
 
 " I don't drink," I replied; " but I thank you." 
 
 " Then some sparkling water or grenadine yes ? " 
 
 It had been a long time since I had talked English te 
 anyone save Zadie, and I allowed myself to be persuaded. 
 
 " You are an American ? " he asked, removing his hat 
 and great coat. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 "Yes? That's nice. I like American women. Once I 
 was in New York for three years." 
 
 I vaguely wondered how anyone who had ever lived in 
 that country of homes and contentment could be satisfied 
 in Paris. But his critical scrutiny brought me back to the 
 present. Into his eyes shot signs of recognition. I could 
 not hide my agitation, nor could I speak to aid him in his 
 search for my identity. 
 
 " Ah ! I remember ! " he exclaimed. " How strange 
 and yet how delightful ! It was one night at the Waldorf 
 in New York with oh, that Colonel what is his name ? " 
 With a characteristic gesture of the French, he tapped his 
 forehead as if to aid his memory.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 47 
 
 " Coster," I replied. I could scarcely breathe. 
 
 " Yes, Coster I was there at that dinner as the guest 
 of Roger Everard." 
 
 My face was purple with embarrassment. He had ut- 
 tered the one name sacred to me the name I had en- 
 shrined in my heart as the ancient Greeks enshrined their 
 gods! 
 
 " I remember now," I gasped. " I saw you once." 
 
 " Yes, only once ; but my memory is good. How is it 
 that you are here, and above all how came you out at such 
 a time of night? " 
 
 In my consternation I sought for an answer to his ques- 
 tion. " My tooth ached dreadfully last night," I said ; 
 " so, fearing I should have another attack, I came out in 
 search of a chemist." 
 
 " It is not wise for a beautiful young girl to go out 
 alone in Paris," he chided slowly. 
 
 " Oh, in America we have no fear in the streets ; at least, 
 not in my home town." 
 
 He reddened as he begged to be pardoned for his rude- 
 ness in speaking to me. " I was lonely," he said in expla- 
 nation, " and that must be my excuse for my rude be- 
 havior. Will you pardon me ? " 
 
 It must have been through the intervention of some 
 higher power that he had accosted me instead of my beg- 
 ging a gift from him. I was so thankful, so thankful 
 for he was a friend of Roger Everard's ! 
 
 " I was lonely, too," I answered, " and so you have no 
 reason to offer any apologies to me. I was not compelled 
 to come with you, you know ; but I felt glad when I Jieard 
 you speak English." This pleased him. " I am studying 
 here," I went on quietly, " and you won't be displeased if 
 I do not ask you to call upon me? I give very little time 
 to pleasure. I am trying to master the language also." 
 
 " I should like to take you to the opera some evening, if
 
 48 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 you will go. Why not? It will give you a splendid idea 
 of French stage work. You may choose your own time. 
 Your name is Miss Fitzpatrick ? " 
 
 I nodded my head ; but said that I couldn't accept his in- 
 vitation. 
 
 On my way home I shivered when I thought how little 
 he knew that I slept the entire day and spent the night on 
 Boulevard St. Michel. Oh, if I could but once throw off 
 this shell of deceit and go to the opera! It would take 
 only a few francs to get ready; but I can't spare them. 
 Francs mean singing lessons, and possibly Roger 
 Everard. The name rings in my brain as past events toss 
 before me. Roger Everard is my ideal of manhood, so 
 tall, so kindly eyed and courteous. Suddenly it came to 
 me as a revelation that I had used him as a standard by 
 which to measure every man I met. Now I know that I 
 love him ! If Lady Jane burns candles for her American, 
 why shouldn't I burn one for Roger Everard? I had 
 hoped, I still hope, to make him proud of me. 
 
 
 
 I burned another candle at four o'clock this afternoon. 
 Zadie has taught me how to cross myself; but the five 
 Hails and Holy Marys I can't remember. But I am sat- 
 isfied that I shall see Roger again, and that he will care a 
 little and that I shall then be as happy as I am now 
 unhappy. Lady Jane's visitor was with her when I went 
 out. His voice charms and magnetizes me more and more. 
 Possibly it is because I can trace a resemblance to another 
 voice in America. 
 
 * 
 
 Paris grows more wonderful hour by hour, and I'm look- 
 ing with enlightened eyes upon everything. 
 
 Under Captain Zadie's room lives another girl named 
 Babette, She is beautiful, and no bigger than a child of
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 49 
 
 twelve. Her flashing black eyes grow fierce, then tender, 
 as she pours out her even, liquid French. I like to watch 
 her when she speaks with Zadie. I always know when she 
 mentions her sweetheart. Emotion deepens the color of 
 her eyes, and they grow drowsy and altogether lovely. 
 Her lover, Anatole Beaucault, designs her hats and dresses. 
 She goes into raptures over his taste, and commented to us 
 upon his broad shoulders, height, and strength. He never 
 looks to the left or right as he passes. It is known about 
 the quarter here that he loves Babette passionately. Cap- 
 tain Zadie says that the small girl gives him fifty francs 
 a week, and that he is studying medicine and art. She 
 also says that the girl finds her happiness in earning money 
 for him. I can't imagine how a man can allow a tiny tot 
 of humanity to supply his needs. Strange people, these 
 French ! 
 
 I saw them tonight, and the memory makes my head 
 whirl yet. Directly in front of the School of Pharmacy 
 a long line of students marched toward me. They walked 
 two abreast and sang a rollicking college song. Their 
 heads were covered with broad, flat hats, and their long 
 black robes swept loosely to the ground. As they neared 
 and passed under an electric light, something white at- 
 tracted my attention. One large man walked some paces 
 ahead, and others followed with the even tread of soldiers. 
 The white object was suspended from the neck of the tall 
 leader. Like the pendulum of a clock it swung to and fro 
 with lithe grace, the sharp, willowy outlines enhanced by 
 the light overhead. They came slowly closer, and I saw 
 that the white object was Babette. She was clinging to the 
 neck of her giant lover while he flung her from side to 
 side like a babe. Her taut, white arms were bare to the 
 shoulders, and the black, fluffy hair, loosened by the wind, 
 swept in all directions. At intervals she fastened her red 
 lips to the dark cheek of the student, her tender, wicked
 
 50 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 eyes closing as if in delicious ecstasy. Anatole walked 
 majestically, lifting his arms in French gestures to keep 
 time to the song he sang. I leaned against the railings 
 and allowed them to pass. Captain Zadie told me when I 
 described it to her that if any man had dared to touch even 
 Babette's dress he would have been dead in an instant. 
 
 Yet the girl in the white dress who clung to her lover's 
 neck is nothing more nor less than a boulevard cocotte !
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WHAT a long, long time I've been here! The 
 four months that have slipped away have 
 taught me many things ; but I can never forget 
 that I am but a simple Paris vagabond. I say, Donnez 
 moi un cadeau, s'il vous plait, as glibly as if I had spoken 
 French all my life. Every time I ask a sou and receive a 
 franc, I feel as elated as a hungry boy who has begged 
 bread and with it was given cheese. But money does 
 come in slowly. My really happy hours are spent with 
 Zadie, and Fve studied every spare moment on French. 
 She encourages me to speak in her tongue. I find myself 
 writing in this book French words, exclamations, and easy 
 sentences quite naturally. 
 
 Last night when I was drinking coffee and Zadie was 
 clearing the table she asked me again about Roger Ever- 
 ard. 
 
 " Ees he a good man, Cherie? " 
 
 " Oh, so good ! " I said quickly. " He's an artist, and 
 sometime will be very great. Oh, yes, I know he is good." 
 
 " How you know ? " 
 
 I hesitated, with the coffee cup suspended in the air. 
 " I only know that I think so," I replied meditatively. 
 " He could not be otherwise, with his face and manners. 
 I don't believe he ever did a wicked thing in his life." 
 
 " Some day you will marry heem, eh? " 
 
 My blood tingled through my veins with joy at the 
 thought. " He hasn't asked me," I said, dropping my 
 eyes. " I've seen him only a few times." 
 
 " Perhaps he marry another girl, while you " 
 
 51
 
 52 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Her hesitation brought bitter words from my lips. 
 " While I'm begging on the boulevards ! Dear Heaven ! 
 What a terrible thought! But, Zadie dear, I remember 
 how he looked at me. He really acted as if he cared for 
 me." 
 
 " Men ees all alike," she grunted. 
 
 " No, they're not, Zadie, they can't be," I contradicted, 
 comparing in my mind Casperone Larodi with Roger 
 Everard. 
 
 " Eet ees not to make you think less of your Protestant 
 lover," said she, " that I say again, a woman who luf s a 
 man ees lost." 
 
 I shook my head and replied in a low voice, " Zadie, I 
 am afraid I am fond of him. Although I haven't seen him 
 many times, he is in my thoughts all through my waking 
 hours." 
 
 I raise my cup nervously to my lips. Life on the Boule- 
 vard St. Michel had changed my ideas ; yet there rose be- 
 fore my mind's eye the earnest face of Roger Everard 
 and his brilliant smile that day, long ago, when he ac- 
 cepted Aunty's invitation to dinner, in dear old New 
 Hampshire. He was what God intended him to be, a 
 clean-minded, noble-souled American, destined to be a great 
 artist. This satisfied feeling I have as to his future goads 
 me on to make something of myself. It is strange that I 
 should look upon men as God's most wonderful part of 
 creation, even in the light of my new knowledge of them. 
 
 Zadie read my thoughts and blurted out, " You will not 
 always feels that way. They don't gif you the chance. 
 When a girl ees a fool and trust a man and puts her 
 life" 
 
 " Her hopes, too," I put in, as she paused. 
 
 " and what you like," she resumed, " Pom ! Every- 
 thing ees smash and you ees weezout hope, weezout any- 
 thing!"
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 53 
 
 " Zadie," I queried, breaking a pause, " tell me about 
 him I mean the man who made you feel like that." 
 
 " He was Engleesh," she replied brokenly, and in sym- 
 pathy Violetta opened her small mouth and whined. 
 
 " An Englishman was wicked to you ? " 
 
 '* Non! Not wicked; but I had to leaf heem. I was 
 young then an' " 
 
 " Pretty ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " Oui, I was ver 5 pretty." 
 
 As she spoke she halted on her way to the window with 
 a pan of garbage suspended in her hand. 
 
 " Eet vas twenty years ago and before I come to 
 Boulevard St. Michel. Ma mere, pauvre mignonne, vas 
 poor. She haf not 'nough for us all. Some of us ees dead 
 now." 
 
 She cut off so shortly that I cried out: 
 
 " What an awful thing it is to be poor ! " 
 
 Giving no heed to my interjection, she went on: "I 
 vent to England to service. I work for a madame who 
 was sweet Engleesh but oh, so cold ! The Engleesh, 
 they know not how to forgeeve. Forgeeveness is such a 
 leetle thing ; but when a woman does not know what a big 
 thing life ees, f orgeeveness seems not so leetle ! " 
 
 She finished the last of her lengthy harangue with a 
 huskiness that roughened her voice. In haste, she threw 
 up the window, pressed the button for the garbage lift, 
 and stood swallowing hard while the iron cage squeaked its 
 way upward and stopped gratingly before her. After 
 shifting the pan to the shelf, Zadie touched the white but- 
 ton and watched the lift disappear into the shadows below. 
 Then she came slowly back with an unusual pallor on her 
 face, spreading out her fingers expressively. I did not 
 quite understand her gesture. She noted my puzzled ex- 
 pression and proceeded : 
 
 " Mignonne, I ees sad for you. You will learn right
 
 54 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 enough, very soon ah, yes, ver* soon, ma cherie. Pau- 
 vre mtgnonne! " 
 
 But she did not explain what she meant, and I hastened 
 her on with her story : 
 
 "After I had been there a long time, I remembered I 
 was ver' happy. I was learning to spik Engleesh. Mad- 
 ame's son came home, an' he told me he lufed me." 
 
 " No wonder he loved you, Zadie ! " I exclaimed as she 
 stopped again. " You must have been a perfect dear when 
 you were young." 
 
 " I tell you he said he lufed me, an' so he deed then ; 
 but eet was only a man's luf, lasting one day, one week, 
 ma cherie, and after that zt ! no more ! " She snapped 
 her fingers fiercely. 
 
 " Poor Zadie ! " I murmured ; for in my mind I saw the 
 picture of the lonely little French girl and the young 
 master whose love was given at such usurer's rates. 
 
 " Well, there ees not much more," Zadie said grimly, 
 taking up her darning. " I leP England because hees 
 mother made me. I lef heem an' " 
 
 "And what?" I asked breathlessly. "And what, 
 Zadie?" 
 
 Her raddled, kindly face grew softer, her eyes dim. 
 
 " There was a bebe a bebe. His mother say I mus' 
 gif her the leetle child, and go away to France. She say 
 it was for Rupert's sake. Oh, Mignonne, my heart was 
 torn ! I lufed my bebe oh, I lufed heem ! He was Eng- 
 leesh, such a fine boy! But I knew what a life he would 
 haf with me. I thought of my bebe here in Paris weez a 
 mother he could not be well, my cherie, proud of ; so I 
 keesed heem goodby one day, came away, and never went 
 back." 
 
 " Is he living," I asked after a few moments ; for I re- 
 spected the twitching of her lips, and the endeavor to hide 
 her emotion, " the child, I mean ? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 55 
 
 " Oui; but hees father ees dead. I read eet in the paper. 
 My boy ees nineteen now ; but he ees never to know about 
 hees mother." 
 
 I imagined a typical English home and a handsome boy 
 of nineteen, Zadie's child, living, perhaps, the methodical, 
 provincial life of England, and I ejaculated: 
 
 " No, of course not ! Of course not ! '* 
 
 Then I felt sorry that I had said it; for Zadie's face 
 drew down in pain. She walked to the window and looked 
 out into the darkness. Ashamed, I followed her. 
 
 " I only meant, Dear," I tried to explain, putting my 
 arms round her neck, " that the boy would suffer if he 
 thought his mother were here." 
 
 ** Oui, he would. He thinks hees mother ees there weez 
 him," said she. " I never sleep or wake that I not long to 
 see my boy. I luf ed hees father so ! Eet is like that, the 
 life of us." 
 
 Here ensued a silence so prolonged that Violetta whined 
 again, and presently put up her little paws as a gentle re- 
 minder that she preferred a warm lap to the drafts of the 
 floor. 
 
 All at once a light flaring from a window above us cast 
 a pantomime of moving shadows on the whitewashed wall 
 of the house at the back of the garden. We saw the clear 
 silhouette of a man gesticulating to the shadow of a 
 woman. Immediately afterward appeared the image of a 
 second man holding a bundle in his arms which he held out 
 toward the woman. Zadie and I pressed closer to the 
 window to distinguish where the silent drama was being 
 played ; but before we could solve the mystery a curtain was 
 drawn and the garden was in darkness. 
 
 " Ees you ever going to tell him your man, of your 
 life here? " Zadie asked later, when we had pulled the cur- 
 tains and were seated in the lighted room. 
 
 No, no ! " I cried. " I can't I can't ! To him I
 
 56 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 want to be the best girl in all the world the very best. 
 I think of him all through the night on the boulevards, 
 and when I come home I pray for him so hard, so fervently, 
 that if there is a God I know He will answer. I had rather 
 have his love and his thoughts than all the money in 
 France ! " 
 
 " You would be a bad, bad girl, Pheelis, if " 
 
 I shivered and pushed Violetta to the floor. She gave 
 a forlorn yap and ran to Zadie. 
 
 " My love for Roger Everard will keep me as good as 
 nothing else can, Dear." 
 
 " Poor leetle American fool ! " Zadie observed grimly. 
 " The man you luf will be your enemy, the most terreeble 
 enemy in the world, more terreeble than the boulevard 
 with all eets ugly ways, all eets bad men, thees beautiful 
 man you luff." 
 
 " Hush, Zadie, hush ! He could lift me to the very 
 light of Heaven if he should tell me that he loved me " 
 Then, catching myself together, my voice trailed off into 
 silence. I am sometimes ashamed of my hot, demanding 
 blood. 
 
 " He breeng you down to hell, more likely," Zadie said, 
 setting her lips and nursing her knee. " Eet ees only men 
 we luf who do that. I think you ees no different from 
 other women. You will go through eet, Cherie, you will 
 go through eet, like Zadie ! And look at me ! " 
 
 The great, dyed red head was poised like that of an an- 
 gry animal. Her eyes deepened beneath their blackened 
 lashes. Then, with a half bitter laugh, she shrugged her 
 shoulders and patted my hand. I could read in her face 
 a genuine love for me. 
 
 Before I could answer, the piercing cry of a child broke 
 in upon us. It came from somewhere near the roof-line. 
 We both rose to our feet. 
 
 " Was eet a cat? " asked Zadie after a moment.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 57 
 
 " No," said I ; " it was a child, a very young child, and 
 suffering, I know." 
 
 Going to the window and pulling back the curtain, I 
 looked out into the night. I discerned the dim outline of 
 a cat prowling on the garden fence ; but I knew the sound 
 had not come from this stealthy animal, half hidden by the 
 dead, tossing vines. For several minutes Zadie stood be- 
 side me. Twice again the scream rang out far above our 
 heads ; but the second cry was stopped by a nursing bot- 
 tle so Zadie said. The cries were so different from 
 those which would have come from the healthy lungs of a 
 hungry babe ! 
 
 " That makes me theenk," put in Zadie, when we had 
 reseated ourselves. " I read in the afternoon paper that 
 a lady lifirrg in the Bois has lost her bebe." 
 
 " How ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Someone stole eet, poor soul ! There read eet." 
 
 I took the paper and caught the name of Larodi. Then 
 I passed it back to Zadie. 
 
 " Tell me what it says : I can't read it all," I implored. 
 
 " That a woman rich her husband ees dead had 
 a leetle new bebe. Someone took eet away from her yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " How wicked ! " I exclaimed. " And, Zadie, I know the 
 woman's family. Her people were some of my first friends 
 in Paris." 
 
 " Not ver* good friends," grunted Zadie. 
 
 The loss of Count Larodi's little nephew passed quickly 
 from my mind; but just before I tumbled into bed I won- 
 dered if the little lost child were back again safe in ita 
 mother's arms.
 
 ZADIE was frying a bit of meat when I ran into her 
 rooms. 
 " That child's cry haunted me all the time I was 
 sleeping," I said, going to the window. " Have you heard 
 it again? " 
 
 " No ; I think it was hungry, that ees all." 
 
 " But it was in this house, above us." 
 
 61 Oh, perhaps some girl has her bebe weez her," replied 
 Zadie. " The leetle thing was hungry. Sit down and 
 eat." 
 
 It was almost four o'clock in the afternoon and al- 
 ready getting dusk. Zadie lighted the smoky lamp, cut 
 two huge pieces of bread from a long loaf, and we began 
 our meal. We were unusually melancholy, and ate our 
 dinner with but few words. Suddenly, without the slight- 
 est warning, we were terrorized into action by another 
 scream breaking from above, and echoing and reechoing 
 about our ears. Zadie pushed her chair back heavily. I 
 ran to the window and looked up. There was the noise of 
 a closing sash ; then all was quiet. 
 
 Just before dinner, Zadie had drawn up the garbage lift 
 and had forgotten to lower it. In a moment of impulse 
 I opened the window, and before she could object stepped 
 into the cage, touched the button, and was carried slowly 
 upward. I felt I must find that child. It might be alone 
 and in danger. 
 
 Crouching in the iron cage, I kept my eye to the chain 
 hole. Passing each floor, I saw the inmate of the room 
 
 58
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 59 
 
 still in bed, sleeping her tired sleep after the long night's 
 work. 
 
 At the top, before a cracked window, the car came to a 
 standstill. A bare-floored room, lighted by a single little 
 lamp, shown blurred and indistinct through the dirty pane. 
 The sash slipped up as I touched it, and I could see strange 
 apparatus and poisonous looking messes in bottles on the 
 shelves. 
 
 The place was as silent as a tomb, silent with a mys- 
 tery that congealed my blood and froze my heart within 
 me. I was looking upon a secret room the like of which 
 I had never seen before. I had only to touch the button 
 of the lift again to glide safely back to Zadie ; but at that 
 moment my spirit of investigation grew stronger than my 
 fear, and I stepped over the sill into the room. With 
 bated breath I silently moved forward a pace. My fool- 
 hardy action was stayed by a voice speaking English in 
 another room. 
 
 " Where does that draft come from? " 
 
 A woman's guttural voice fretfully replied, " I don't 
 know, nor care, Abbott." 
 
 " All right, then. Let's give the brat a drink. That 
 fellow'll be here in a minute." 
 
 I heard them coming toward me, the woman's heels click- 
 ing as she walked. My knees shook under me. I would 
 go back by the way I had come! I turned breathlessly 
 about and flung one foot over the windowsill, at the same 
 time fumbling for the button to start the lift. In my ex- 
 citement my fingers could not find the small knob. 
 
 By staying where I was, I should certainly be found; 
 for the person with the deep voice was already near the 
 doorway, and even if I bent in the lift I should be dis- 
 covered. A hasty survey of the room disclosed a cupboard 
 with an open door. I turned back, lightly crossed to it,
 
 60 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 pushed the door wider, slipped in, partly closed it after me, 
 and sank into the dark corner. 
 
 The horror of the awful place grew upon me, almost 
 making me witless. I shook like an aspen leaf. It was 
 an unknown fear that decided me to stay hidden until I 
 could escape unnoticed. The footsteps coming nearer ar- 
 rested my loud breathing. A man in house-slippers, with- 
 out a coat, halted in the doorway. He was young, short, 
 and solidly built, with hair hanging in thick strands over 
 a high forhead. 
 
 "The window is open, confound it!" he growled in 
 English. " And that damned concierge has sent the lift 
 up here. Anyone would think we sent garbage down a 
 dozen times a day." 
 
 He leaned forward, touched the button, and the lift 
 creaked out of sight. The window rolled down, and I 
 was left with no visible means of escape. The man's pres- 
 ence filled me with a sense of terrible danger, and I longed 
 wildly to be downstairs with Zadie. 
 
 Suddenly from the floor, close by my side, came the pro- 
 longed, harassed cry of a child. I shrank back fright- 
 ened into the corner. The man growled something I didn't 
 catch, gave the cupboard door a kick, banging it in my 
 face, and I was in darkness. 
 
 A scraping noise sounding at my left aroused me. 
 Stealthily I put out my hand, groping over the thing. It 
 was the warm, curly head of a young infant who was 
 strapped to a board like an Indian's papoose, with a band- 
 age drawn closely over its forehead. I dared not loosen 
 it, fearing the child might cry again ; but I ran my fingers 
 over the small body. Then I remembered that the rooms 
 were over Zadie's. These must have been built on the 
 same plan. The cupboard was a long one with two doors. 
 The child must be almost opposite the other door. 
 
 The man outside grunted irritably, rose, opened the cup-
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 61 
 
 board door farthest from me, and shoved in a huge hand. 
 The child was dragged out, and I dared say no word. 
 The little fellow must have been hurt by the movement; 
 but as he cried sharply the man caught the sound in his 
 fat hand. A tiny crack in the panel of the door made it 
 possible for my eyes to follow the movements of those in 
 the room, and a powerful desire to learn the fate of the 
 babe possessed me and covered my body with a cold sweat. 
 The woman placed herself in a chair, and the fat fellow, 
 with the child stretched out, bound to a board with four 
 separate cords, sat facing her. I couldn't imagine what 
 they were about to do. 
 
 " The blasted little creature doesn't seem to respond 
 very well to the treatment," said the fat man. " It doesn't 
 seem to have made the slightest impression upon him. He's 
 a tough little beggar, damn him ! " 
 
 His companion replied something in broken English. 
 
 " It isn't safe to let the brat yelp," went on the man ; 
 " but he can't breathe if his mouth is covered. Give him 
 a drink." 
 
 Avidly the child sucked the milk from the spoon. What 
 were they going to do with it, and what was their object 
 in strapping it to the board? 
 
 A light rap at the outside door caused them to slip the 
 babe back to its place beside me. The milk had slightly 
 soothed the child, and I imagined that it was becoming 
 used to the hurt ; for it was only a whimper that lifted up 
 from the darkness. As I put my hand gently down upon 
 the bandaged head, I had a desire to scream, to grasp the 
 child from the floor and fly. But between me and freedom 
 was the short man and the woman who rolled her words 
 upward from her throat. Another knock, and the man 
 slipped back the bolt, stepped aside, and allowed a figure 
 to pass in. The instant the door closed the bolt shot back 
 to its position. After the curt words of greeting had
 
 62 
 
 passed between them, I bent lower to see the newcomer's 
 face. Casperone Larodi, with a bundle in his arms, stood 
 facing- the fat man. The heavy-lidded blue eyes, the 
 curled mustache, and the well-trained Vandyke were all 
 familiar to me. Not once after that did I take my eyes 
 from the crack in the door. I would discover some reason 
 for the little atom at my side, the seething bottles, and 
 Casperone's presence. 
 
 Count Larodi dropped into a chair. "A note was 
 brought you this afternoon. You expected me? " he 
 asked. 
 
 The fat man nodded and glanced at the woman warn- 
 ingly. She heeded the silent order, not moving, save to 
 fold her hands. 
 
 " Here, take the child," said Casperone at last. " I'm 
 dead tired of it, and I want the work well done. You 
 hear ? " He said this huskily. " It must be sure ! " 
 
 " Monsieur wants the work sure, Ann. Dis done, dls 
 done! My wife knows. 'Twill be sure enough! You 
 don't need fear." 
 
 But the woman with a strained expression maintained 
 silence. 
 
 " The work will be done," the man repeated again. 
 
 " When ? " asked Casperone. 
 
 " Not until Monsieur is ready to tell who the child is, 
 and why the operation is to be performed." 
 
 Count Larodi's reply was inaudible. For a moment 
 there rose before me the picture of a woman passing fair ; 
 but it quickly faded, so absorbed was I in him. 
 
 " Do you think me an ass ? " he exclaimed presently. 
 " Do you really think I am going to place myself in your 
 hands? If God ever made a better pair of villains than 
 you two, I'd like to see them ! " Casperone's eyes flashed 
 over the man and woman as he ended. " Your business 
 should teach you to dispense with curiosity."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 63 
 
 A curious half-smile flitted over the fat man's face, and 
 he allowed his gaze to rest upon the woman. 
 
 " God made us to do service for such as you," he an- 
 swered, turning slightly in his chair. " Never for one 
 moment get it into your head that we would cause you any 
 worry afterward. We only want to be sure of the man 
 we're dealing with, and to drag you, Monsieur, into the 
 mud as deeply as we go into the mire. It is a rule of this 
 establishment not to deal with anyone who hasn't sufficient 
 money to stand by us if we get into trouble. And then, 
 too, we want to know what to do with the child, if you 
 should happen to die to carry out Monsieur's plans, 
 that's all." 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Casperone said in a hard 
 voice, " He is my brother's child, and I bribed its nurse 
 yesterday to take it from its mother." 
 
 I sickened, nearly fainted; for I realized that this man 
 was not only unprincipled my own experience had 
 taught me that but also a criminal. I now knew who 
 was responsible for the kidnapping of the baby of which 
 Zadie and I had read. 
 
 Just at that moment another whimper rose from my 
 side. Again I touched the bandaged head, easing the 
 edge of the rubber strap with the tips of my fingers. 
 
 " You say the work is very sure? " asked Casperone, 
 after meditation. 
 
 " Is the work sure, Ann? " 
 
 Abbott said this to the woman cunningly ; but she made 
 no reply, merely raised her hand deprecatingly, giving a 
 sidelong glance at the Count. The sly question and an- 
 swering gestures sounded a child's death knell. 
 
 " I wish it were over," was all Casperone said, rising and 
 going toward the window, a sinister expression darkening 
 his face. It was intermingled with fear, hesitation, and 
 disgust.
 
 64 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I flushed with shame as I remembered his impassioned 
 words to me, his protestations about love and marriage. 
 
 Not for one moment did I take my fingers from under 
 the strap on the curly little head at my elbow. The hurt 
 baby and I were becoming fast friends. Oh ! how I should 
 have liked but there was the whining baby in the 
 woman's lap to think of. It lay unrolled from the several 
 blankets that had protected it from the cold. Only God 
 in Heaven knew whether or not I should be able to save 
 both babies and myself; but of this I was resolved: If I 
 ever left those rooms alive, those two babies should go 
 with me! I knew who the fat baby was; but the other, 
 the tiny sufferer at my side, was a little stranger to me. 
 If I could only tear the rubber band, or loosen it some 
 way ! But I dared not, fearing another scream. 
 
 Casperone was speaking again. " It is not very pleas- 
 ant," he remarked, returning to his chair, with his gloves 
 in his hand, " to uncover family skeletons before stran- 
 gers." 
 
 " My Lord is with friends," said the fat man obsequi- 
 ously. 
 
 " Of course, of course, I know ; but how long will it 
 take to complete that job? " 
 
 " It depends upon what you want done," was the reply. 
 
 Casperone pointed his forefinger at the rosy-faced child 
 who was now looking quietly at the lamplight with that 
 wise expression that rests in the eyes of all young children. 
 
 " You see, the fact is," he explained, " that this child 
 must lose its identity. Its mother is my sister-in-law, and 
 if it hadn't been for this brat I should have come in for 
 some money from my dead brother. And with the fortune 
 I should have been able to marry a girl I love. I do not 
 want the child to die. I can stand anything but murder. 
 Murder would mean the loss of our heads, if it came to 
 light."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 65 
 
 He glanced significantly from Abbott to the woman. 
 Over the dark face of Ann swept an expression of terror, 
 and the fat man moved uneasily in his chair. 
 
 " The mother will never recognize her baby in a blind 
 beggar ! " The Count's voice pronounced the words care- 
 fully. 
 
 Again the picture of the stolen baby's mother flashed to 
 my mind. My fingers itched to carry it back to her ; but 
 it seemed hopeless when I considered the obstacles to be 
 overcome. 
 
 A whine at my side I had forgotten to lift the rub- 
 ber strap ; for the little fellow outside had claimed my at- 
 tention for a minute. 
 
 " Don't use methods that are apt to kill him," Casperone 
 broke in, with an ugly smile. " What I want done will 
 allow him a means of livelihood. I only want him to pass 
 his life" 
 
 " In darkness," added the fat man, his eyes roving over 
 the woman contemplatively. " Then Monsieur will pay 
 the money now ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What shall we do with the child later? " 
 
 " I'll tell you that when I'm ready. Keep it here until 
 I notify you. How much money do you want tonight? " 
 
 After some parleying between the men a sum was paid, 
 large and exorbitant, the price of the wondering blue 
 eyes of the infant, baby eyes that searched the light for 
 the mystery of the shining ! 
 
 In another moment Casperone was gone, leaving a huge 
 roll of notes and the young babe. Now was the time to 
 make some plan ! I could not rescue the children unless 
 I took them with me, and I knew where to go if I could 
 once get out of that door through which Casperone had 
 disappeared. If there were only the woman to face ! But 
 the man, too I
 
 66 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Through the crack my eye measured as accurately as 
 possible the distance from the child on the chair to the 
 door. Silently I lifted the infant beside me to ascertain 
 its weight. It was such a tiny creature ! If I could fasten 
 it about me somewhere so as to have both hands ready for 
 the new baby, I should make an effort to escape. Just as 
 this thought took root in my brain, the woman rose from 
 the chair and came directly toward the cupboard. 
 
 " Dis done, dis done! " growled Abbott. " Let the brat 
 alone when he's quiet. Sit down ! " 
 
 Obediently the woman dropped into her chair. At the 
 same time the little baby gasped sleepily, making a wee 
 gurgling sound that went to my heart. 
 
 " We'll be getting out of this place before long," went 
 on Abbott. 
 
 " Are we going very soon ? " asked Ann. " Aren't we 
 going to to operate on that child? " The words came 
 hesitatingly from her lips. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I don't like the work, Abbott. It seems " 
 
 " Don't trouble your head about making it seem any- 
 thing, Ann. We've got to have money ! You do as I 
 say, you hear? " 
 
 " Yes, Abbott." 
 
 " Then go like a good girl to the kitchen and get some- 
 thing ready to eat. I'll be in after a bit. Get some hot 
 soup: the room's cold. We won't be here much longer, 
 Ann," the man continued ; " so don't cry." 
 
 " It hasn't been an easy life, Abbott ; but I love you 
 that's why I stay, I s'pose." 
 
 She went out, closing the door, and her footsteps 
 sounded from the inner room. 
 
 I prayed that I might be given strength to carry the 
 wee babe back to its mother : to the other one, Zadie and I
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 67 
 
 would give refuge. But the first great problem that faced 
 me before disposing of the babies was to get them 
 from this room with its shadow of hideous mystery. The 
 little one on the chair still gazed sleepily at the light, and 
 for a few moments the fat man sat watching it. I should 
 have given much to have read his thoughts. I wanted to 
 know what vice had brought him to such an occupation 
 as this. Slowly and almost mechanically he leaned over 
 and pulled a piece of thread from the child's puckered fin- 
 gers and straightened its body into a more comfortable 
 position. 
 
 I wondered vaguely if it would be of use to plead with 
 him; but the thought was frightened from my mind by 
 his sudden rise from the chair. My heart thumped when 
 I saw him take a bowl of seething acid from the shelf and 
 place it on the table near him. Then he seated himself 
 with his back to me. I stooped softly; for my hour had 
 come. The maternal instinct rose in my heart, and with 
 the determination of a rat ferociously gnawing its own 
 foot from a steel trap I set my teeth into the rubber about 
 the baby's brow, biting and chewing the strong band until 
 I felt it glide away from the hurt flesh. The wounded 
 head fell downward, a long cry bursting from the lips of 
 the infant. I tore the cord from my kimono and wrapped 
 it twice about the child. One whimper, and that was all. 
 Adjusting the babe on my shoulders without a sound, I 
 fastened it securely. Then, opening the door, I stepped 
 into the lighted room, and with a sudden dash lifted the 
 vessel from the table and threw acid and all over the fat 
 man's head. He gave a great howl I imagine he 
 thought a she-devil had set upon him. I snatched the sec- 
 ond babe from the chair, bounded to the door, unbolted it, 
 and fled down the stairs. 
 
 The child on my back swung to and fro, its weight
 
 68 
 
 straining and stretching the silken cord. The tiny one 
 received a sounding bang on its head and emitted a loud 
 cry just as I rounded the corner of the staircase. 
 
 I could hear the terrific, maddened cries from the man 
 above, and for one short minute pity stirred my soul; but 
 I knew that the woman with the sad face and guttural 
 voice was with him for she loved him. I opened Zadie's 
 door and tumbled in, and all I could say was : 
 
 " Zadie ! Zadie darling ! Dear God ! I have them 
 both! y
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 IT was Zadie's suggestion that I should go to the Bois 
 to restore the Larodi baby to its mother. Although 
 I feared meeting Casperone, it would be one of Heav- 
 en's delights to see her receive back her stolen child. 
 
 " I simply don't dare go, Zadie," I said slowly. 
 
 " You must go, ma petite! You warn the mother to 
 nefer let that bad uncle see the leetle boy again you 
 want heem to steal it back ? " 
 
 " Of course I don't, Zadie, and I suppose I must go ; 
 but I'm afraid." 
 
 " Oui, oui! Pom ! afraid, after what you haf tonight 
 done? Drink, drink, and begone with eet ! " 
 
 " If it all becomes public, Zadie, and they find me out, 
 keep my name if you can. If it were to get into the 
 newspapers '* the mere thought made me gasp. 
 
 " I not know your name, Pheelis Fitzpatrick," said Za- 
 die stolidly. 
 
 " If the police come and make you tell it, you simply 
 say that I am Christobel McCall, can't you? " 
 
 " Oui, oui! " grunted Zadie. " Geet out ! " 
 
 I went away with the baby cuddled warmly in my arms. 
 
 Fifteen minutes later I was riding through the Champs- 
 Elysees, my heart beating so strongly that the rise and fall 
 of my bosom acted as a cradle to the sleeping child. 
 
 My face paled as I thought of my position. What 
 would the morrow bring out of the tragedy? What 
 would the future bring to me? Not discovery; for but 
 two filled my heart as I sat thinking, America and Roger 
 Everard ! 
 
 69
 
 70 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Under the seductiveness of the lights in the Bois, string- 
 ing themselves into small stars away beyond me for miles, 
 I gave myself up to the charm of contact with the warm 
 young thing in my arms. I lifted the covering and 
 caught my breath. Never had I been so close to so young 
 an infant, never had I listened to a soft-coming baby- 
 breath, nor felt the beat of a tender heart against mine. 
 Several times I kissed him, allowing my lips to linger long 
 on the pink skin. Some day, I I I want a baby a 
 lot of babies. Even now, as I think this, I feel the blood 
 rush hot to my ears. Such a thought always brings Roger 
 closer to me. 
 
 At the Larodi mansion, the servant confronted me with 
 profound solemnity. 
 
 " You understand I must see her, if for only a moment," 
 I pleaded fearfully. 
 
 " It is impossible, Mademoiselle. Impossible ! Abso- 
 lutely impossible! Madame is ill." 
 
 " Will you say to her that I have something to tell her 
 something about her child?" 
 
 The butler surveyed me from head to foot. The bun- 
 idle in my arms caught his attention. 
 
 " Come in," said he. 
 
 I was given a chair in the small reception room. It 
 was in this house that the child had been born. It was here 
 that the young mother had vainly implored someone to 
 find it, and it was here that it was to be given back to her 
 unharmed. 
 
 I heard the butler whisper the message to the maid, and 
 footsteps hurry along the corridor above. Then a tired 
 voice called out: 
 
 " Matilda, tell me what it is." 
 
 " It's only a woman, Madame, who says " 
 
 " That that she knows something about my 
 baby?"
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 71 
 
 The stress on the last word brought a choke to my 
 throat, and it rent me through and through. I thought 
 of the fat man and Larodi's dark face as he gave the child 
 to the woman. 
 
 " Then I'll see her, Matilda," came the voice again. 
 " I'm not ill, I say ! Only in my heart, you know. Do 
 you hear? I will see her ! I shall be all well, when I have 
 my baby. I am going down I must see her ! " 
 
 I nerved myself to meet the vision that appeared. I 
 saw a face as pale as a white rose, ears tinted with the 
 finger of youth, a girlish body vibrant with hope, as the 
 mother of the babe stood before me. 'Twas the same fair, 
 sweet American girl I had seen in the picture at Countess 
 Larodi's. Her eyes took me in as had the servant's. 
 There we were, two women, looking deep into each other's 
 eyes, with a little living bond of humanity drawing us to- 
 gether. 
 
 " You \fanted to see me, Mademoiselle ? " she asked 
 kindly. " Ah, yes, my poor child ! You have a baby of 
 your own. You want me to aid you. Oh, I shall I 
 will ! Anything you ask for " 
 
 Holding out the bundle, I broke out in English, " I have 
 brought back your baby ! " 
 
 Her luminous eyes were incomprehensive, widening un- 
 til the lids stretched themselves to their fullest extent. 
 Her twitching fingers dared not touch the child as I ten- 
 dered it toward her, 
 
 " It is yours ! " I insisted. " I have brought it home to 
 you ! " I threw back the cape, displaying the round, red, 
 sleeping face. With no visible emotion save the catching 
 of her breath and the flushing of the fair skin, the mother 
 held out her arms. As in a dream, she took the baby and 
 motioned me to follow her. We passed through the hall 
 to a room beyond, wheie a bright fire invitingly shot its 
 embers upon the hearth.
 
 73 WHEN TRAGEDY GRJNS 
 
 " Oh, it can't be my baby ! " she faltered, pausing be- 
 fore dropping into a chair. But the tones were so 
 changed, so different, so unlike the tired voice that first 
 sounded from above, that my heart told me she had found 
 her own. 
 
 " Look at him and see," I said quickly. " I found him 
 and there he is ! " 
 
 Softly, as with the light touch of an angel, the young 
 mother unwrapped the boy, removing one after another 
 of the garments until the body was naked. She looked it 
 over carefully ; then wrapped it closely in her arms, kisses 
 covering the warm, living flesh. 
 
 " Dear God ! He is mine ! May I be forgiven for 
 my lack of faith, Mother of Christ? Oh, he is mine, my 
 baby my little one my own little lamb ! But you are 
 crying, Mademoiselle," she said, turning to me. " Why 
 do you cry? I have my baby, and we are both so happy ! " 
 
 " That you have him again makes me oh " It was 
 all I could utter. I could only cover my face with my 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " I can't cry now," said the mother. " But but I 
 have forgotten to ask you where you found him ? " 
 
 " You have a brother? " I answered her question by ask- 
 ing. 
 
 " No, a brother-in-law. He, too, has suffered over the 
 loss of my baby." 
 
 " It was he who took it from you," I replied hurriedly. 
 
 She pressed the babe to her, drawing her loose scarf 
 about him until he was lost in the folds. Slowly she 
 turned a pair of burning eyes upon me. " You are mis- 
 taken," said she. 
 
 " He is tall, dark, handsome, and speaks English flu- 
 ently?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " He is the brother of your dead husband? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 73 
 
 " Yes." She shivered as she answered, reluctantly, and 
 her arms tightened. 
 
 " He would have been heir to a fortune left if it had not 
 been for the arrival of your child? " 
 
 " Yes." The voice was a wail now ; for she under- 
 stood. 
 
 " His intentions were to keep it from you," I explained ; 
 " to rob it of its sight ; and to make it a beggar upon 
 the streets of Paris." 
 
 " No ! No ! It cannot be ! Casperone, tell me that 
 it's not true ! " 
 
 " What's not true, little sister? " 
 
 I rose to my feet; for in the doorway stood Count 
 Larodi, his handsome eyes bent inquiringly upon me. As 
 he looked, he paled, the veins standing out upon his 
 forehead like cords. An expression of surprise and de- 
 light, mingled with incredulity, leaped out. It is strange 
 how many times in the course of a few seconds emotion 
 will change a human face. Casperone Larodi had recog- 
 nized me instantly, and there must have been something 
 about me that caused him to breathe desperately in an un- 
 dertone : 
 
 " Phyllis, why are you here? " 
 
 " She has brought me back my baby ! " gasped the 
 mother. The scarf was lifted, and the naked, rosy child 
 brought to view. 
 
 The sight of the babe and her words blanched the face 
 of the man to his heavy jaws. He looked from the infant 
 to his sister-in-law, and once more to me, and smiled skepti- 
 cally. 
 
 " Monsieur will pardon me for speaking in English," I 
 began, stepping forward ; " but, as it is my mother tongue, 
 I prefer it. I rescued the child from your friends on the 
 Boulevard St. Michel and brought it back here. That was 
 right, was it not? "
 
 74 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I remember how I delighted in my sarcasm. Could that 
 girl talking have been timid Phyllis Fitzpatrick, who was 
 afraid of her own shadow on dark nights and shrank from 
 the evils of Paris boulevards? 
 
 The restless eyes of Count Larodi, wandering from me to 
 the mother, blackened with rage. " Come, come, my good 
 girl," he said harshly, " you're laboring under some de- 
 lusion! Gertrude, don't let her palm off a child on you 
 that must be an imposter." 
 
 I laughed hysterically, laughed until he strode forward 
 and shook my arm. 
 
 " You little vixen ! What are you trying to do ? " 
 
 "To bring to justice the man who stole that child," I 
 exclaimed, bending my head toward the crouching woman. 
 " I heard you with your own lips tell the tale of the family 
 skeleton. I heard you tell of your need of money, and 
 of a girl you loved, and how sometime you would return 
 for the baby after after its eyes were destroyed." 
 
 Again he tried to take hold of my arm. 
 
 "Don't do that!" I cried sharply. "Don't do that! 
 I can't forget how you gave the baby to the fat man, and 
 after you had gone I watched him make ready to wreak 
 your hellish will upon the child yonder." 
 
 " For the love of our merciful God ! " cried the mother. 
 
 '* Does that convince you," I demanded sharply of her, 
 " or do you want further proof? " 
 
 The woman rose from her chair with a scream. Cas- 
 perone realized that there was nothing more to hide, and 
 that by some mysterious means I had found the child. 
 
 He came closer and addressed me derisively : " Then 
 how came you in a house of ill repute, spying upon me? 
 Is this the innocent jeune fille, the young girl who did not 
 know anything? " 
 
 I shrank back, and he was quick to perceive his ad- 
 vantage.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 75 
 
 " My God ! You affected innocence well ! " 
 
 My heart stopped and began again to beat violently. 
 
 " Phyllis," he went on in a whisper. " Phyllis ! You 
 cannot know how I have suffered without money. I loved 
 you, and I love you still ! " I felt his fingers crush my 
 arm like a vice. " I could have made you love me with 
 money ! How came it that you were there ? You 
 you in that house ! " 
 
 I stood in silence, and then taunted, " I saw you when 
 you came in with the baby and when you went over and 
 looked out of the cracked window." 
 
 " It was a bestial, horrible place ! " he muttered half 
 dazedly, with a shudder. 
 
 At that instant the door opened. I shall never know 
 whether the bell rang or not; but officers seemed to fill 
 up every niche of the room. They thought, I suppose, 
 that I was one of the household, and allowed me to pass out 
 with the mother. 
 
 When we reached the hall, she whispered softly, " Go, 
 please, go ! It's too dreadful to think about. Hurry, be- 
 fore they detain you. They must not take him! He is 
 my husband's brother." 
 
 I slipped into the Bois. My mind wc.3 in chaos. I 
 could not afford to be brought into the limelight. I had 
 restored the babe, and that was enough. I didn't care 
 what they did with Casperone. But who had sent the po- 
 lice to the house, and on whose complaint had they ar- 
 rested him? 
 
 In destroying him, have I sprung a mine beneath my 
 own feet? In saving this baby, have I opened the door 
 of destruction for myself? Casperone will stop at noth- 
 ing, now that we are enemies. 
 
 If ever Roger should find out ! The thought makes me 
 shudder. But, of course, he can't find out he is in 
 New York, and New York is so, far away !
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 ZADIE listened stolidly to my story. I carried her 
 along so rapidly that she held up her hand. 
 " I tell you firs' before you spik all, what I deed 
 weez the ozzer pauvre petite, poor brat," she interrupted. 
 " I took it to the Sisters of Mercy." 
 
 " Will they take good care of it ? " I asked, a f ullness 
 in my throat making my voice husky. 
 
 " The best in the world." 
 
 When I described my last sight of the mother, as she 
 swayed her way to the stairs, Zadie coughed. I saw tears 
 glisten on her lashes, and heard her whisper: 
 
 " She must luf the leetle devil. The good God bless 
 her ! Now I tell you something, bonne, ires bonne." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " The man and woman haf gone with the police. I saw 
 them go." 
 
 " Goodness ! Tell me about it, Zadie, tell me ! " 
 
 " The man you poured the aceed on, he nefer see again," 
 cried she. " He were awful sight when they took heem 
 out. Eet vas me sent the poh'ce to the house in the Bois. 
 I was ver' frightened for you of the dark man. And you 
 were such a bebe, you might get trouble weez heem." 
 
 Like the silly child, I began to cry. If only I had not 
 been obliged to throw that acid ! I ventured this thought 
 tearfully; but Zadie turned roughly upon me. 
 
 " Let heem haf pain ! How many babies you think ees 
 beggars, blind beggars, through his devil'ry? You worry 
 no more ! "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 77 
 
 The papers were filled with the story. There was in- 
 sistent clamor for a certain dark-haired girl, asserted to 
 be pretty and very young, who had brought the child 
 back to its home in the Bois. How so valuable a witness 
 had slipped through the hands of the police, no one could 
 tell. 
 
 However, I kept well out of sight, and wild horses could 
 not have dragged my identity from the good hearted and 
 impulsive Frenchwoman who went about her business in 
 the boulevards as unconcerned as before the tragedy. 
 
 When I enter this house I look up through the mazes 
 of stairs and wonder. I hardly know what I wonder. 
 Often in my dreams I hear the cry of a hurt child, or feel 
 the cold clutch of a rubber bandage strapped tightly about 
 my head. Once, when sleeping, I dreamed that the fat 
 man leaned over me, fastening his sightless eyes upon my 
 face. I screamed and wakened, and for a long time lay 
 shaking with fear. 
 
 .** 
 
 This afternoon loud talking in the hall awoke me. It 
 seemed as though the corridors were crowded with people. 
 In a nasal patois, Zadie's voice rose high above the others. 
 
 " I tell you all to go to the devil ! She did not tell me 
 who she was. I saw her once, and she never came again." 
 
 They were talking about me and those babies ! The 
 gardlens de la paix were seeking evidence against the man 
 and woman lodged in the jail. 
 
 Then a quieter voice said, " We can do nothing, Madame, 
 unless we find this young girl. You say that you only 
 knew she brought you the children, and we know that she 
 returned one of them to its mother. Now, this girl must 
 be found!" 
 
 I raised my head so that I could hear better, and lis- 
 tened closely. 
 
 " The question is, Madame," went on the same voice,
 
 78 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " how that girl got into those rooms, and what she saw 
 there. Her evidence is worth much to the state. We will 
 pay you well if you can put us on her trail." 
 
 I could make out the words plainly. I knew what they 
 wanted, and my eyes brimmed full as I thought of Zadie's 
 stanch loyalty. How I love her more than any woman 
 living ! 
 
 " I have told you a hundred times," she persisted in 
 slangy French, " that I know nothing of the creature, 
 and do not want to. She landed in my room with two 
 brats, one so hurt and whining that it tore my heart to 
 look at him. She left me that one and made off with the 
 other. I haven't seen her since." And then she added very 
 loudly, that I might hear, " And I hope to God that I will 
 never see the likes of her again ! " 
 
 Zadie said it as if she had meant it but she didn't. 
 God love her! Dear God, bless her every day! 
 
 " The man taken from here has lost his sight, and would 
 not know her if we could produce her," the sergeant con- 
 tinued. " The woman in jail swears that she never saw 
 her. The young mother has gone away, and the brother- 
 in-law has been arrested upon your complaint. But that 
 does not carry much weight without a witness. We can't 
 do anything without the girl." 
 
 I thrust the end of the pillow into my mouth I was 
 safe ! I couldn't have faced another difficulty ; for, ever 
 since coming to Paris, nothing but trouble had been my 
 portion. 
 
 Casperone was in jail, then, until he could prove himself 
 innocent. Zadie had saved me from the hated witness 
 stand. There I should be obliged to tell my own name, 
 and the American papers would copy it. I sat up in bed, 
 bending nearer the door. In the corridor another man 
 spoke with a rising inflection in his voice. 
 
 " I am sorry, Madame," said he, " but I am going to
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 79 
 
 serve you with a subpoena; for you, at any rate, must tell 
 all you know." 
 
 There came the rustling of paper, and Captain Zadie 
 uttered an oath. 
 
 " I'll be there," she replied slowly, " and I'll teU what 
 I know; but it won't be much, and I shall still have the 
 story that I know nothing of the girl and but little of how 
 she came by the children." 
 
 I could scarcely contain myself until the men were gone. 
 I slipped into Zadie's room, and found her poring over 
 the document written in French. 
 
 " These damn writing ees like a hen scratch," she 
 grumbled. " I soon as follow a chicken in the mud as 
 read these scroll ! Mon Dieu! it make my head ache ! " 
 
 Not a word of complaint about the disagreeable affair 
 into which I had dragged her! Her broad face turned 
 toward me as I placed my hand upon her arm, and spoke 
 of it. 
 
 " You need not care, ma cherw, you need not ! I haf 
 no fear. I ees only Captain Zadie, and if I wish I say 
 nothing." 
 
 Then for the first time in my life I kissed her. A swift 
 glance of tenderness and gratified surprise lit up the un- 
 couth face. 
 
 " You are the best woman in all the world ! " I said sol- 
 emnly. " I am going to tell you why I need your aid so 
 badly. You remember I told you of the man in America 
 and that as soon as my voice was trained and my education 
 in Paris completed, I should return home? " 
 
 " Out, oui, oui! " 
 
 " Well, if he knew ! Oh, if he knew about me I " 
 
 " You mean about the babies ? " 
 
 " No, not that ! He would be glad they were saved. 
 I mean about my life here in Paris. I could never look 
 him in the face again."
 
 80 
 
 " Of course not, of course not," interjected Zadie. 
 
 " Then you understand, don't you? " Here I stopped; 
 for my selfishness appalled me. " Zadie," I exclaimed, " I 
 can't let you go to the court. I won't let you bear the 
 whole burden. I will take my share. I'll go now and 
 declare myself the girl who found those children:" 
 
 " Pourquoi? " 
 
 " Because I won't be a coward even for the love of 
 one man I won't ! I'll go now, Dear, if you will go with 
 me." 
 
 " You not do anything like that," replied Zadie. " You 
 stay here until eet ees ofer. The brother won't tell your 
 name it's zee galleys for him. The one man ees 
 blind," I shuddered at this, " and the Frenchwoman not 
 know you! C'est bien! Eet's gude." Zadie lifted her 
 head and smiled as she added, " They not make me tell 
 things when I know nothing, can they, ma petite? " 
 
 " No," I said doubtfully. " No ; but it does seem so 
 terrible." 
 
 " Bah ! you let me mek it all right. You be glad the 
 babies ees safe, and you not in the scrape ; that you got 
 me to keep you out of these things." 
 
 I was more thankful than I could tell. I rested limply 
 in the armchair, happy that Zadie had a soul as big as 
 the world and that she had shielded me. The more I 
 ponder upon her action, the more I love her. I am hap- 
 pier, too, when I think that one day, if I am able to help 
 her, she shall cease to ply her hateful trade. I think, just 
 then, as I searched her face, I regretted losing my money 
 even more than ever before. 
 
 " Zadie," I questioned after awhile, " you know the man 
 who took the baby from its home? " 
 
 " You mean Larodi ? " 
 
 " Yes. His mother is one of the women to whom I 
 brought a letter when I first came here; and, Zadie, if he
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 81 
 
 has asked me once to be his wife, he has asked me twenty 
 times. I wonder how he could be so wicked? " 
 
 She didn't answer. 
 
 " Do you think there are many creatures in the world 
 such as he? I wonder where he ever heard of that place 
 upstairs? " 
 
 " I don't know," grunted Zadie. " Eet ees hard to say, 
 when there ees so many devils going about." 
 
 " Do you really have to go to the court, Zadie ? " I asked 
 in a miserable tone. She nodded an assent. " Then you 
 will see the Count. It makes me ill when I think that if 
 circumstances had been different I might have married 
 him." 
 
 " But you deedn't," replied philosophical Zadie. 
 
 " No, and if he goes away, I mean if they put him in 
 prison, I sha'n't have to worry about him." 
 
 " They won't, unless they haf you to tell on him." 
 
 " They will never find me," I responded, shaking my 
 head. " I have no wish to send him to prison or anywhere 
 else." 
 
 " Then lie low comme chat noir like cats in Eng- 
 leesh, eh ? and when eet ees of er he won't bother you." 
 
 Oh, how I dread to have Zadie go to the court ! It 
 seems a wilful shirking of responsibility on my part. 
 Yet, if I went openly, it would not help her and would 
 make bad worse; for my life on Boulevard St. Michel is 
 like a haunting specter already. 
 
 4 
 
 This morning, anxious and frightened, I watched Zadie 
 as she made preparations to go to the trial. I felt that she 
 would never return, and that I was to blame for some great 
 misfortune that had overtaken her. But she betrayed 
 neither fear nor emotion, nor did she chide me in the least. 
 The house was as silent as death when I took coffee with 
 her in her room.
 
 82 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 She was no sooner gone than I was possessed with a 
 keen desire to follow her and witness Casperone's degrada- 
 tion. The thought impelled me to dress with feverish 
 haste, and, although commonsense bade me stay quietly at 
 home, some uncontrollable impulse forced my lagging foot- 
 steps in the direction of the court. 
 
 Entering the room, I slipped quietly into a seat and 
 waited. Near the front, Zadie, passively indifferent, sat 
 slouched in her chair. Casperone, accompanied by two 
 men, entered directly after me by a door at the back ; but 
 before I could turn away he had recognized me. The 
 glance was momentary, and, although his eyes flashed with 
 resentment, he quickly passed on. Zadie saw me, too ; but 
 the heavy face betrayed no sign. I could imagine her 
 thoughts as though she had cried them aloud. 
 
 " You silly leetle American fool, vhat for you here ? " 
 
 Then I heard a door open and close, and knew by the 
 shuffling of feet that it was Abbott. I dared not turn, 
 fearing to see the ravages made by the acid. My reluctant 
 gaze followed his bent figure when he had passed. One 
 red hand was resting on the woman's arm, and the other 
 hung limply at his side. 
 
 When the proceedings began, I breathed more freely; 
 but I could not suppress my tears as the prosecutor ques- 
 tioned Zadie. 
 
 " Your name? " he demanded. 
 
 "Zadie Mullinaire." 
 
 It was the first time I had heard Zadie's famfty name. 
 
 " And you live in the house where the children were 
 found? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And your business ? " 
 
 Zadie hesitated a moment, and the blood rushed into her 
 cheeks during the curt answer, " Cocotte." 
 
 " Did you see the girl who rescued the infants? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 83 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you seen her since? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Do you know any of the prisoners? Have you ever 
 seen any of them? " 
 
 Zadie solemnly scrutinized the criminals and quietly an- 
 swered, " No." 
 
 Just then I heard a commotion. Lady Jane took a seat, 
 and for one instant a gleam of recognition flashed into her 
 eyes as they rested upon Casperone. Then my two ene- 
 mies in Paris knew each other! 
 
 Still, I have no fear of Lady Jane Grey. Our lives 
 are as far apart as the antipodes ; for I am begging on the 
 boulevards for a brief time only. America is my home ! 
 
 Zadie swore that she knew nothing more than she had 
 already told, and was dismissed. The forcible evidence 
 against the man and woman carried conviction, and they 
 were heavily sentenced. For some unknown reason the 
 woman took an oath that she had never seen Count Larodi. 
 He walked free from the place with his head erect, flashing 
 a glance at me as he went. 
 
 Zadie said afterward that she supposed the woman hoped 
 to get help from the Count for herself and husband. 
 
 " Wasn't it awful in the courtroom, Dear? " I asked 
 this, caressing Violetta, when Zadie and I were drinking 
 our coffee. 
 
 " Out, and I lied deux fois! " 
 
 " You lied twice ! When ? " I demanded. 
 
 " I say I deed not know you, and had never seen the 
 Count before. I haf seen him go to Jeanne's room many 
 times." 
 
 " Oh, then possibly he found that place upstairs through 
 her." 
 
 " Possiblement" muttered Zadie darkly, and we lapsed 
 into silence.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 ON the third floor back a woman has moved in. Her 
 name is Carlotta. She makes me shiver every time 
 I pass her, and I find that she affects Zadie in the 
 same way. Her dress sags in the back, and her skin is 
 shrunken and seamed with fine wrinkles. Her bulging ox- 
 like eyes seem as though they must fall out on her cheeks. 
 She has a furtive way of glancing about that makes them 
 look larger and darker more terrible than the eyes of a 
 monster driven along by his enemies. I notice that at 
 night she keeps in the shadows as I do. I pass her often ; 
 but dare not speak. She has a young daughter, too, 
 who is so very beautiful that I should like to talk to her. 
 I wonder if she isn't a little afraid of her own mother? 
 But Carlotta must be good ; for she sent the girl away to 
 school as long as she could get money to pay for her tuition 
 the patisserie woman told Zadie this. 
 
 * 
 
 Yesterday just at sunset I talked to Carlotta's daugh- 
 ter. She is only fifteen. I met her on the stairs, and she 
 smiled a greeting which I returned. 
 
 " Good afternoon," she said, and smiled again. 
 
 " You speak English ! " I cried. She looked the essence 
 of everything French. 
 
 " Yes, I was at school in England." 
 
 " Oh ! Didn't you love it over there ? " 
 
 " I like Paris best." An expression of sadness moistened 
 her eyes as she spoke. " My mother is here," she ex- 
 plained tenderly.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 85 
 
 How sweet her voice was when she spoke of her mother, 
 that large-eyed, withered looking woman ! 
 
 " We live up there, my mother and I," she continued, 
 with an upward toss of her head. 
 
 Then, girl-like, we looked each other from top to toe, 
 and last of all gazed into each other's eyes. 
 
 " I know you do," I answered. " I have seen you often 
 going for milk and to the patisserie for cake." 
 
 " Yes, my mother allows me all the cake I wish. She is 
 such a good mother ! " 
 
 Again there came the same sad expression, and before I 
 could answer she exclaimed indignantly: 
 
 " People say that my mother is a wicked woman and 
 that she does wrong things ; but I know they lie about 
 her. I watch her every day ; but she doesn't know it. 
 She does nothing but sleep all the day and all the night. 
 I heard the patisserie woman say it was a shame for a 
 woman like my mother to have such a nice child as I. 
 I'd like to know if it's Mother's fault that she's ill and 
 has to sleep so much, that her eyes are different from other 
 women's, and that she hasn't money for clothes! She 
 doesn't steal, and she doesn't drink and how else could 
 she be wicked? " 
 
 The color came and went under the lovely skin, and the 
 delicate fingers clenched in excitement. She paused for 
 breath, and for lack of something to say I kept my lips 
 closed. 
 
 " She's the best woman in all the world," she asserted 
 vehemently. " And I wouldn't go and leave her again 
 for anything. I've been away from her too long as it is, 
 and I won't go again, although I loved my school. I hate 
 people who talk so about my poor little mother 1 " 
 
 " I'd hate them, too," I said slowly. 
 
 " I do ! When I think what she's done for me, I won't 
 let anyone tell me she isn't good and that I oughtn't to
 
 86 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 be with her. My father has never taken care of her and 
 me, and she's worked dreadfully hard until a year ago. 
 Then somebody, an aunt, I think, left her a little money ; 
 so now she can sleep and doesn't need to sew." She thrust 
 up a slender hand and wiped away two scalding tears. 
 " Sewing is what injured her eyes. She needs a lot of rest, 
 she's so thin and pale. But she couldn't do wrong things 
 when she is so good and with me all the time." 
 
 " No," I replied bravely, " and she doesn't, I'm sure." 
 
 " Oh, thank you. I do like you for saying that ! I 
 am going to work as soon as I can get it, and I shall take 
 my mother to the country. You see, I've been home only 
 a little while I didn't know about her." 
 
 These last words she said in French, and we were both 
 startled by a husky voice: 
 
 " You didn't know what, Rosalie mlgnonne? ** 
 
 " That you were ill, ma mere. I have been a wicked 
 girl to stay away from you so long." 
 
 The ox-eyes turned upon me with a savage glare, and I 
 shrank from a gaze that seemed to freeze me. 
 
 " Speak not with strangers, my little child," said the 
 woman, and Rosalie answered: 
 
 " She's such a nice girl, Mother, and I'm so lonely ! " 
 
 " Come with me ! " ordered the mother, and I left them 
 ascending the stairs together, their arms about each other's 
 waists and the bright brown eyes of the girl bent upon the 
 hollow, emaciated face of the cocotte. 
 
 A few hours later, just before I went out, I heard a 
 knock at my door. Thinking it was Zadie, I called: 
 
 " Entrez! " 
 
 Slowly the door pushed open, and Carlotta appeared in 
 the aperture. I stared at the white, drawn cheeks, the 
 thin, blue, quivering lips, the haunting eyes reddened by 
 weeping, and the whole wretchedness of her. 
 
 " You didn't tell her " she began in French.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 87 
 
 The words came haltingly, as if something had numbed 
 her vocal cords. At first I didn't understand. 
 
 " You didn't tell the mignonne that I went out nights ? " 
 
 I shook my head, and she went on. 
 
 " She mustn't know she's too gqod. I feared you'd 
 told her when I saw you talking this afternoon, and she 
 thinks I sleep at home the night through. She's gone to 
 bed now, my Rosalie, and I always go with her. I slip 
 out afterward and leave her alone; but I'm back before 
 she wakes. My baby, my baby! Mon Dieu! how I love 
 her!" 
 
 Through the protruding eyes, I saw for one moment 
 the soul beyond. Fear, passionate love, despair, and ill- 
 ness passed before me. I moved forward involuntarily and 
 placed my hand upon her arm. 
 
 " I'll never tell her," I said ; " but the patisserie woman 
 has hinted to her that you are wrong in some way. Don't 
 send her there any more." 
 
 Rage mottled the woman's faded cheek. " Cochon 
 chamois " 
 
 " Stop ! " I ordered. " Don't curse like that ! Are you 
 going to keep her here in this house? " 
 
 " I must : I haven't the money to send her away. Any- 
 how, she wouldn't go from me. You are young, Made- 
 moiselle, to be on the boulevards." Carlotta turned 
 squarely upon me. 
 
 " I'm almost eighteen," I said with a choke. 
 
 The girl sleeping in the bed upstairs was but a little 
 younger than I. Awhile ago, the same as with her, Boule- 
 vard St. Michel and its nights were unknown to me. Again 
 I put my hand upon Carlotta's arm. 
 
 " Send her away," I urged. " Send her away ! If I 
 had a mother to care for me, I shouldn't be here! " 
 
 I sat down and wept, feeling such an old, old woman 
 in experience; homesick and suffering and my whole mis'-
 
 88 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 ery enhanced by the wretched spectacle of Rosalie's 
 mother. 
 
 " Pauvre enfant, poor baby ! " exclaimed Carlotta. " A 
 woman's life! What is it? It's like a brute's!" 
 
 " No, no, don't say that ! " I gasped ; for, with the 
 words, my own future seemed to stretch over and over the 
 windings of Boulevard St. Michel into a distant time that 
 would bring me to withered cheeks and bulging eyes. 
 
 " I'll get money tonight," she went on, not heeding my 
 appeal. " Ma mignonne shall go back to school before 
 she finds out about me ! " 
 
 With that she turned and went out, leaving me more 
 disturbed and ill at ease than I had been for many a long 
 day. Some feeling restrained me from telling Zadie about 
 the girl and her mother. It would have been a breach of 
 the small faith they had in me. 
 
 I followed Carlotta into the street and zigzagged my 
 way toward St. Germain, faint-hearted and afraid. I en- 
 vied the pretty schoolgirl with the cocotte mother. I 
 wanted a mother, too, who would shield me from 
 
 " Donnez moi un cadeau! " gasped I, at the instant I 
 ran into a man who seemed to be in a hurry. He pushed 
 me aside roughly, and I stood staring after him until he 
 was lost in the crowd. 
 
 A stairway, dark and forbidding, yawned before me. 
 I sank into it, huddled in the corner, sobbing until I feared 
 attracting passers-by. The strange thing was that tears 
 wouldn't come to my burning eyes. But I had to work: 
 nothing else would bring me my daily bread. 
 
 I crawled out into the lighted boulevard, turning back 
 toward the Pantheon, hoping to see Zadie. Near the tall 
 building where the sacred bones of famous men repose, a 
 woman stood under the light. She was looking down the 
 street and evidently watching for somebody. I ventured 
 nearer, and saw that it was Carlotta, her dress hanging in
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 89 
 
 rags behind her. She did not see me. Her interest was 
 centered in a man coming toward her. The frail form 
 straightened, and Carlotta placed her hand upon the lamp 
 post as if to steady herself. 
 
 There she waited until the man came opposite her. They 
 looked at each other a few seconds, neither speaking. 
 
 " Is she with you? " he asked at length. 
 
 " Ouil " 
 
 " How long has she been there ? " 
 
 " Six days." 
 
 " You have dared to keep her six days in that place? " 
 
 " Oui, I want money to send her away. That's why I 
 sent for you." 
 
 " I will come and get her," exclaimed the man. His 
 expression hardened in determination under the light shin- 
 ing full upon his face. 
 
 " She won't go with you ! " Her voice rose higher in 
 the exultation of assurance. The ragged head of the co- 
 cotte thrust itself forward until the great, faded eyes were 
 staring straight into his handsome face. She had spoken 
 so rapidly that I could scarcely catch her meaning. 
 
 Carlotta's assertion aroused the man to action. He 
 raised his hand and brought it down violently upon the 
 upturned face. The woman sank under the blow for an 
 instant ; but she straightened herself and wailed. 
 
 " I said she wouldn't go with you ! She's mine f She's 
 mine ! " 
 
 " She's mine, too, and I'll not let my daughter remain 
 in that sink ! " 
 
 " You have never cared to take her before." 
 
 " Because you kept her at school. The law will give 
 her to me. You hear ? I will take her away ! " 
 
 Farther and farther into the shadows I crept. The 
 frightened woman turned so quickly that the rags of her 
 dress flapped against the lamp post, and as she passed me a
 
 90 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 ray of light swept across her face, showing the marks left 
 by the blow. She rushed away toward Boulevard St. 
 Michel before the man could stop her. He stood looking 
 after her until she was out of sight, then turned into the 
 narrow street behind the Pantheon, and I saw him no more. 
 I did not mention what had passed to Zadie ; for I am 
 growing experienced in my little world. 
 
 
 
 It must have been very early this morning, perhaps ten 
 o'clock, when I heard a noise at my door. I sprang out 
 of bed and opened it. 
 
 The girl, Rosalie, white and trembling, stood there. 
 " Please ! Let me come in, quick ! They've come to take 
 me away from my mother ! " 
 
 I remembered what I had overheard in the shadow of the 
 Pantheon, and quickly drew her into the room, closing the 
 door and bolting it. 
 
 " Who is it ? " I gasped weakly. 
 
 " Some agents have come with a man who says he is 
 my father. I want to hide in here until they've gone. I 
 won't go ! " 
 
 Hardly had the words been whispered when there came 
 a great knocking at the door. Placing my fingers on my 
 lips, I pointed to the open space under the bed. Rosalie 
 wriggled out of sight. In a sleepy voice, I asked what 
 was wanted. 
 
 " Ouvrezf " was the command. 
 
 " Pourquoi? " 
 
 I slipped out of the duvet under which I had again 
 crawled, opened the door, and peeped out. Two sergeants 
 de ville were standing with the man I had seen strike Car- 
 lotta, and from behind them Carlotta herself peered at 
 me, her sad eyes fixed entreatingly on mine. 
 
 " Is the girl here in this room ? " asked the father. 
 
 " What girl? " I demanded, throwing the mother a
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 91 
 
 glance of assurance. " There is no girl here besides my- 
 self." 
 
 My denial did not hinder them from entering and plying 
 me with questions. During this catechism one of the of- 
 ficers opened my wardrobe and ran his hands about among 
 my gowns. The other passed into my sitting-room. Re- 
 turning from an unsuccessful search, his eye caught sight 
 of Rosalie under my bed. Walking to it, he drew it from 
 the wall and forcibly lifted the girl to her feet. Her face 
 was scarlet. 
 
 " Vasche miserable vasche! " cried the father, taking 
 the girl by the arm, and turning upon me. " You women 
 are all alike liars thieves and worse ! " 
 
 " I want to stay with my mother ! " wailed Rosalie. " I 
 love her she is a good mother ! " 
 
 " She's a bad mother," answered the man. " I'm your 
 father. I take you because the law gives me the right. 
 Your mother is " 
 
 " No, no ! " gasped Carlotta. " Take her ; but don't say 
 that! Don't don't!" 
 
 " Don't say what ? " cried the girl. " I will know ! Am 
 I a baby that I can't hear the secrets of my father and 
 mother? I will know!" 
 
 It was then that I realized what the world and the law 
 gave to the man. The mother who had taken care of and 
 shielded her child since birth, who had given the girl her 
 life, was forced to part from her in the hour of great 
 need. 
 
 Bewildered by the frantic cries of Carlotta and the 
 boisterous commands of her father that she should go 
 with him, Rosalie was led away with but one pitiful em- 
 brace from her mother. 
 
 Carlotta stayed with me, whimpering and sobbing, until 
 Zadie came in and brought us coffee.
 
 92 
 
 I haven't written for a long time. I hate men no, 
 I don't hate Roger; but, then, he is a good man. I won- 
 der if there are a lot of good women? I don't suppose 
 there are many without money. I have begun to believe 
 that money is the greatest protector of virtue in the world ; 
 that if a woman with money isn't good, she must be bad 
 to the very core. 
 
 Yesterday when we were having breakfast, Zadie said, 
 She ees ver 9 ill." 
 
 "Who?" I asked. 
 
 " Carlotta, up there, Rosalie's mother." 
 
 I remembered then that I had not seen Carlotta for some 
 idays. 
 
 " I take up soup," said Zadie. " Come ! " 
 
 Awestricken and afraid, I followed her up the winding 
 stairs to the third floor. We walked in without knocking. 
 
 There was scarcely anything in the room save a rickety 
 table, a chair, a broom, and the bed on which the sick 
 woman was stretched. She opened her eyes when Zadie 
 and I entered; but closed them instantly, and I marveled 
 at the white lids with their thin, discolored veins, straining 
 to cover the rolling eyes. Only two glassy slits were left 
 uncovered under the dark lashes. The foul odor of the 
 room sickened me, and I turned toward the window. 
 
 " She ees to have air," Zadie said softly, noticing my; 
 movement ; then added in French, " She'll die like this ! " 
 
 This aroused the woman out of her stupor, and she lifted 
 her head slightly. " No, no, I won't die ! I won't ! I'm 
 cold, that's all." 
 
 The scene impressed me so deeply that every word she 
 uttered was written indelibly upon my memory. 
 
 " Take this soup," ordered Zadie. " Have you had a 
 priest?" 
 
 The woman shook her head. " Priests are not for our 
 sort," she replied, gulping down the liquid. " I'm not
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 93 
 
 going to die I'm like this often. I'm cold, too. I 
 want to see my baby ! " She lapsed into a stupor again. 
 
 Zadie went close to the bed and felt of the scanty cover- 
 ing. " You haf two blankets," she said to me. " Will 
 you gif her that boat rug you haf, that blue one? " 
 
 " Of course ! " I cried, and straightway ran to get it. 
 
 When we came back from our night's work, we went to 
 Carlotta's room. With flashing, feverish eyes, she was 
 curled up under my warm blue blanket, gibbering in de- 
 lirium. 
 
 > j 
 
 I think constantly, as I write, of the sick woman in the 
 room above. I have tried to help her all I could. She 
 is getting better, although she will never be quite well. 
 She has tuberculosis, Zadie says, and can't afford even 
 the little delicacies to ease her suffering. 
 
 After all, money seems the only savior in the world. 
 If Carlotta had had money, she would have kept her child. 
 If I had money, I shouldn't be here. Money would allow 
 Zadie to carry out the instincts of her human soul. I 
 could go through the whole world and prove that the lack 
 of money causes sin and death everywhere ; for, no matter 
 what our aims in life may be, no matter what our prin- 
 ciples are, the main thing is just to live, the one, all-ab- 
 sorbing instinct in human nature. Lack bread, and prin- 
 ciples vanish!
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 BUT of all the money I begged I haven't a sou left. 
 Captain Zadie calls me a " brick " ; but I call my- 
 self a fool. Burning candles for money, for my 
 career, and for Roger, then giving it deliberately away,, 
 permits me to call myself whatever I wish. 
 
 It is such a chilly afternoon, and the thought of home 
 of him makes me shiver ! Zadie says that the Americans 
 are a cold-blooded race. Perhaps they are; but, if so, I 
 love them, all the same. 
 
 I had been to see Marquise again about lessons; for I 
 had saved just enough money to begin on, and when I 
 had counted it out I had never been quite so happy in all 
 my life. In former days this sum had been a trifle. Now 
 it stretched back into long weeks of misery and degrada- 
 tion ; it illuminated every day in the future until the hour 
 I should see America. I have written to the man not to 
 bring the piano. The hour for my lesson is passed, and 
 I am sitting in these two cold rooms overlooking the front 
 yard of this house. A slight wind is stirring the dead 
 plants in the wooden framework near the fence. The sun 
 is forcing a lancelike gleam through the upper part of the 
 window. I can hardly bring myself to record my foolish- 
 ness ; but I want to remember the emotions that prompted 
 me to the act. 
 
 That night Boulevard St. Michel was cold, and a driz- 
 zling rain prevented me from staying too much in the open 
 street. I seldom plied my Donnez mol un cadeau in the 
 lighted cafes ; but Cafe D'Harcourt enticed me in. 
 
 94
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 95 
 
 Slowly opening the door, I encountered many eyes di- 
 rected toward me. On taking a seat near the wall, the 
 waiter asked my desire. I said : 
 
 " Vichy, s'tt vous plait." 
 
 A smile curled under the ga^on's slight mustache; but 
 he went to fill my order, and for many minutes I kept my 
 eyes down. Near one o'clock the cafe filled with a rowdy 
 gang, gathered to sing midnight songs. 
 
 At one table a sweet-faced girl sat sharing the chairs 
 of two of her countrymen, a cigarette giving out little 
 circles of blue smoke from between her curved lips. Once 
 in awhile the man at her right took several puffs directly 
 after her, smiling into her eyes and delicately closing his 
 mouth, as if to impart some mysterious secret. The six 
 men at the same table listened with laughing faces to the 
 stream of French that slipped from her tongue. To my 
 left, almost at my elbow, sat a long-haired individual, his 
 red locks savoring of brilliantine and bleach. His appear- 
 ance, and the wild, rapid way that he wrote on a pad, made 
 me think him a poet. He must have been jotting down 
 a sonnet, or possibly some verses he had just conceived. 
 His strange expression bespoke insanity ; but, then, I have 
 heard that all geniuses are half mad. 
 
 When a loitering fellow would ask to sit beside me, I 
 would say in English: 
 
 " I do not speak French." 
 
 And generally he would shrug his shoulders and move 
 on; for there were too many women in the Boulevard St. 
 Michel haunts to bother with one who couldn't understand. 
 So, hour after hour passed, and still I didn't have the cour- 
 age to go into the rain. 
 
 Once or twice Zadie walked through the cafe and smiled. 
 Lady Jane also looked in at the door, her long blue rain- 
 cloak showing off the black of her eyes and the auburn
 
 96 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 touch in her hair. She, too, saw me, and a sarcastic look 
 swept over her face. 
 
 Three people had taken an empty table at my right,- 
 a Frenchman with a countrywoman, and a girl about 
 twelve. 
 
 The poet scribbled on my left. I was weary with looking 
 at his red head; so I turned my attention to the new ar- 
 rivals. The girl's small face was beautiful, but tired look- 
 ing. Excessive weeping had reddened her lovely eyes, and 
 creased the delicate skin. She was sitting between the man 
 and woman, who were talking in low, rapid French. The 
 girl didn't seem to understand; for she paid no attention 
 to the conversation, her abstracted expression seeming to 
 indicate that her mind had left the Cafe D'Harcourt and 
 was far away. I wondered where. She didn't look like a 
 French girl. I surmised that she was either from Eng- 
 land or from America. Then my deduction proved to be 
 correct; for the man bent over the pretty head and said 
 in English: 
 
 " Smile, pig, if you want to sleep tonight ! " 
 
 A wan, tired, rather sly smile broke over the pitiful, 
 babyish mouth. " I was thinking of America, Carlos," she 
 said. 
 
 If I had stepped on an electric wire I could not have 
 been more startled, and the thought shot into mind that 
 the girl was being detained against her will. My invol- 
 untary ejaculation disturbed the man and woman; but I 
 pretended that something had happened to my shoe, and 
 when the fellow spoke again I raised my head to listen. 
 
 " Think no more of that country, Mademoiselle Nan,'* 
 he said, " or I lash you with stout whips. You stay here 
 in gay Paris and get much money." 
 
 " I don't want money I want to go home ! " 
 
 The man thrust his hand under the table, and with his 
 thumb and forefinger nipped the girl's tender flesh near
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 97 
 
 the knee, twisting and turning it until the child, without 
 opening her lips, sank back dead-white on the plush cush- 
 ion. 
 
 I was the only one save the red-haired poet who had seen 
 the act. He smiled evilly the sight had given him new 
 inspiration. Once more he began to write rapidly. The 
 child smothered the moans that would rise again and again, 
 and for several minutes pressed her palms against her lips. 
 Suddenly the Frenchman rose with a bland smile to greet 
 a newcomer. The girl glanced up shudderingly. Her 
 flowerlike face had lost none of its pallor: rather had the 
 deathly hue increased, as she took in the appearance of the 
 man. 
 
 " Monsieur, Monsieur ! " cried Carlos. " We feared you 
 were not coming." 
 
 The man whom Carlos addressed was blear-eyed with 
 age, and his hand trembled as it rested on his stick. 
 
 " Is this the girl you were telling me about ? " he asked, 
 looking at the child. 
 
 " Yes. Is she not beautiful? " 
 
 '* Mais oui; but pale and trfo jeune very, very; 
 young." 
 
 " No, no ; she is only frightened. If I believe my eyes, 
 Monsieur will soon cure the jade of that." 
 
 " Oui, oui, oui, leave that to me ! Is she ready to go 
 now? " 
 
 " If Monsieur has the money with him." 
 
 " Plenty of that," was the reply. " Can you make the 
 girl understand that she is to go with me? " 
 
 Little Nan sat up straighter when Carlos said, " This 
 gentleman is going to take you to his home." 
 
 " I don't want to go with him ! I had rather stay here ! " 
 
 " With me ? " asked Carlos incredulously. 
 
 "Yes yes! Please!" 
 
 " If you do not go with him," threatened Carlos, " I
 
 98 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 shall kill you in the worst way I know! Don't I 
 always keep my word, Nan? " 
 
 She nodded an answer, saying, " But I am afraid so 
 afraid!" 
 
 " It was stupid to arrange a meeting in a public place 
 like this," objected the purchaser. " Tell her I will give 
 her bonbons liqueur chocolates what she likes." 
 
 " He will give you bonbons," wheedled Carlos. 
 
 " I don't want anything like that. I want to go home 
 to America." She began to whimper and to speak rap- 
 idly in English to the woman. " I want to stay tonight 
 with you, Nicole," she pleaded. " If you will only help 
 me to get back to America to my father and mother! 
 They will send you the money when they can. Oh, I want 
 to die or go home to my mother ! " 
 
 She raised her last words to a shrill cry, and both men 
 got to their feet. The waiter demanded the cause of the 
 disturbance. 
 
 " She is wicked," Carlos explained. " Her mother, 
 there, can do nothing with her. She is bad ! " 
 
 " Whip the pig, then ! " growled the waiter. " It's 
 easy to train her with a strap." 
 
 Hysterical little cries for aid came from the girl's lips. 
 The scene had attracted the entire cafe. Men and women, 
 from idle curiosity, pressed forward to watch. 
 
 The man, sinking his villainous fingers deep into the 
 tender arms, tried to push Nan through the crowd toward 
 the door. He twisted the small girl completely round, 
 and her eyes, wide with fright, looked directly into mine. 
 I smiled a broad, encouraging smile, and rose to my feet 
 also. 
 
 " Stop ! " I cried impulsively. " How dare you treat 
 my sister so ? Poor little sister, poor little Nan ! I 
 have found you at last ! " 
 
 I pushed through the crowd and placed my hands on the
 
 99 
 
 fingers of the man, who only clung tighter to his posses- 
 sion. The bright mind of the child opened to my scheme 
 almost before I reasoned it out myself. 
 
 I leaned over and whispered hurriedly in her ear. " My 
 name is Christobel McCall. Don't forget ! " 
 
 " Oh, my sister, I want to go with my sister ! " she cried. 
 
 Help had come to her, and with renewed courage she 
 wrenched herself away. The English was being rapidly 
 translated to those who did not understand. The interest 
 deepened ; for this man was talking to the crowd in French. 
 Some were satisfied that he spoke the truth, others anx- 
 ious to hear more. By this time I had my arm about the 
 frightened girl. 
 
 " You shall go with me to America, Dear, to our father," 
 I assured her. " Don't cry, precious, pretty little sister ! " 
 
 The head waiter came up to us after a heated talk with 
 the Frenchman, and looked questioningly at little Nan a 
 moment, and then asked her, " What is your sister's name, 
 little girl? " 
 
 " Christobel," screamed Nan. 
 
 Eying me knowingly, with an impudent smile, he de- 
 manded, " Let me see your license, Mademoiselle. You 
 see I know you." 
 
 I drew the paper Zadie had obtained for me from my 
 purse, and he read aloud : 
 
 " Christobel McCall," and he looked doubtfully at Car- 
 los. 
 
 Nan clasped my fingers more tightly. " I'm not their 
 child," she cried. " This is my sister ! I will go with her ! 
 I will! I will!" 
 
 " I demand that you return me "that girl ! " ordered Car- 
 los slowly, his brow lowering. " I shall have the officers 
 after you." 
 
 I dragged the child to the red plush seat, and mounted 
 it, not forgetting to pull her up beside me. With my
 
 100 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 arm still about her, I cried out over the heads of the 
 crowd : 
 
 " This is my sister, and if you molest her or me I shall 
 report it tomorrow to our American consul. I demand 
 that we be allowed to go free ! Say something ! " I begged 
 in a lower tone. " Say that you want to go with me ! " 
 
 The high, sweet voice raised in a plea. " She is my sis- 
 ter ! That man and woman are not my father and mother ; 
 for I don't know one word of their language." 
 
 A man, speaking in English, inquired, " How came you 
 with these people, then? " 
 
 She lifted her eyes to mine with subtle meaning. " I 
 came here to find my sister, and they took me." 
 
 " And I have been searching for you, Darling, ever 
 since I knew you had left home," I took up abruptly. 
 " So, you see," I added to the crowd, " if we are not al- 
 lowed to leave here, something will happen to this cafe." 
 
 " Let 'em go ! " shouted a coarse voice in English, and 
 another in French took up the cry. The mass of people 
 parted, and with Nan's hand in mine we marched out into 
 the rain. 
 
 She slept with me that night, and we did not awaken 
 until late next day. I didn't tell her where she was. I 
 explained that I was a student which was true ; for can 
 any girl ever learn more of the lessons of life and despair 
 than have I? 
 
 She told me that Nicole and Carlos had brought her 
 from America by force. Nicole advertised for help. 
 Little Nan had answered. When next she remembered, 
 she was aboard ship bound for France. 
 
 After dejeuner I counted out my money grimly, and, 
 taking the girl by the hand, started for the boulevard. I 
 looked down into the pretty face, and found her eyes ques- 
 tioningly upon me.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 101 
 
 " I wish you were my sister ! I haven't any," she said, 
 and then she suddenly asked, " Where are we going? " 
 
 " I'm going to send you back to America to your 
 mother." 
 
 I began to run, fearing that I might change my mind, 
 nor did I stop until I had placed Nan and the money into 
 the hands of the steamship agent. 
 
 She kissed me, and whispered, " My father and mother 
 are poor. We will send back the money sometime ! " 
 
 I kissed her with filling throat and, giving her my own 
 name and my banker's address, left her and by now she 
 is journeying to her father and mother. 
 
 Boulevard St. Michel is worse than ever ! I skulk along 
 the side streets in the shadows of the buildings to save 
 myself from being stared at. Then, when I see an unob- 
 servant man, one who is not looking about for someone, I 
 pounce upon him with a rapid " Donnez moi un cadeau," 
 and many times I go away with a sou. 
 
 What a lot I have learned! Never to ask anything of 
 a man alert and searching; for he always places caressing 
 fingers on my arm and says, " Ma petite cherie." 
 
 When this happens, I simply say haughtily, *' I do not 
 understand you," and go on.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 WHEN I told Zadie what I had done with my 
 money, she was so silent that I feared she would 
 burst out with a reproach, and tell me that I 
 had been " a leetle American fool." 
 
 " I had to give her the money," I sobbed. " Her peo- 
 ple are awfully poor. I simply had to she was such a 
 baby!" 
 
 Zadie folded me tenderly in her arms. " Poor petite, 
 you ees a brick ! Poor little dear 1 " Zadie whispered over 
 and over. 
 
 She seemed to be thinking deeply for a few seconds, and 
 I was too tired to talk. Little Nan had exhausted my re- 
 sources, and all I could see was endless nights stretching 
 before me in sordid, dreary succession in the lighted boule- 
 vards. 
 
 " Cherie, would ma petite like to go to the country with 
 me, to visit ma mere? " Zadie asked me abruptly. 
 
 " What ? " I demanded, thinking I had not properly un- 
 derstood her mixture of French and English. 
 
 " You see," she explained, " I have been safing to go to 
 my home. Next week is ma mere's birthday. I always go 
 then." 
 
 " But I haven't any money, Zadie," I answered drearily. 
 " I can't let you pay my expenses." 
 
 " Silly leetle bebe, ees you going to quarrel weez Zadie 
 ofer a few francs, when you haf just give your money 
 to the wee girl? If you not come, I ees disappointed. 
 You come, eh? " 
 
 102
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 103 
 
 "Oh, Zadie!" I cried, and while I hesitated to find 
 words of gratitude she continued : 
 
 " Eet ees not beautiful as summer ; but the air ees 
 fresh, and eet will be bonne for you, and we will " She 
 waited so long that I grasped her hand and added a 
 thought of my own. 
 
 " We will forget just what we are," I cried joyously. 
 
 " Oui, oui, oui, that day we will be milliners. Ma mere 
 thinks I make hats. You will luf her." Her voice was 
 tremulous with tenderness. 
 
 " When are we going, Zadie ? " In my delight, I 
 caught up Violetta and squeezed the little dog until she 
 yelped. " Oh, won't it be lovely to forget Paris ? I want 
 to be where the grass grows." 
 
 " Eet ees winter," Zadie put in ; " but there ees fine 
 
 air - 
 a 
 
 And the absence of smells," I supplemented. 
 
 " Oui, Deary, oui, and to forget for one whole day I " 
 
 " Oh, Zadie, I can think of nothing so heavenly as to 
 go to the country. I shall enjoy even the ride in the train. 
 Where does your mother live? " 
 
 " She lifs weez my sister near Epernon. I will write 
 that we will come next Wednesday. I write now." 
 
 And write she did there and then, bending industriously 
 over the table, and punctuating every word with laborious 
 grunts. 
 
 So the letter has been sent, and I am to go on Wednes- 
 day with Zadie to Epernon. What bliss ! 
 
 I wonder if it is possible for one to forget Paris for a 
 whole day? 
 
 . 
 
 Lady Jane Grey and Zadie have gone to bed. Against 
 the light streak of day broadening behind the Pantheon, I 
 can see little birds darting in and out of the crevices in the 
 tower; but I can't sleep until I have written the account
 
 104 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 of the happiest days I've had since I have been in Paris. 
 
 Zadie and I got up very early in the morning, and went 
 to the station in a bus. Zadie bought the tickets. We 
 made a little compact not to speak once of St. Michel. 
 We were just two milliners from the great city of Paris, 
 going on a country excursion. I wished that one of my 
 hats could have been used for Zadie, because she didn't 
 look very much like a maker of hats in the one she wore. 
 It was in the style of two years ago, much too small for 
 the large face, and the color didn't blend nicely with her 
 red hair. Zadie explained this by telling me that every 
 year she dyed her hair a different shade with peroxid and 
 henna, and the year that the hat was bought the dye hap- 
 pened to be light. However, I did improve it a little by 
 putting a bit of brown silk under the rim, so as to sepa- 
 rate the green from the vivid, dark red pin-curls. I should 
 have lent her one of my own hats, had they not all been 
 too youthful for her. 
 
 From station to station, to keep us from talking about 
 forbidden subjects, we joked about our hat making. Zadie 
 boasted of our fictitious orders until a quiet little woman 
 who sat in the corner must have thought we were prosper- 
 ous milliners at least. But I could not help noticing that 
 she kept gazing at Zadie's hat with a puzzled expression in 
 her eyes. 
 
 We began to count the stations, and Zadie's dear face 
 beamed with happiness as the miles grew less. It was 
 really nice to be milliners and not cocottes. 
 
 Epernon at last, with old, old houses spreading over 
 a little hill, broken here and there by spires of ancient 
 churches and the whitewashed walls of convents! We 
 quickly stepped out on the platform, and Zadie rushed 
 forward. 
 
 '* There ees Balandrot ! He ees my sister's husband. 
 And there ees their donkey, Fifi ! "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 105 
 
 I had never heard Zadie rattle on so in my life ; but the 
 same happy spirit possessed me. I fell in love with Fifi 
 and Fifi's master instantly. Balandrot was leaning out 
 of the back of the small donkey cart, his long legs touching 
 the ground. His face was almost covered with dark, shin- 
 ing hair. A peasant shirt of indigo blue fell to his knees, 
 while a pair of steady black eyes watched every person 
 alighting from the train. He didn't notice us at first; 
 but smiled at Zadie as he saw her running toward him, 
 and, still holding the reins, stepped to the ground. 
 
 " The mother feared you might not come," he said in 
 patois. " She's been sitting in the window since the ris- 
 ing of the sun." 
 
 Zadie coughed, but didn't answer, and I noticed the 
 nervous movement with which she stepped into the don- 
 key cart after me. We rolled up a narrow street, Fifi 
 making a horrible snorting noise which sounded more like 
 the weird screech of a bird than the heehaw of a donkey. 
 
 From the houses and small shops, tousled-headed chil- 
 dren tumbled out at the sound of the braying, and little 
 girls, carrying tots almost as big as themselves, shouted 
 after us. Onward through the town we went at a good 
 pace, until Fifi slowed up when the cart turned into a nar- 
 row, uneven track at the edge of a forest. Long before 
 we reached it, I heard the murmur of a stream swollen by 
 rain. I had almost forgotten how country trees looked, 
 and how the grass, which here was not entirely dead, lifted 
 each blade separate and apart. The little birds swept 
 across the sky in black swarms. I had forgotten about 
 them, too. Although France is so different from Amer- 
 ica, it almost seemed that the elms were American elms, 
 and that if we went far enough the white road would lead 
 us to Boston ; but Zadie's gabbling to her brother-in-law 
 in French and the loud heehawing of the donkey evidenced 
 Epernon, and not a New England highway. I was con-
 
 106 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 tent to sit silently and drink in the sweet pure air of the 
 country. 
 
 " Balandrot lives far out," said Zadie to me in English. 
 
 I think she wanted to awe the big peasant by speaking 
 in another language than his own. He dropped his jaw, 
 and looked at her in amazement. Zadie, with a satisfied 
 grunt, unpinned her hat, and rode the rest of the way bare- 
 headed. 
 
 " I luf to feel the wind on my face," she continued in 
 my tongue, lifting her chin to meet the keen air, and giv- 
 ing a sidelong glance at Balandrot. He was making Fifi 
 bray by scraping at her tail with his whipstock. 
 
 "Mademoiselle is an American?" he asked presently, 
 looking at me. 
 
 I nodded my head in answer to his question. Balandrot 
 had a good face, one that a woman could trust. 
 
 " She makes hats with me," Zadie explained. " She put 
 this bit of brown under there." 
 
 There was a touch of pride in her voice, and I made up 
 my mind that I would soon manufacture her a really 
 pretty hat from some of the rumpled finery at the bottom 
 of my trunk, and that it should blend better with the red 
 hair than the one she so proudly displayed. 
 
 Balandrot looked his appreciation of my efforts, and, 
 scanning the sky, remarked, " The birds fly low, then high. 
 It is going to rain. Is Mademoiselle afraid of a storm? " 
 
 " No," I replied ; " not if I am with you and Zadie." 
 
 We were soon climbing a little hill on top of which were 
 several cement-walled houses, whose sloping roofs were 
 overgrown with ivy. 
 
 " That is ours," ejaculated Balandrot, pointing his whip 
 toward a tiny homestead shining white in the sun. 
 
 Zadie wildly waved her hand. " See ! My mother ! " 
 
 I looked, and saw huddled in the window a tiny, shriv- 
 eled form, a wrinkled face out of which shone two black
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 107 
 
 eyes. A white cap with lacy ruffles almost covered the 
 gray hair. A small, brown hand shook back a welcome 
 to Zadie, and two sunken lips, like blue lines, drew back in 
 a smile over toothless gums. She was still in the window- 
 seat when we entered the room, joy broadening the smile 
 on the withered old face. 
 
 "Ah, little mother!" cried Zadie. "See, I have 
 brought you another milliner, a friend of mine. Come to 
 me, my love ! " 
 
 The tiny mite in the window raised two shriveled arms, 
 and Zadie gathered her paralyzed mother to her breast. 
 Then she sat down in a chair near the stove. 
 
 " She wouldn't let us move her away from the window," 
 Balandrot's wife said, " not for a minute since early this 
 morning. I know she is frozen." 
 
 " The mother is cold? " asked Zadie, fondling her. 
 
 " No, I was waiting for you, my baby." 
 
 One old hand was smoothing the straggling locks that 
 hung over Zadie's mottled face, while with the other la 
 petite mere patted her daughter's shoulder. 
 
 " My bebe, my bebe! " she repeated. 
 
 That Zadie was her baby seemed ridiculous. I felt a 
 queer sensation in my throat. 
 
 " She can't walk now," explained Zadie's sister ; " so she 
 stays a great deal in bed, and we put hot bricks about her 
 this cold weather. We let her sit up a bit in the after- 
 noon ; but she simply wouldn't stay in bed when she heard 
 you were coming." 
 
 " I like hot bricks," burst from the lisping blue lips. 
 
 " The little mother shall have all she wants," smiled Za- 
 die. 
 
 The two shining eyes turned upon me. I was bending 
 over a basin of water under the looking-glass. 
 
 " Is that the girl who lives with you, Zadie ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Zadie.
 
 108 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " She's pretty, too. She looks like I did when I was 
 young." 
 
 " She always theenks that everybody who ees here looks 
 like she deed," Zadie explained to me, and then she added 
 in French, " Little mother, Zadie has brought you some 
 sweets." 
 
 I love the French peasants! Now I understand where 
 Zadie got her big, simple nature, and human understand- 
 ing. 
 
 Gabrielle, Balandrot's wife, prepared a nice dejeuner, 
 and we sat down happily together. 
 
 There was a small, shy girl, little Gabrielle, who came 
 to breakfast with the news that farther out in the country 
 there was going to be a dance that night. Zadie gave the 
 child a kiss, and looked at me over her head. I had the 
 same thought in my mind. 
 
 " Would you like to stay, Pheelis ? " she asked, and then 
 turned to her brother-in-law. " Balandrot, won't you and 
 Gabrielle take us over? " 
 
 " And leave me with Granny? " pouted the child. 
 
 " But with lots of sweeties," whispered Zadie in her ear. 
 
 " And there are Granny's bricks to be kept hot," cried 
 the mother. 
 
 " And the doll baby to be looked after," inserted Balan- 
 drot, placing a slice of brown bread on the child's plate. 
 
 The cloud lifted from the little one's face, and after 
 breakfast we went together, the little girl and I, to see the 
 chickens. I forgot as I raced in the long road, scattering 
 the meal for the poultry, and tumbling the dogs and the 
 half-grown pups, that I had ever seen Boulevard St. 
 Michel. 
 
 Then came the dance. We left a huge log to smolder 
 on the hearth, when Granny and the little Gabrielle went 
 to bed. Zadie had given each a bag of sweets which she 
 had saved for the purpose. I heard the petite mere suck-
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 109 
 
 ing loudly on a piece of her taffy, running it slowly over 
 her uneven gums, while little Gabrielle munched the hard 
 bonbon with her strong young teeth. 
 
 Balandrot brought out the braying Fifi, and we started 
 merrily, the wind blowing strongly through the naked 
 trees that bordered the stream. I had never thought the 
 sky so beautiful before, possibly because in the boulevards 
 of Paris one is not thinking of it, and rarely looks upward. 
 
 As we jogged along, the brother-in-law told Zadie a lot 
 of the neighborhood gossip, how that Mere Fragnard 
 was dead, and Monsieur le Cure had been ill with la grippe ; 
 how that pretty daughter of Bastien Durand had come 
 back from Paris with a dot, and had married her sweet- 
 heart. 
 
 " Ah ! Paris is the place to make money, without 
 doubt ! " and Balandrot nodded his head sagely. 
 
 The dance was in an old farmhouse with broken win- 
 dows. Tallow candles gave the only illumination. A 
 dear, old, long-haired man scraped music from his fiddle. 
 I've been to lots of dances in America ; but none like that, 
 none half so delightful. There were a number of blue- 
 shirted peasants, and they looked quite handsome in their 
 holiday clothes. 
 
 It was fun to watch them dance. I write " watch them " 
 as if I hadn't danced too; but I did. And a nice boy said 
 pretty things in guttural patois in a low, nasal tone. He 
 stood first on one foot, then, on the other, and smiled with 
 friendly dark eyes into mine. One horny hand fussed 
 embarrassedly with the tail of his blue shirt, and ran 
 along the edge of it, drawing it close about him as he 
 talked. With his other hand he plucked timidly at the 
 sleeve of my blouse. The old windy house was cold ; so I 
 gladly accepted his offer to dance, and it made the blood 
 in my veins tingle sharply. He tramped on my feet, and 
 my half -frozen toes sang with pain ; but I was too happy
 
 110 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 to care. I was a milliner in truth 1 Hadn't I sewed 
 the bit of brown in the rim of Zadie's hat? 
 
 I chattered away to him brokenly in his tongue, and 
 smiled at the hot flush that rose to his temples in his ef- 
 fort to understand me; but when he replied in a flood of 
 French I had to implore him to speak more slowly. 
 
 Zadie stood talking to Balandrot in one corner away 
 from the holes in the window ; while Gabrielle was held close 
 by a smiling peasant who swung the little woman round in 
 the intricate figures of a country dance, her wooden shoes 
 clattering loudly in her brave attempt to keep up with him. 
 
 "What's Mademoiselle's name?" my swain asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 "Phyllis," I answered. "What's yours?" 
 
 He reddened as I threw the question back. " Pierre 
 that's not so pretty as Phyllis. I think you are the nicest 
 girl I ever met. I didn't know that Americans were like 
 you. I thought they always had big teeth and funny hair." 
 
 We stopped for an instant near the north window 
 through which the wind came in chilly gusts. Fifi's voice 
 rasped from the donkey-shed, and it seemed as if a friend 
 were calling to me from the darkness. 
 
 Before Pierre could further express his admiration, a 
 big peasant swung me from my feet and swept me to the 
 other end of the room. The dance went on again, and I 
 smiled at Zadie and Balandrot, huddled in the corner. 
 
 " Ees you happy, leetle Pheelis ? " Zadie threw at me, 
 and I had time to reply: 
 
 " Happier than I have ever been before." 
 
 I've wondered since what made me so ridiculously light- 
 hearted at that dance. I think, perhaps, because I loved 
 to be with good people who had homes, and babies, and 
 grandmothers although little Gabrielle's grandmother 
 didn't put me at all in mind of my own. 
 
 " Come and eat ! " was the cry, when the square dance
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 111 
 
 was finished. How good the wine and black bread tasted 
 after the violent exercise! 
 
 During our drive home, Zadie smiled grimly at my 
 lightheartedness ; but she only said, " Child, I believe you 
 were born a peasant, and a companion to Fifi." 
 
 Just as if Fifi thought so, too, she lifted her tail in the 
 wind and gave a great, rough snort, kicked out her heels, 
 and galloped down the hill. This caused Gabrielle almost 
 to tumble from the cart, and Balandrot laughed sleepily 
 as he drew his pretty peasant wife under his arm. Soon, 
 above the rattle of the wheels and the roar of the wind, I 
 heard her breathing evenly in sleep, while her husband 
 yawned audibly. Even Zadie's head drooped. I didn't 
 want to sleep I was afraid I should wake up and find 
 myself in Paris.
 
 CHAPTER XHI 
 
 ZADIE handed me a theater advertisement. " I be- 
 leef they take you," said she. " Of course, they 
 take you! Look at your figure, and you get ten 
 francs a night. That ees better than walking the boule- 
 vard." 
 
 " I wonder what they'd ask me to do? " I replied, after 
 a moment's thought. "A theater why, I know noth- 
 ing about acting." 
 
 " They not ask you to act," said Zadie rudely. " They 
 not need actresses in the ballet." 
 
 " What do they need? " I asked. 
 
 " Preety shoulders, a sweet girl, a leetle American girl, 
 to show her to the public night after night until their 
 money box ees full. That ees what they want.'* 
 
 Zadie laughed grimly, and I shivered as she emitted the 
 sound. It was more like the rasp of a file, like the croak 
 of a raven after the fall of night. Zadie knows more of 
 the world just as it is than I do. 
 
 I trembled at the mention of the theater ; but to escape 
 walking the dark streets meant much to me and money 
 was coming in so slowly! I had had a taste of being 
 without warmth, without food. I couldn't afford to throw 
 away a chance of getting legitimate work. 
 
 " Get up early and apply for eet," advised Zadie. " If 
 you succeed, you get your singing back." 
 
 The idea hovered about me the entire night. As soon 
 as the first street cries began, having slept only four hours, 
 I rose and dressed, and, placing in my purse the address 
 Zadie had given me, hurried to the underground railway. 
 
 113
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 113 
 
 After a few stations I got out, and at last, by dint of 
 asking questions, found myself before a hallway in front 
 of which stretched a line of girls like a queue outside the 
 pit of a theater. 
 
 I took my place in the chattering bevy, and waited 
 eagerly for the opening of the door. Each girl was 
 young and shapely, and my heart sank a little as I con- 
 trasted my chances with theirs ; but I assumed a determined 
 air that I was far from feeling. 
 
 Standing there, I thought of the robe I should wear on 
 the stage, and heard the imaginary swish of silk as my 
 long train swept the stage floor. My imagination por- 
 trayed my triumph vividly. Possibly, after a long time, 
 I could learn to act. 
 
 From time to time other girls joined us. After a wait 
 of several hours, the door opened and the mass of girls 
 rushed in. A man stopped them with a forbidding French 
 exclamation. I did not pause at his order; but broke 
 from the line and stood panting before him. 
 
 " I am here," I said slowly, in English. 
 
 " I see," he replied with a curious smile on his lips that 
 suggested I know not what. " Take a chair," he con- 
 tinued, and obediently I dropped into the seat. 
 
 He did not take me into the little room at once; but I 
 was one of the five selected by him to wait for audience. 
 The rest of the human herd was turned growlingly away. 
 
 I sidled into the private room, in answer to a call from 
 a beckoning finger, and a large, florid-complexioned man 
 looked me over from head to foot. 
 
 " Take off your clothes," said he. 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Take off your clothes ! " 
 
 " She's an American girl," put in the man I had ac- 
 costed. 
 
 " Don't care if she's an angel from Heaven. She can't
 
 114 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 pose in this theater without our knowing what kind of 
 figure she's got ! " 
 
 I went home, smarting under a new experience, my body 
 tingling from its recent exposure. They had accepted 
 me, and that night I was to pose on the top of the most 
 famous ballet in Paris. 
 
 Zadie listened to my impassioned tale. 
 
 " I feel as if I couldn't go ! " I groaned. 
 
 "You will, though. You must! Eet will get you 
 from the streets. Eet ees the way to your -studies, you 
 know." 
 
 " But I have to pose with so little clothing on ! " I com- 
 plained. " I don't like it." 
 
 " You like Donnez moi un cadeau better? " she asked 
 roughly. 
 
 Her words stung me. " No, no ! " said I bitterly. 
 " Even that theater is better than Boulevard St. Michel." 
 
 My legs could scarcely carry me to the rehearsal that 
 afternoon ; but I realized that it was the lesser of two evils 
 that lay before me. 
 
 With puckered brow I watched each girl do her part. 
 Then came my pose. Cowering in my scanty drapery of 
 gauze and silver tinsel, I was hoisted high up on the pul- 
 leys at the back of the stage, rearing my arms out in Del- 
 sartian angles after the fashion of a statue. In the pit 
 the managers whispered their endless instructions to the 
 conductor, and I could also see the moving bodies of the 
 cleaners. 
 
 "Raise your arms higher!" commanded the English- 
 man. 
 
 I stretched them up toward the gilded ceiling. 
 
 " Now turn your eyes directly toward me. There ! 
 That's your pose ! Always with your gaze upon the front 
 row. Will you remember that?"
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 115 
 
 " Yes," I replied, slipping to the stage, where I stood 
 in my bare feet, waiting for my shoes and stockings. 
 
 " Go now and get something to eat, and come back at 
 nine o'clock. You are not wanted until the final act." 
 
 I recounted my afternoon's doings to Zadie. 
 
 " They told you, some of the men, that you ver* 
 preety ? " she asked. 
 
 " No ; but I heard the Englishman tell the Frenchman 
 that they had a drawing card in me." 
 
 " How much money ? " demanded Zadie. 
 
 " Ten francs a night," I said. " That's two dollars in 
 American money." 
 
 " It keeps you from the street," commented Zadie. 
 
 " Yes, and that means something. Let me see <- two 
 dollars. I ought to save out of that, oughtn't I? " 
 
 " Oui, oui, oui! You ees careful." 
 
 " Then, oh, Zadie, I shall be able to study with Mar- 
 quise, after all." 
 
 ........ ^ 
 
 I stood tremblingly before the mirror waiting the call 
 to come and perch myself above the bevy of ballet girls. 
 
 " Your eyes on the front row," the manager whispered 
 to me as I went upward at the back, " and your arms high 
 and fingers extended." 
 
 The curtain rolled up slowly. At first, the row of lights 
 at the foot of the stage dazzled me. Never shall I forget 
 the beating of my heart, nor the dizziness that made my 
 head swim round and round. The wall of dim faces 
 caught my eye as I settled my gaze upon the front stalls 
 and forced a smile to my lips. Then, slowly, a vision 
 formed itself out of the sea of heads beneath me. One 
 face, darkly handsome and wholly American, was turned up 
 toward mine. Had my excited imagination created a 
 wraith of Roger Everard? His hands were hanging to
 
 116 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 the sides of the chair, while the men near him applauded 
 tumultuously. 
 
 " La petite file! " surged up from the crowd ; but I saw 
 only the one face, the face of which I had dreamed, wak- 
 ing and sleeping. Was I rearing the vision in my brain, 
 or was it Roger Everard in flesh? Sickened and ashamed, 
 I felt my body tremble and shake with sudden terror. My 
 flesh froze, and the muscles in my arms refused to do their 
 work. 
 
 I heard the manager below whisper frantically, " Throw 
 those arms farther out ! " but I had no power to obey 
 him. The ghost in the front stall kept me spellbound. 
 
 Slowly I turned my eyes to the man on his right. He 
 sat there in splendid relief against the row of cheering 
 men, and I traced every feature on his face, strong- 
 jawed and noble! From a pair of brilliant eyes he shot 
 me a golden gleam, which touched my soul with its truth. 
 Lower and lower swung my arms, until my half -naked body 
 succumbed to the force in my brain and I tumbled down, a 
 limp mass behind the scenes. 
 
 My eyes opened when water was sprinkled into my fa^ce. 
 From the front came the sharp demand for the reappear- 
 ance of " La petite file." 
 
 " There, there, you're all right ! " cried the manager. 
 " Come, come, climb ! Quicker, quicker ! Throw out your 
 arms and smile. Blake, hang onto her, or she'll fall 
 again." 
 
 This time I looked off into the dark corners of the the- 
 ater, swaying and smiling, with freezing body and tortured 
 soul for ten francs. 
 
 I went no more to the theater. My refusal to go puz- 
 zled Zadie; but she didn't chide me. Afterward I went 
 sneaking like a wicked night-bird back into the boulevards.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 117 
 
 Zadie and I have had many discussions lately about 
 morals and religion. At heart, she is really a Catholic. 
 I like to hear her argue religion between the puffs of her 
 cigarette. She says that papal Rome is holding to the 
 ancient tradition that this state should pay the expenses 
 of the church, while France demands that all religious in- 
 stitutions should be independent of the state. The two 
 the Mother Church who has nurtured her children since 
 the infancy of modern civilization, and the rebellious 
 daughter clamoring for the freedom she holds so dear 
 have come to fisticuffs. Zadie says that any time now the 
 soldiers are apt to be ordered out to suppress dangerous 
 riots. 
 
 >* 
 
 I have persuaded myself that I didn't see Roger that 
 night in the theater. I am sure he's in America. An- 
 other proof is that the big man I thought was with him had 
 golden eyes, and that's not natural. I must have been 
 excited and overwrought. 
 
 I burned a candle today that Roger would not forget 
 me, and another that soon oh, very soon ! I shall be 
 able to leave Boulevard St. Michel, and Donnez moi tin 
 cadeau.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE soldiers have come at last and have turned the 
 city into a huge barracks. Today, red groups 
 arranged themselves from St. Germain to Pont 
 Neuf watching the people who had gathered together to 
 discuss the orders issued by the court of France, that the 
 church taxes should be paid immediately or the altar trim- 
 mings would be confiscated. The dignified cuirassiers, 
 with fine uniforms and their bobbing horse-tail helmets, 
 rode up and down the boulevards. They clattered back 
 and forth over the bridges, until the very air seemed to be 
 filled with their presence. 
 
 This afternoon I walked toward the Pantheon and sat 
 down on the broad steps to watch the fast moving crowds 
 in the boulevard below. A straggling woman here and 
 there broke away and skulked into the shadows. 
 
 Presently I went back to St. Michel and turned toward 
 the river. The soldiers spoke to me as I passed, some 
 softly, some in loud, laughing tones, until my face burned 
 crimson. One man placed his hand affectionately upon 
 my arm; but I drew aside and told him that I was not 
 French. I walked away with his laugh echoing behind me. 
 
 Nearing the Place St. Michel, I saw rows of omnibuses 
 awaiting their turns to roll back to the Odeon. I strug- 
 gled past the soldiers to the bridge ; but feared to mention 
 to any my need of money, for the brows of most of them 
 were too lowering. The silent mobs, too, told of a ter- 
 rible undercurrent. 
 
 At Place St. Michel the thought came into my mind that 
 as I dared not beg I would cross the bridge and go into 
 
 118
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 119 
 
 the Paris I had known in better days, passing just once 
 from Boulevard St. Michel into the brightness of English 
 Paris. So I turned toward the Louvre, crossed the bridge, 
 and walked up the Avenue de 1'Opera. 
 
 A multitude of people pressed through the boulevard. 
 On each side of the avenue soldiers lounged, talking and 
 telling stories. Beautiful women smiled upon them; but, 
 receiving no encouragement, passed into Des Italiens and 
 the Montmartre, some following the mob to Place de la 
 Madeleine. 
 
 Looming against the bright sky was the historic church, 
 closed and silent. Morbid looking priests crept from 
 boulevard to boulevard, receiving the jeers of the ribald 
 without a murmur. In their eyes dwelt the hidden de- 
 termination that had made the Church of Rome the most 
 powerful organization on earth. I neared the Madeleine 
 and waited. Soldiers guarded the front and side gates ; 
 although many loitered about, for the confiscating order 
 had not yet been put into execution. Those on guard 
 were doing their duty with perfunctory solemnity that 
 men assume when they don their nation's garb of authority. 
 
 Suddenly a great crowd came running from the Rue des 
 Capucines. In an instant every conceivable spot in the 
 Place de la Madeleine was filled with people. They were 
 pushing toward the church with jeers of laughter and 
 cries of " Down with the Church ! " 
 
 The church was ringed in by the scarlet of the solemn 
 soldiers whose faces were drawn into tense lines that ran 
 from their high cheekbones to the lower angles of their 
 jaws. The determined brilliance of their eyes beneath the 
 cockade hats plainly demonstrated that they, at any rate, 
 recognized a vested power mightier than that of the clam- 
 oring mob. 
 
 Out of the Rue des Capucines, the Rue de la Paix, and 
 the Boulevard des Italiens, armies of soldiers hastened to
 
 120 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 the scene of the riot. I shrank into the shelter of the 
 building on the corner, and watched the venting of fanati- 
 cal human passion. It required no great deductive power 
 to conclude that if by any chance a priest or a layman 
 should attempt to force his way to the church gates, he 
 would be spitted upon one of those upraised glittering 
 bayonets. 
 
 I noted that a young priest, with flowing black robes 
 and bared head, stood with lifted pantomimic arms, di- 
 rectly in front of the red-coated soldiers, and the masses 
 of people made a circle for him. I moved forward breath- 
 lessly as he began to speak. His face was set and pale. 
 Within his fanatical soul lay a spirit of vast intellectu- 
 ality ; yet I knew that the great soul was diseased, and 
 ready to throw away its human life for a demanding con- 
 science. 
 
 Here and there other priests scuttled through the place 
 and disappeared into the masses; but the young priest 
 talked on. 
 
 " It's the church of my God," I, pressing still closer, 
 heard him say, " the home of the Queen of Heaven and of 
 her Christ Child. I will protect her from your wanton 
 swords the taint of Sodom's fleshpots ! " 
 
 His voice rang out, sure-toned and strong, and an eager, 
 excited throng of people pushed forward. The priest's 
 words were taken up as they fell and passed backward from 
 mouth to mouth. I elbowed myself into the front row, 
 wriggling nearer to catch every word. 
 
 " Stand back ! " the gendarme ordered the insistent 
 priest. " Stand back ! It's sure death to pass ! " 
 
 " Death ? Do I fear death ? " And the deep voice 
 lifted the words and threw them into the soldier's face. 
 " It's a small thing to give one's life for the Mother 
 Church today and always. I will go through and de- 
 fend her altars ! I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 121 
 
 of my Lord than stand with all the world's riches in my 
 hand." 
 
 I peered into his face, and an expression indomitable as 
 death swept over it. He thrust forth his big, dark head, 
 and ran toward the line of gendarmes. With sudden de- 
 cision, the soldier in front of him lowered his bayonet, and 
 the heavy, black-robed figure ran directly upon it. 
 
 The glittering blade disappeared as it swerved through 
 the priest's body, and a tiny bright point gleamed out 
 through the long soutane at the back. The powerful head 
 lifted into the air as the body writhed and turned like a 
 gallant hound transfixed on the antlers of a stag at bay. 
 Wonderful deep-set eyes raised upward in dying agony 
 toward the stone church and leveled their exalted gaze at 
 the sculptured figure at the top. For one instant the long 
 arms extended themselves high in the air. 
 
 " Ave Maria! " gurgled the twitching mouth, just as 
 crimson death bubbles gathered large upon the open lips 
 and burst into prismatic coloring in the sun. A soul, 
 large, sensitive, and anxious, fought for a moment with 
 brawn and brain, then gathered itself for flight, and was 
 gone as the soldier drew out his bloody bayonet. 
 
 For an instant I bent low and looked into the glazing, 
 unconscious eyes. But as I drew back from the priest's 
 side the mob burst into a huge roar that echoed and re- 
 echoed against the stone church like the laughter of devils. 
 It was just then that there came a blinding flash and a 
 thunderous cannonade, and the next thing I remember I 
 was crushed against a stone wall the moans of a human 
 voice sounding in my ears.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE shock had been so great that I was unable to 
 remember immediately what had happened. Then I 
 saw a maddened crowd hurrying into the boulevards 
 away from Place de la Madeleine. At first, my eyes were 
 better than my ears ; for the groans, which were really near 
 me, seemed miles away. Here and there people were hastily 
 picking themselves up from the earth and none was 
 dead but the black figure near the motionless row of sol- 
 diers. 
 
 As my ears gathered power to hear better, I realized 
 that the groaning sound came directly from my right. A 
 boy of perhaps twenty years or so, holding his hands 
 frantically to his face, lay close to the small tables of the 
 corner cafe, where he had been thrown by the explosion. 
 
 I crawled over to him and touched his shoulder. " Are 
 you hurt?" I whispered; for as yet my voice was not 
 strong. 
 
 And to my surprise he answered in English, " Oh, I 
 believe my eyes are out. I am sure I've lost my sight. I 
 can't see, and they hurt me so ! " 
 
 "Hush! Don't cry like that," I cautioned. "You'll 
 attract the police. You don't want them to take you away, 
 do you ? Sit up ! " 
 
 The boy rolled over and raised himself to a sitting posi- 
 tion. I, too, sat up and loosened his hands from his face. 
 
 "Let me see!" 
 
 " What was that flash? " he breathed. " It seemed as 
 though it was sent straight into my face. A dark man 
 stood beside me, and we were watching that priest. When 
 
 122
 
 . WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 123 
 
 the soldier thrust his sword forward, the man close to me 
 muttered something in Italian, and then came that roar. 
 Great God ! I am blinded for life ! " 
 
 " Hold your head still, while I look at your eyes ! " 
 
 His fair English face was slightly burned in patches 
 from the powder; but the wide, sightless blue eyes seemed 
 to be untouched. 
 
 " They're not burned," I said. " Can you walk? " 
 
 " Yes ; but where shall I go ? " he groaned. " My 
 friends won't be home, and I don't dare ask an officer. 
 What shall I do ? Blind in the name of God ! " 
 
 " Stand on your feet," said I, " and hold tight to my 
 hand." 
 
 I aided him to get up as best I could. With one hand 
 he steadied himself by placing it on one of the small metal 
 tables, and with the other he held frantically to mine. 
 
 It had all happened in such a brief time that the sol- 
 diery had not gathered their wits together. 
 
 " Will you come to my home until you can decide what 
 to do?" I ventured. "Cornel the soldiers are moving! 
 Come, come ! " 
 
 " Arrest the leaders ! " cried a strong voice, and the line 
 broke up as the redcoats scattered into the crowd. 
 
 " Walk as if you could see," I whispered, and then, stag- 
 gering into the Boulevard des Capucines, I led the boy 
 through Rue Scribe to the corner, and turning to the left 
 struck off toward the river. We went on unmolested, I 
 leading, but pretending to follow; and the boy, with a 
 strong pretense of seeing, held his head high. Through 
 some of the quieter streets we walked slowly. 
 
 " Hear that mob on the avenue ? " he exclaimed shud- 
 deringly. " What a confounded row ! Are they coming 
 this way? " 
 
 " No," said I. " I believe they are going off toward the 
 Notre Dame."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Until we crossed the bridge and came close to Rue de 
 Bac, we said no more. I expected every moment that my 
 companion would tell me that he was regaining his sight ; 
 but his nerves still kept up the tiny, individual flutter that 
 I could feel plainly through his coat sleeve. 
 
 " Where do you live," he demanded, " and where are we 
 now? It seems as though we had walked for miles." 
 
 We've come some distance," I explained ; " but I dared 
 not take you through the Avenue de 1'Opera, it's full of 
 soldiers, and there's no hope for a fiacre, you see? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," he answered with effort. " I beg your par- 
 don for speaking like that. But you see my nerves are 
 pretty rotten, and my eyes burn like fire." 
 
 " Hot water will ease the pain," I replied. " We won't 
 go into St. Michel by the river rue. There are too many 
 soldiers there." 
 
 We threaded narrow streets for over a mile, and then, 
 turning, came directly into the glare of Boulevard St. 
 Michel. Here and there I recognized a woman I knew. 
 In the near distance I saw Lady Jane Grey; but I hoped 
 she had not seen me, and hurried the boy on. 
 
 When we reached the house I said in a low voice, " Lift 
 your feet. We're going upstairs." 
 
 We entered without making a sound, and I closed the 
 (door carefully because I did not want Captain Zadie to 
 hear me if she should happen to be at home. 
 
 " Sit there," I said in low tones, " and don't make a 
 noise, if you can help it. Now that you are here, I can 
 bathe your eyes, and I am sure you will be able to use 
 them in a few minutes." 
 
 "Oh, do you think so? I say, I don't know how to 
 thank you. It's awfully decent of you. I only hope that 
 I shall be able to return your kindness some day. I feel 
 such a precious fool at this minute! I can't even think." 
 
 " Don't try," I soothed. " I'm going to put hot water
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 125 
 
 on jour eyes, and then when the city is quieter you can go 
 home." 
 
 During this conversation I had poured water into a small 
 tin kettle and had placed it on the stove. 
 
 " What's the matter with my hair? " broke in the boy 
 suddenly. 
 
 I went to him, and lifted the light locks from his fore- 
 head. These were untouched; but something had passed 
 over the top of his head and singed off the curls as sharply 
 as if a pair of scissors had cut them. 
 
 " There's nothing much the matter with it," I answered 
 reluctantly. " You've lost your cap ; but your head is 
 not bleeding. There are a few cuts on your face ; but 
 when I wash them they won't look half bad." 
 
 " But it's my eyes. I don't believe I shall ever see 
 again. Oh, damn " His voice broke, and a despair- 
 ing cry broke from him in spite of himself. 
 
 " Hush ! " I implored. " Hush ! " 
 
 Before I could say more I heard a door open and close, 
 and a heavy footstep nearing my room. Rap ! rap ! rap ! 
 I leaned over, placed my fingers on the boy's lips, and 
 waited breathlessly. The knocking began again, and this 
 time it was louder and more importunate. Zadie's voice 
 cried out commandingly : 
 
 " Ouvrez! Pheelis, open the door. I know you ees 
 there ! " 
 
 I hesitated; then turned the key in the lock and stood 
 in the doorway. I scarcely recognized the usually calm 
 woman in the frenzied creature before me. She pushed 
 me aside and stepped in. 
 
 " So Lady Jane has not lie I She say you bring man in 
 here. I not believe it. Thees ees not Donnez moi un 
 cadeau! " 
 
 She looked straight and fixedly at me, and the boy rose 
 to his feet.
 
 126 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " This isn't what? " he whispered. " This isn't what? " 
 
 " Eet ees no place for you, you wretched boy. Allez- 
 vous! Geetout!" 
 
 She could not drag her accusing gaze from my face. 
 I bounded forward and grasped her hands. 
 
 " Zadie, for God's love, listen ! He is blind, and I 
 brought him here to help him ! " 
 
 She turned slowly and looked at the trembling youth. 
 He was feeling his way to the door with upturned face, 
 chalk-white and drawn with pain. 
 
 " I'll go," said he. " I didn't understand." 
 
 A peculiar sound came from Zadie's lips. I noticed 
 that she was staring at him, a tragic expression settling 
 about her mouth. 
 
 " You might have told me ! " the boy cried sharply. 
 " You might have told me ! Where are you, Girl? " 
 
 " I'm here," I cried, springing toward him. " I'm 
 sorry. It's the only home I have." 
 
 I spoke angrily to Zadie; but she didn't heed me any 
 more than if I had not been there. She touched the boy's 
 arm with infinite tenderness. 
 
 " How came you in Paree ? " she breathed. " And 
 where you lif ? " 
 
 The water was boiling, and I interposed, " Put this on 
 his face, Zadie. He was hurt in the riot." 
 
 My anger had died. Zadie had come in with the de- 
 termination to save me from myself; but, seeing her mis- 
 take, was eager to aid the poor, helpless boy. For the 
 next half-hour we relieved him as much as possible; but 
 he did not speak again, keeping the cloth held tight to 
 his eyes. 
 
 '* You haf not tell me your name," Zadie said presently. 
 
 " No," replied the boy slowly. " It was because I didn't 
 think. My name is Max Donnithorne ! " 
 
 His blind eyes were directed upon Zadie. I stood so
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 127 
 
 close to her that when she swayed before him I caught her 
 by the arm. 
 
 "Zadie!" I cried. "Zadie!" 
 
 She brushed me aside impetuously, and the boy made a 
 movement to depart. 
 
 "You not go alone," Zadie said bruskly, and I scarcely 
 recognized her voice. " I find you voiture. The pain 
 ees better? " 
 
 " Yes. Please let me go now. I can't stay here ! 
 There's something awful in this place ! " 
 
 I made no effort to detain him, and Zadie led him out. 
 I could hear her talking to him as they walked down the 
 long flight of stairs. When I peeped from the window, 
 I saw her place him tenderly in a cab, and as it rolled 
 away she ran into the center of the boulevard and watched 
 it until it was out of sight. Then she disappeared swiftly 
 into the doorway, and, without pausing to speak to me, 
 rushed into her own rooms and locked the door. 
 
 It took fully five minutes of entreaty and pounding 
 before she opened it. Her face was blistered and red. 
 Her eyes at the corners were wrinkled deeply, and the 
 coarse red hair was tumbled and awry. 
 
 " Zadie ! " I exclaimed, throwing my arms about her. 
 " Don't cry ! Why should you let a boy like that disturb 
 your feelings? His eyes will come out all right." 
 
 She seated herself again, and with a sob began fumbling 
 at the front of her dress. " Look ! " she screamed. 
 " Look ! Eet ees he ! The Engleesh child ! Mon Dieu! 
 I ees hees mother! See hees father! How like! How 
 like!" 
 
 I bent over and looked at the pictured face. The min- 
 iature was of a boy of perhaps twenty years, with 
 the same wide-open, laughing eyes as the other boy might 
 have had before the accident. A mass of curls was piled 
 high on a finely shaped head, and the firm chin and mouth
 
 128 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 were the counterpart of those belonging to the youth just 
 departed. 
 
 Shocked, I answered, " The boy who was here is 
 your " 
 
 " Engleesh son," Zadie gasped. " Oh, Pheelis ! How: 
 I vant to see him one more time ! " 
 
 We did not speak for another hour ; but I held the huge 
 red head in my arms and wiped the swollen eyes and 
 neither of us went into the boulevard that night.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 IT was eight o'clock this evening when, feeling it im- 
 perative that I should beg even on a rainy night, I 
 took my umbrella, lifted my skirts, and sallied forth. 
 Since the night of little Nan's rescue I had not been in the 
 Cafe D'Harcourt ; but the warmth, the lights, and a desire 
 to get out of the rain lured me in that direction. As I 
 walked along I lowered my umbrella because it accidentally 
 bumped into another. The rapid walk of the man indi- 
 cated a set purpose. 
 
 " Dorniez moi un cadeau," chanted I in an undertone. 
 The words froze on my lips. 
 
 " I'm sorry," said a familiar voice. " I didn't mean to 
 run over you. You spoke to me? " 
 
 " No," I replied in English, " I didn't speak. I'm 
 sorry " 
 
 The next moment Roger Everard was looking intently, 
 curiously, into my eyes. My legs doubled suddenly and 
 almost refused to hold me up. 
 
 " Phyllis Fitzpatrick ! How strange to meet you ! 
 Come in here for a moment and let us talk. We'll get 
 some coffee." 
 
 He was leading me toward the Cafe D'Harcourt. 
 
 " Not there, not there ! ? ' I said nervously. " Don't let's 
 go into that place." 
 
 I was afraid of being seen with him in any one 
 of my nightly haunts; but he did not perceive my 
 agitation. The rain still pattered; but to me the night 
 was radiant with brightness and Paris was again a 
 beautiful city. What a change a few moments had 
 wrought! I was too excited for speech, and seated my- 
 
 129
 
 130 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 self with a happy sigh in a small cafe on Boulevard St. 
 Germain. 
 
 " Who would have thought that I should meet you in 
 Paris? " ejaculated Roger. " Yes, of course, I knew you 
 were here studying. Doesn't this seem cheerful? " 
 
 Cheerful ! If he only knew ! How many times I had 
 longed to see him ! How many times I had drawn him be- 
 fore my vision! 
 
 " What are you doing here? " I queried, hoping that he 
 would not ask me too many questions. 
 
 " I am here studying art, and attending a few lectures 
 in the Sorbonne University. Getting a general knowledge 
 of French. How do you like Paris ? " 
 
 " I love it," I said quickly, and at that moment I did 
 love it ; for was he not with me, and I with him? His pres- 
 ence had changed all the outside murkiness. 
 
 " I like it, too. I've done a lot of work here. I haven't 
 seen you since that dinner at the Waldorf. Do you re- 
 member? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed. But I heard you were studying in New 
 York." 
 
 He meditated before answering. " I was in New York ; 
 but decided to come over and see what Parisian art could 
 do for me. But tell me what you're doing," he com- 
 manded smilingly. 
 
 I drew my wet boots under my skirts, and and told 
 him a lie. Oh, the remorse I've suffered over that un- 
 truth ! I hate lies how I hate them 1 I said I was 
 studying singing, and that I loved my work, and that at 
 some remote period, when Paris could do no more for 
 me, I hoped to return to America, an artist. When I had 
 finished, my head dropped in confusion, and in silence I 
 contented myself with furtive glances at the grave, earnest 
 face so full of purpose. 
 
 " Why, that is simply delightful ! " he broke out. " My
 
 THE NKXT MOMLNT ROCKK I.VKRARH WAS I.OOK1M: INIKNTLV, 
 C'URIOl SI V INTO Ml I i
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 131 
 
 mother and I are here for a year, and we can all have such 
 good times together. It brings back old days to see you. 
 I think," he mused, " I remember hearing that you suf- 
 fered in that bank smash in which poor Coster figured." 
 
 " Not to any terrifying extent," I assured him. " I 
 had drawn a great deal of money before the failure, and 
 had transferred it to a bank in Paris." 
 
 In comparison with his honest geniality, my deception 
 made me crimson with shame. I tremblingly resolved that 
 he should never know of the dismal role poverty had thrust 
 upon me. I met his eyes in bitterness of spirit. I had 
 not dreamed they were half so beautiful as they really 
 were, I mentally likened their color to the blue of the 
 sky, the purple of the sea at the dying of the sun. 
 
 " Good ! " he said. " I was afraid that you had had 
 it all in the trust company at the time. Now I want to 
 know where you are living. In a pension? In rooms? 
 Or where? You must be awfully lonely without any of 
 your friends here. I'll come and look you up tomorrow; 
 but I can't accompany you home just yet. I have to go 
 to the American Club. Wouldn't you like to come with 
 me? " 
 
 I went unhesitatingly, although Donnez moi un cadeau 
 rang like a prison knell in my ears. 
 
 " Isn't it strange? " he said, as he walked rapidly 
 through the rain. " I thought when we collided that you 
 were a French girl, and that you said something to me." 
 
 " No," I dissented slowly. " I didn't speak to you in 
 French." 
 
 Two lies! I'd rather almost die than be untruthful to 
 him. In misery, I walked beside him, and it seemed that 
 beckoning specters crowded upon me from all sides. The 
 Boulevard St. Michel called me. Donnez moi shrieked 
 from every dark corner. 
 
 We took the bus a short distance down the avenue.
 
 132 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Upon our arrival at the club, Roger ushered me into a 
 small room where a young man sat idly running over the 
 keys of a piano. 
 
 " Mr. Griegson," said Roger, " this is Miss Fitzpat- 
 rick from America. She's an old friend of mine, and I 
 came upon her tonight quite by accident. I haven't asked 
 her, but I believe that she will sing for us sometime." 
 
 Boulevard St. Michel ! Boulevard St. Michel ! Donnez 
 moi un cadeau! What shall I do when he asks me to sing? 
 Why, sing, of course, and sing, and sing, until I feel as if 
 I were living again. 
 
 But I dared not then remain with him ; for he had pro- 
 posed going home with me later. So, while he was oc- 
 cupied with his duties I left a note with Mr. Griegson 
 saying that I could not wait, for I had an appointment 
 with a girl friend. I asked him also to meet me tomorrow 
 in the Place St. Michel near the Seine, adding a post- 
 script that if he were unable to come I should be there at 
 the same place and hour the next day, or even the day 
 after that. 
 
 Oh, if I could have left Roger tonight without once 
 having said Donnez moi un cadeau! 
 
 R 
 
 I'm ready for bed now, and as soon as I open my eyes 
 I shall go to the church and burn candles. Afterward I'll 
 go to the Louvre to see the picture of the Christ there. 
 It is a famous picture, Zadie says, and that when one 
 first glances at it, it looks as though the face were dead; 
 but, after studying it awhile, the eyes seem to open, and 
 the divine countenance lights up with a benediction. 
 
 Oh, I want to be what Roger thinks I am! But how 
 can I? I must live, I must eat, and my only resource is 
 the boulevards. I desire to be good, too. Only a short 
 time since, I should have died rather than knowingly sin. 
 If it be a sin to beg for bread, then I have sinned indeed !
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 133 
 
 It Is so much harder to die for lack of bread than for 
 principle's sake ! Hunger is death to life and moral 
 sensibilities. 
 
 Zadie shrugs her shoulders when I discuss the problems 
 of life with her, and grimly remarks, " The world owes 
 you a lifing, and you get eet the best you can. Luf every- 
 body, be good to everybody, and what more the good Christ 
 want, eh ? " 
 
 Three wonderful things have happened today} I wish 
 to record them that I may read them over at some future 
 time when I have grown old, and my existence in Paris is 
 far in the past. Then I may be able to live again the great 
 happiness that has come to me even here in Boulevard 
 St. Michel! 
 
 After drinking my coffee, I sat down to mend the braid 
 torn from my dark walking skirt. I had made up my 
 mind to go first to Notre Dame to burn candles, then to 
 the Louvre to see the picture of Christ, and this blessed 
 afternoon to keep my rendezvous with Roger. 
 
 These three pilgrimages of mine are curiously sym- 
 bolical of the three great powers in a girl's life, for a 
 woman's delight in living lies in the possession of her 
 faith, art, and love. I have learned that when one falls 
 in love religion becomes a waking cry in the heart, and 
 that everything beautiful, sensuously speaking, increases 
 the new and vivifying life of the emotions. Only last 
 night, before going to sleep, I read over some beautiful 
 poetry. These same verses a short time ago, when the 
 shadows of the boulevards were in my eyes, seemed empty 
 and futile. 
 
 Varied thoughts of my future occupied my mind as I 
 sewed industriously ; but footsteps in the hall outside, and 
 a rap on Lady Jane's door, dispelled my contemplative 
 mood.
 
 134 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 The low, deep voice of Jane's American brought me 
 slowly to my feet. The skirt slipped to the floor, the 
 needle becoming lost in the folds of the cloth. I listened 
 intently, and my face grew cold; then the blood rushed 
 hot to my eyes. I heard the voice that had thrilled me 
 for weeks. The man whom I had desired to see, he who 
 had been constantly in Lady Jane's room, was Roger 
 Everard ! 
 
 I felt an inexplicable sudden change. My lips whitened 
 and became hard under a feeling I had never known. 
 Every vestige of the girl I was the minute before disap- 
 peared in the desperate faintness that swept over me as 
 I strained my ears to hear the voice, pleading for the life 
 and honor of a French cocotte. Lady Jane was better 
 than I ; for she had but followed the custom of her coun- 
 try, walking in the same path with her sister women, 
 whose lives had been unfortunately cast. But with me 
 
 I crouched down on the skirt in terror listening 
 listening to the tones I had grown to love by instinct and 
 yet had not before recognized as Roger's. I was too ex- 
 cited to understand the meaning of his words : it was enough 
 to know that he was with Lady Jane enough to realize 
 that he sought her welfare. 
 
 Yesterday there was but the thought that I loved him ; 
 today there was the desire to have him for my own. Lady 
 Jane was a lost woman in the eyes of Roger Everard ; but 
 as far as he knew I was as innocent as the angels in Heaven. 
 
 I sprang to my feet, strangling a cry, and stood in 
 indecision. A maddening thought overpowered me: he 
 might sometime know that I had been sneaking through 
 the shadows of darkest Paris begging bits of money from 
 her darkest sons. 
 
 I would drag him back to America, and the sights of 
 Paris would be lost with the memories of Boulevard St. 
 Michel.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 135 
 
 I crawled softly toward the double doors that separated 
 my rooms from Jane's. Through the crack down the cen- 
 ter I could see them plainly. 
 
 I noticed that Roger had not taken off his overcoat nor 
 unfastened the wrap about his strong throat. Lady Jane 
 was crouching on the hearth-rug like a fawning tigress, 
 her naked neck gleaming white against the bright-hued 
 dressing gown. Her hair, one brilliant mass, fell about 
 her piquant face, and the witchery of her eyes was veiled 
 by her heavy lids. I drew my breath in an admiring 
 gasp. How could any earthly man resist loving such a 
 beautiful creature? Then her long lashes lifted slowly 
 upward. 
 
 " Tell me in your joli Engleesh, slow," she lisped in 
 stammering English. " I understand. I like talk your 
 your Engleesh." 
 
 " I'm afraid you won't understand, Jane," answered 
 Roger. " You don't know how differently we think about 
 women in our country. I have told you that our men 
 don't believe the same as yours do here." 
 
 By the expression of her eyes I knew that she did under- 
 stand. She smiled and dragged closer to him. 
 
 " You be Frenchman then, you be Frenchman ! " 
 
 I shivered. I realized now why those two women on the 
 boulevard had fought like two lionesses. It was over just 
 such a man as this. I felt that I could fight with Jane 
 if she tried to keep Roger from me. I couldn't stop to 
 argue with my better self. The storm of jealousy, of 
 physical hatred, raged through my senses until I couldn't 
 reason. I stretched out flat on the floor, my feet on the 
 unmended skirt and my eyes glued to the crack between the 
 two doors. 
 
 " Jane, I will never come here after today ! " 
 
 She understood this also; for she looked at Roger with 
 half closed eyes, her teeth gleaming through her red lips.
 
 136 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 How sensuous she looked, how like some beautiful, wild 
 creature of the forest! Then she flung her arms about 
 his knees, clung to him, beseeching him not to go, and im- 
 ploring him in a flow of broken English and French love 
 words to remain always with her. He struggled to free 
 himself; but she rose panting to her feet and flung both 
 arms round his neck. 
 
 " For God's sake, Jane, don't look at me like that ! " 
 stammered Roger. " No no ! Don't put your arms 
 about my neck ! My God ! My God ! " 
 
 Her tightly closed arms drew his head down to hers, 
 and his voice died away, smothered under her kisses. For 
 an instant I was impelled to thrust myself through the 
 doors and tear him from her. A great thought flashed 
 into my brain, and I stifled a cry of gladness. He would 
 be mine; for I was unlike Jane in spite of my mingling 
 with the nighthawks of Paris. 
 
 By main strength Roger forced her back, stood up, and 
 tightened his fur collar with a desperate jerk. 
 
 " Jane, listen to me ! Will you hear me? I can do you 
 no good. I've honestly tried. You would drag me down 
 to the level of the men you know. Men in our country 
 make only good women their wives and the mothers of 
 their children. Jane, I will not come here again ! " 
 
 She made no answer; but daggered him with her eyes. 
 Turning abruptly, she flung herself in a fury on the divan. 
 Roger looked hesitatingly at her, and made as if to open 
 the door. Then he walked back slowly toward her and 
 bending down touched her shoulder. 
 
 " Jane ! " he said brokenly. " Get up, Jane ! " 
 
 Her eyes darkened with resentment, and she motioned 
 him away. " Go ! " she spat up at him. " Vas! " 
 
 " Can't you see, Jane," he urged, keeping his hand 
 upon her arm, ** that it's your soul I want, and not your 
 body?"
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 157 
 
 " My soul ! " she screamed, springing up. " My soul ! 
 Vhat good ees that to you? Eet's my body I vant you to 
 take ! My soul may go where it will. My soul ! My 
 soul! Pah! You think I can haf a soul? Souls are for 
 the reech reech women can have such things. Soft beds, 
 food, luf ! Those are for women you like ! " 
 
 Roger said something inaudible to me, and she ceased 
 instantly. He straightened up, and threw his head be- 
 yond reach of the grasping fingers of the cocotte. The 
 lines of the beautiful young form under the dressing robe 
 showed plainly as her body twisted and turned. Instantly 
 her mood changed and she cooed to him in soft, liquid 
 French. 
 
 Roger wheeled away from her. " Jane ! Jane, you 
 forget ! I've told you that I do not love you." 
 
 She shuddered and breathed seductively. " Come weez 
 me ! Come weez me ! " 
 
 " No, Jane, listen ! I love another woman one I've 
 known a long time. I will not see you again. I can do 
 you no good, and you must let me go ! " 
 
 I rolled away from the door, picked up my skirt, and 
 stitched on with conflicting thoughts. 
 
 In another instant I heard Roger's footsteps on the 
 hall floor and a subdued whimper in Lady Jane's room. 
 I must plan quickly to leave Boulevard St. Michel, and in 
 a way that Roger should never know that I had been 
 tainted with it. 
 
 After a time I heard Lady Jane rush through the hall 
 and down the stairs. 
 
 $: 5 
 
 Later I went to Notre Dame to offer up prayers for my 
 beloved. A year ago I should have called burning candles 
 to strengthen my petitions a superstition; but now I take 
 infinite comfort in this act of devotion. 
 
 Only one woman was kneeling at the altar railing. Her
 
 138 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 face was lowered over her slender gloved hands that slipped 
 easily over the rosary. Silently I knelt beside her, and 
 began my prayer. 
 
 Although the whispered prayers fell smoothly from her 
 lips, my neighbor, ill at ease, shifted her position. Sud- 
 denly, as though impelled, she raised her eyes, and they 
 met mine. I was gazing directly into the face of Lady 
 Jane Grey ! She ceased praying, and so did I. Stealthily, 
 she edged a little nearer, her eyes drawn down at the 
 corners, and her mouth pursed, childlike. Lady Jane had 
 come to pray for Roger Everard, and so had I ! 
 
 Dropping her eyes, she murmured again. Long and 
 earnestly she sent out a rhythmical prayer. She paid out 
 another franc for candles, filled up some empty sockets, 
 and knelt once more. I did the same, only adding a sou. 
 Then I knelt beside her. I heard her breath hiss through 
 her teeth. She opened her eyes, and, allowing them to 
 rest upon me, said wickedly in a vicious undertone: 
 
 " Pig chamois twice pig ! " 
 
 She had learned her country's unclean words in English, 
 and her pronunciation was perfect. I do not think she 
 had any idea that I knew her American ; but she realized 
 that I was different different as men count difference 
 in women, and that my nationality and the proximity of 
 my dwelling to hers menaced her happiness. 
 
 Presently, after I had finished, I hastened out of the 
 church, and walked rapidly toward the Louvre. At the 
 entrance of the building a man called me by name. I 
 turned quickly and halted; for Casperone Larodi stood 
 looking at me. His face was pale, drawn, and thin; but 
 his eyes expressed surprise and pleasure. A weak smile 
 twitched his lips. 
 
 " At last I have found you ! " said he. 
 
 " Please don't speak to me ! " I replied, horrified at the 
 sight of him.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 139 
 
 " Don't be cruel, Phyllis. Don't ! You know how I 
 love you. Oh, what I have gone through on your account 
 it was all for you ! I have longed to meet you, yet 
 dreaded it." 
 
 " I'm going into the Louvre," I answered, breaking in 
 upon his words without ceremony. " I do not wish to be 
 bothered just now." 
 
 With a completeness worthy of him, he ignored my 
 sarcastic statement. " May I go into the Louvre with 
 you? " he asked. 
 
 I nodded my head. 
 
 " I want to see the reproduction of a beautiful picture 
 of the Savior in which the eyes open and close," I re- 
 marked, purchasing a catalogue. " I don't know the name 
 of the master." 
 
 Casperone was scanning me curiously. " You're sot 
 changed, Phyllis so different ! When you first came to 
 Paris you loved nothing but your art; but now the 
 thought that you could be in that house has made me 
 suffer more than I've imagined it possible for a man to 
 suffer. What are you doing nowadays ? " 
 
 " I do not see how my movements can interest you," I 
 answered coldly. 
 
 Through the long halls we walked in silence. Directly 
 at the end of a narrow gallery I saw the picture I was 
 seeking. It was hung beside a Madonna from whose lap 
 the Holy Child lifted tiny, dimpled hands. It seemed im- 
 possible that the happy Babe and the Man of Sorrows 
 could represent one and the same person. As I looked I 
 saw the man was dead with hanging head and lowered 
 eyelids. Weary lines furrowed the flesh from brow to 
 lips. Under my steady gaze the prominent whiskered chin 
 seemed to quiver, so dainty had been the brush touches 
 upon it. Suddenly the closed eyes flashed open. A smile 
 gathered slowly about the drawn inouth, the suffering lips
 
 140 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 appeared to part, and, still searching the divine portrait, 
 I caught my breath and sank upon a bench. 
 
 " You are ill, Phyllis ! " gasped Casperone. 
 
 " Hush ! " I breathed. " Hush ! " 
 
 In benediction the Savior had smiled upon me. Surely 
 he could not close those brilliant eyes again! I pushed 
 Casperone's hand from my arm, my glance leaving the pic- 
 tured face. When I looked once more, the lids had fallen. 
 It was to me as though the light of the sun had been ex- 
 tinguished. 
 
 " We will go and look at Venus of Milo," I said, rising 
 to my feet, " and afterward come back here." 
 
 Sitting on a bench before the mutilated beauty, Cas- 
 perone said, " You are poor now, Phyllis. I won't ques- 
 tion what you have done; but you must come to me. I 
 love you you know how I love you 1 " 
 
 My thoughts went to Roger. I was poor no more, now 
 that I had seen him. 
 
 " Won't you let me help you, Phyllis? You will, won't 
 you ? " Larodi continued. " I have a beautiful little apart- 
 ment where you can live. You shall have your music. 
 You shall have all that I can give you." 
 
 I did not attempt to explain how I was living; but 
 merely answered him with a touch of irony in my voice, 
 " If I am with you, who will pay for my luxuries ? " 
 
 " I will ! It's a pleasure for a man to provide for a 
 woman when he loves her." 
 
 " But a wife must pay a husband's bills is that it? " 
 
 " That's quite another thing, quite another thing ! A 
 man doesn't always love his wife; but he can't but desire 
 to make a comfortable home for the woman he adores." 
 
 " As a wife," I broke in with sarcasm, " I should have 
 been quite an invaluable prize if I had retained my money ! 
 Shouldn't I?" 
 
 "A man must marry to perpetuate his name, and to
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 141 
 
 make a home into which to receive his friends," he said 
 irritably, " and if he is a poor devil like myself he's got to 
 marry a rich woman. But with you, Phyllis, I could be 
 so happy ! " 
 
 " Don't touch me, Casperone ! " I cried, drawing away. 
 " I told you that I could never care for you ! It seems to 
 me that you are saturated with children's blood." 
 
 " Mon Dieu! Can't you forget that? Can't you for- 
 give? Don't you know that it was for you, Dear, that 
 I wanted to be rich? You could make me a better man, 
 Phyllis. You would bring Heaven into my life. Ah! to 
 have you in my arms to know that you were mine ! " 
 
 " Have you ever thought that the woman you may love 
 may need something besides luxuries? " I demanded. " I 
 mean the woman you can't marry. How is she going to 
 have a home for her friends, and live up to the nature 
 within her? " 
 
 " You wouldn't need those things. You would be loved 
 by me that's enough ! " 
 
 He snatched my hand. I could have struck him in the 
 face for his presumption; but cunningly I restrained my 
 anger, already having decided how to escape from Cas- 
 perone. In situations like this I had been taught by the 
 boulevards to be wary of people of his caliber. 
 
 " Listen to me, Phyllis ! I must have money to keep up 
 the name my father has left me. But you are the only 
 woman that can influence my life in any way." 
 
 " Let us go back to the picture of the Christ," I said 
 determinedly, " and don't speak of this again." 
 
 We stood once more before the famous painting. 
 
 " His eyes are closed now," I said miserably. 
 
 At that moment I longed to have the brilliant smile re- 
 peated, which had for one moment beamed upon me. 
 
 " If the eyes ever open, it's merely a trick," replied Cas- 
 perone. " I've never seen it."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 
 
 The heavenly smile, then, that I had seen had been mine, 
 mine alone. If that stern, dead face would soften but 
 once more, I could go away with a blessing resting upon 
 me. Casperone shifted his feet uneasily. 
 
 " What you can see in that picture is more than I can 
 tell. I'll send you a large copy of it. You can get them 
 anywhere along the Rue du Rivoli." 
 
 Suddenly I turned to him. " Will you come home with 
 me this afternoon ? " I asked. 
 
 " Avec plaisir," he whispered, flushing. 
 
 But his face brightened and he stooped to kiss my hand. 
 With my handkerchief I brushed away the dampness his 
 lips left on me. 
 
 " Then wait here until I speak to the concierge." 
 
 I walked hastily to a man in the corner, and demanded 
 to know the nearest way out. I have wondered what Count 
 Larodi thought I had asked. He must have noticed the 
 violent gestures of the watchman, and, if he had been 
 listening, heard the man's " a la gauche." I slipped out, 
 and escaped. 
 
 In two minutes more I was walking rapidly into Place 
 St. Michel. 
 
 Long before I reached our try sting place, I saw Roger's 
 stalwart form leaning against one of the many statues 
 that adorn Paris. His greatcoat was drawn tightly up 
 about his neck, and hanging loosely over the front of it 
 was the same scarf I had noticed on him in Lady Jane's 
 room. 
 
 " What an unceremonious leave you took last night ! " he 
 said smilingly as I came toward him. " I didn't intend 
 you to go home alone." 
 
 " And I didn't wish to disturb you," I explained ; " so 
 I left the note and slipped away." 
 
 " Just like an American girl. But where can we go so
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 143 
 
 i 
 
 that we can be alone. I have something to talk over with 
 you." 
 
 My heart leaped, and a great gladness filled my soul. I 
 felt sure that I was the woman he loved. I managed to 
 control myself and to keep the joy out of my eyes, the 
 same happiness making it impossible for me to utter a 
 word as we walked to a cafe close by. 
 
 After we had seated ourselves, he asked with some hesi- 
 tation : 
 
 " Do you want to save money ? " 
 
 " Yes," I blurted out. 
 
 " Ah ! I hoped so ! One doesn't know, in Paris, what 
 will happen next. Now, I have a proposition to make to 
 you, and if you don't like my idea we won't speak of it 
 again." 
 
 As if he could have made any proposition I should not 
 have liked ! 
 
 " I have two nice fellows with me in a flat on the Rue 
 du Bac. My mother is there, too, you know. We want 
 you with us. I like the life on this side of the river better 
 than the shallow, half-English-French existence over there, 
 don't you? " and he made a motion toward the opposite 
 riverbank. 
 
 I acquiesced with a nod. 
 
 " An American friend, Bruce Stewart, an English boy, 
 my mother, and I live there with the housekeeper. There's 
 a jolly little room to spare, and mother said she would be 
 pleased to play propriety." 
 
 He was talking rapidly and didn't look at me. I was 
 glad, for from the edge of my hair to the line of my neck 
 I felt a telltale flush. 
 
 " But my expenses ? " I hesitated. 
 
 " Oh, it's a visit I'm talking about." He laughed. 
 
 For a moment I imagined I saw in his face a divine light 
 resembling that which had for a tiny second rested on
 
 144 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 the picture in the Louvre. My only answer lay in my 
 brimming eyes. 
 
 " Don't do that," he said pleadingly. " Do believe that 
 I am partly selfish. Mother and I were speaking of it 
 last night, and we want you to come. You will come, 
 won't you? You will? Bravo! What jolly times we'll 
 have! And we have a piano too, and if it isn't in tune 
 we'll have someone come in to put it right. Mayn't I 
 come and help you pack up ? " 
 
 My heart nearly jumped out on the table. " No, I 
 don't believe you can. You see, I have a roommate, and 
 she" 
 
 "Has a little green eyed monster in her eyes?" asked 
 Roger, laughing. 
 
 " Something like it," I replied faintly. 
 
 The thought of Boulevard St. Michel rolled away like 
 Christian's burden. No more should I see the dark faces 
 that had grinned at me through the shadows ; no more 
 should I beg the filthy vagabond-money I had so coveted. 
 
 I went home to Zadie and woke her out of a sound 
 sleep. 
 
 " I'm going away, Zadie," said I, " and I shall never 
 come back here again." 
 
 " To America? " she demanded. 
 
 " No ; with some friends. I want to tell you, Dear, how 
 grateful I am to you for your kindness to me. Of 
 course, I shall see you very soon." 
 
 "And you say you not come back here to me to 
 lif ? " 
 
 " No, Zadie ; for when I have finished my visit I shall 
 do something else. I can't come back." 
 
 This woman, on the shady side of life, and her tiny 
 white dog were the only creatures associated with my 
 boulevard life that I sorrowed to leave. My trunk was 
 packed quickly, and before the falling of night on St.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 145 
 
 Michel I was gone. As I left the house I met Lady Jane 
 Grey coming in. She did not know that I was the one 
 woman her American loved, and that at that moment I was 
 going to him.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHAT a dear, cozy little apartment this is ! And 
 I'm warm for the first time this winter. I'd 
 rather be here in this room than in any other 
 spot on earth. I should not have thought it possible for 
 any girl to be so wildly happy, after having been so mis- 
 erable. I want to know what it is to live, to be loved, and, 
 best of all, I want to know what it is to love. 
 
 Roger came in and helped me to give some little home- 
 like touches to my room. He brought in a bowl of 
 Gloire de Dijon roses. 
 
 " The dear things ! " I cried, burying my nose in them. 
 
 The scent of the roses carried me back to our old-fash- 
 ioned garden at home, and to Aunty sitting in the basket- 
 chair by the lavender bushes. I was still thinking of 
 America when Roger, speaking, brought me back to the 
 present. 
 
 " Mother told me to say she was sorry not to welcome 
 you; but she'll surely be here by dinner. I've told the 
 boys you were coming ; but won't they be surprised when 
 they see you? You know, Phyllis, I intimated to them that 
 you were quite sedate and said that I really didn't know 
 just how far you were from forty. You should have 
 seen the kid's face drop ! I wouldn't miss seeing him meet 
 you for anything in the world." He was polishing my 
 mirror as he spoke. 
 
 " I must tell you about the boys. Bruce is a dear chap 
 American, of course. He's too deucedly handsome to 
 remain unmarried; although, as far as the kid and I can 
 find out, he's not interested in anyone. He's a lump of
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 147 
 
 theories, too. He talks by the hour about science, of 
 Spencer, Darwin, and others who don't understand one 
 word they're talking about. And what do you think? 
 Sometimes he swears like a drunken trooper ; but he's aw- 
 fully decent, with a will power as strong as steel. 
 
 " The kid is Bruce's parrot. He's twenty, falls in love 
 with every pretty woman he sees, and is a bit of a snob, 
 too. That comes from studying at Eton. He ought to 
 be at Oxford now ; but he's to do a year in Paris first. 
 I believe it's his father's greatest desire that his son should 
 enter the diplomatic service; and the boy ought to do well 
 with the money and influence he's got. I'm the only 
 orthodox Christian in the crowd. I tell you all this for fear 
 you'll get rather frightened at our conversations. They're 
 purely theoretical." He laughed a little embarrassedly. 
 " The arguments are heated sometimes, though. I always 
 make it a point to challenge Bruce, and then the little 
 fellow jumps in. It's really funny! There! Now I must 
 run away. Doesn't that look quite like home? " 
 
 He viewed the dressing table with pride, and left me 
 arranging my dresses in the wardrobe. 
 
 At dinner Roger made the introductions, first his 
 mother, so fair and sweet, then a big man who looked 
 me through with a golden gleam. I became dizzy as my 
 mind raced away to that dreadful night when I hung half 
 naked in a Paris theater. Of course, I had seen him ; and 
 his eyes have golden glints in them, after all. What a 
 giant he is, taller than Roger, with a native dignity and 
 compelling personality that frighten me a little. I 
 think he is quite the best looking man I ever saw; and 
 that's not depreciating Roger, either. One doesn't always 
 love another person for his looks. But these thoughts 
 changed as Roger went on: 
 
 " And this is Maxey Donnithorne, Miss Fitzpatrick."
 
 148 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 The blood rushed to my cheeks, flaming hot to my fore- 
 head. The moment my eyes rested on the boy's face, I 
 harked back to that day in the Place de la Madeleine 
 when the soldiers forced the crowds from the church with 
 their bayonets. The spitted priest with his upraised, un- 
 fathomable gaze shot into mind. Again the cries of the 
 hurt and enraged mob rang in my ears. I shook invol- 
 untarily. The fair boy with seared eyes was before me, 
 as if it were but yesterday, and I was again leading him 
 through the streets to my home and to Zadie, his mother. 
 
 I was vaguely answering some question put by Mrs. 
 Everard, when Maxey broke in: 
 
 " Do you know, your voice seems familiar to me, Miss 
 Fitzpatrick. And I can't make out where I've heard it." 
 
 " There are lots of voices that sound alike in this world, 
 Max," joked Roger. "Pass up your plate for some 
 ragout, old man." 
 
 After that I spoke as softly as I could. I did not want 
 Maxey to associate me with Donnez moi un cadeau. 
 
 Bruce Stewart, after his first keen glance, did not raise 
 his eyes for a long time. Then he gave a long, fixed gaze 
 that stirred my floating memories, and he studied my face 
 as if it were a piece of crabbed writing. But he was not 
 the only one guilty of looking at me; for I caught 
 Maxey's furtive glance, and when I looked up he grew red 
 and fidgeted in his chair until after Donna, the maid, had 
 brought in the coffee. I left the room once to get my 
 handkerchief, and heard him say : 
 
 " Roger, you nuisance, why didn't you tell a fellow just 
 how she looked? It isn't playing the game ! " 
 
 "There was nothing unfair about it, Maxey," Roger 
 laughed. 
 
 Mrs. Everard broke in. " She is very sweet and good, 
 I'm sure. Women are a great help in this world, aren't 
 they, Roger? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 149 
 
 " Of course," Roger answered, and there was a tone of 
 love in his voice. 
 
 I know that I shall be devoted to Mrs. Everard. After 
 I came back, they ran on in ordinary conversation, and I 
 ate in silence, satisfied to be there with him. 
 
 " Did I tell you, old chap," asked Max, looking at Mr. 
 Stewart, " that my governor is laid up with the gout, 
 and won't be able to get over here next week as he hoped? 
 He hasn't been up to the mark ever since my brother 
 died." 
 
 " Lord Donnithorne felt your brother's death keenly, 
 didn't he, Max? " asked Bruce. 
 
 Maxey's eyes grew misty. " Yes poor old Rupert ! " 
 he muttered. " He was the only one of us, save my father, 
 who was anything but a rotter." 
 
 " But Lord Donnithorne told me that he expected you 
 to keep up the family traditions, Max," Roger inter- 
 jected. 
 
 " So he does, Roddy ; but the truth is that I like having 
 a good time too much to bother about ambitions like Ru- 
 pert." The boy turned to me and went on, " You see, 
 my brother married when he was but a kiddy, Miss Fitz- 
 patrick. The mater stopped the thing off I've heard 
 the girl wasn't up to much." 
 
 " The girl wasn't up to much ! " He was speaking of 
 Zadie, the best of all good women in the world! How 
 did her story measure up with his? The solution I de- 
 duced was that Lady Donnithorne had hidden her son's in- 
 discretion by claiming Zadie's child as hers. 
 
 The Boulevard St. Michel has taught me that character 
 is more than blood ; environment more than family. Maxey 
 could have inherited from his cocotte mother more no- 
 bility of soul than could have been transmitted to him 
 by generations of sheltered dames. My dear, generous 
 Zadie! Big souled woman that you are! How little you
 
 150 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 know that the " leetle American fool " you befriended is 
 in the same house with jour son ! 
 
 As Bruce ' and Maxey were talking together, Roger 
 turned to me and said in a low voice: 
 
 " I'm going to take you to my studio some day, Miss 
 Fitzpatrick. I'd like to interest you in a picture or two 
 I have. I do some missionary work, too; that is, I try 
 to. Have you ever been to the American Mission? Well, 
 you must. We've done a lot for the women in the Latin 
 Quarter." 
 
 I lowered my gaze, and Lady Jane flashed into my mind. 
 He had been only trying to help her, then. What a good 
 man he is ! In upon my thoughts his voice came again. 
 
 " Life is all so wonderful, and I can't solve many of its 
 mysteries ! " 
 
 His tone was wistful, and his thoughts far away as if 
 he saw with the eyes of his soul the thousands of weary 
 women who, every night on the boulevards, bartered their 
 souls for mere necessities. 
 
 After we had finished eating, I slipped away to my 
 room, leaving Roger to take from my portfolio the songs 
 he wished me to sing. I went to the open window, that the 
 night wind might cool my face, leaning far above the al- 
 most deserted street. A woman standing in the shadow 
 of the building opposite attracted my attention. The 
 dyed gold of her hair, like a flame in darkness, was the only 
 thing that caught the lamplight. The next moment she 
 had singled a victim and was walking beside him. Yes- 
 terday I was like that woman ! Tonight protection 
 music warmth and him !
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THE first thing I saw when I went into the breakfast 
 room this morning was a motto on the wall sus- 
 pended from a red ribbon. " Be sure your sin will 
 find you out," it read. A sudden little chill ran through 
 my body. Roger caught my eyes. 
 
 " That's not for you, Miss Fitzpatrick," he said, with 
 a merry laugh. " It's for Maxey. He's developed a ne- 
 farious habit of pilfering cake from the cupboard. You 
 know, Mother is the famous cake-maker for us here. Poor 
 darling, she's ill this morning. This life in Paris is so 
 different from hers ! Paris and Mother are as far apart 
 as the two poles." 
 
 " I should think Utopia was the only place for your 
 mother," said Maxey with energy. 
 
 *' Utopia is the home-country of all mothers," said 
 Bruce, " or Heaven call it what you like." Then he 
 proceeded with a little laugh, " Miss Fitzpatrick, we hung 
 the text there so that Maxey could see it every time he's 
 tempted." 
 
 Maxey grinned sheepishly, and met this accusation by 
 hurling bread pellets at his tormentors. During the battle 
 I regained my equilibrium. For an instant I had been 
 haunted by the ghost of St. Michel. It stepped out of 
 the past with an accusing finger; but the text was only 
 for Maxey and his pilfering. I could have hugged his 
 curly head from his shoulders if I'd been given the chance. 
 Yet, somehow, my appetite forsook me, and I left the 
 table without eating much. Roger noticed it, and remon- 
 strated with me. 
 
 151
 
 152 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Maxey's motto has assumed a baneful meaning for me. 
 In spite of Roger, in spite of everything, I long to tear 
 it down. It is so like an evil omen that I have a supersti- 
 tious dread of letting my eyes rest upon it. Sometimes 
 an unreasoning fear that my own deception and sin will 
 find me out darkly overcasts the dreams of my future. 
 
 The misgivings about those anxious days have driven 
 me time and time again to the church, that I might kneel 
 in supplication and repentance before the Mother of Sor- 
 rows. 
 
 Today, when I was leaving the altar at Notre Dame, 
 a priest touched me on the arm. I turned and scanned 
 the splendid son of the Church in admiration. A little cap, 
 failing to confine the raven hair that clustered in rings 
 high upon his intellectual brow, rested upon his head. 
 Two piercing eyes, filled with physical magnetism, be- 
 trayed a virile temperament that even the vestments of the 
 church had not extinguished. 
 
 " You come often," said he. " I've watched Made- 
 moiselle grow from an unbeliever into a devotee of the 
 Blessed Virgin, praise her Holy Name ! " 
 
 He spoke in perfect English and with religious enthu- 
 siasm, and involuntarily crossed himself. I, likewise, 
 touched my forehead with my fingers. 
 
 " Yes, I am almost a convert," I answered slowly. 
 
 He smiled. " Has Mademoiselle a confessor? " 
 
 " No. I'm not a member of your Church." 
 
 " But why, Mademoiselle? " 
 
 " Well there are some things I could not give up even 
 for religion." 
 
 He walked beside me to the door where a Sister of Char- 
 ity held out her hand pleadingly for the sou that I never 
 failed to give. 
 
 " Some outsiders," exclaimed the priest, " are of the 
 opinion that the Church orders more from her children
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 153 
 
 than they are able to perform. The conscience has noth- 
 ing to do with the Church. Obey her law, and penance is 
 unnecessary." 
 
 " I am afraid I do not understand her law," I said. 
 
 We halted when we reached the pavement. My eyes 
 roved back over the magnificent, sacred structure, taking 
 in the sculptured Satan tugging at a long line of sinners. 
 Then my glance followed the priest's upward gaze to a 
 group far above, representing Adam and Eve in the Gar- 
 den of Eden. The Tree of Knowledge bloomed between 
 them ; a creature with a woman's head and a serpent's 
 body swung in twisted contortions from its branches. 
 This half-woman, half-snake, was offering the proverbial 
 apple to the hesitant Eve. 
 
 The priest turned to me. " That is the problem of life," 
 said he, after gazing thoughtfully at the representation 
 of the tragic deception, " the tempting of the woman 
 planned for the destruction of the man. Men and women 
 will eat of the Tree of Knowledge until the end of time. 
 Christ alone has alleviated the punishment for man's pre- 
 sumption in partaking of the forbidden fruit." 
 
 The trembling contraction of his lips on this last state- 
 ment mellowed the rich voice, sending it sobbing into 
 his throat, and his fingers ran over the rosary as if the 
 touch of the beads imparted a mysterious strength of soul. 
 
 For a moment my heart beat loudly. A liquid fire 
 rushed through my veins to my fingertips, and I held my 
 breath. It was a new thought to me. Adam and Eve! 
 Man and Woman and temptation between them! Was 
 love, then, the apple of the serpent? If so, I too longed 
 to eat of the Tree of Knowledge ; for only a few hours be- 
 fore I had discovered in Roger's eyes a something that 
 drew me almost unresistingly to him. The Tree of Good 
 and Evil had spread its fruit-laden branches over me! 
 The priest addressed me again, and handed me a card.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " If you, Mademoiselle, desire divine instruction, will you 
 come to my home? " 
 
 I told him that I would gladly avail myself of his prof- 
 fer, and took leave of him. Looking backward, I saw him 
 gazing after me. I wondered if he were happy in his 
 chosen calling. He was forced by his conscience and 
 priestly vows to live without loving. To love and to be 
 loved was, to me at that moment, more desirable than 
 Heaven itself. 
 
 
 
 A whole month has gone by, and I haven't had the in- 
 clination to open this book. I am still in Roger's home; 
 for Mrs. Everard would not hear my protestations that my 
 visit had lasted too long. 
 
 Two days after my chance interview with the priest, 
 something happened that wrought a change in me that 
 even the dark boulevards had been unable to accomplish. 
 I scarcely know how to write about it, and if Mrs. Everard 
 had not been spending the day with a friend the oppor- 
 tunity would never have been given me to make this this 
 confession. 
 
 I had had an hour with Marquise in the afternoon, and 
 upon my arrival home I met Roger at the lift entrance, 
 and we ascended together. 
 
 " I believe you are happy here," he said, with a smile, 
 helping me to take off my wraps. 
 
 The youth within me bounded lightly and joyfully when 
 his fingers touched my arm. I raised my eyes to his ; but 
 withdrew my gaze quickly, and a tingling flush dyed my 
 face and neck at the sight of his sudden emotion. 
 
 " Happy," I breathed, " happy ! I have never been so 
 exquisitely happy in all my life." 
 
 " Phyllis," he said in an uncertain voice, " and I never 
 lived until you came. You have changed the whole of the 
 world for me."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 155 
 
 I trembled, and could neither voluntarily move nor speak 
 lo answer him. 
 
 " Oh, Darling Darling ! " and, almost simultaneously 
 with his words, I was receiving the sacrament of my lover's 
 first kiss. 
 
 I In Boulevard St. Michel I had known physical hun- 
 ger; but the unsated hunger of the heart is more excru- 
 ciating and unbearable than even prolonged bodily 
 hunger, its maddening, insistent demand against the 
 spirit-portals drives one's mind to distraction. Roger's 
 kiss was ambrosia to my soul, enthralling my inner self 
 with drowsy imaginings. As the tide seethes seaward to 
 gather new impetus, so, during a confused, fantastic 
 dream, my girlhood rushed into womanhood. 
 
 " You're so alive ! " Roger whispered. " I could I 
 could crush you ! " He caressed my hair and my eyes 
 and my lips. " My sweet, my sweet ! " he murmured 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Roger ! Roger ! Never kiss me like that again ! 
 You mustn't ! You mustn't ! " 
 
 I remember breaking from his kisses. 
 
 Two hours later Maxey's boyish voice drifted into my 
 room, and roused me from my chaotic abandonment of 
 delightful thought. 
 
 Roger's mother was ill in bed, poor dear! and conse- 
 quently was not present that Saturday evening at dinner 
 when a great discussion took place among Roger, Maxey, 
 and Bruce Stewart. I was too depressed to eat, and 
 during the first two courses Roger meditated moodily in 
 silence. 
 
 At last he roused himself. " I suppose you fellows are 
 going to roam about again tonight? " 
 
 " Yes," remarked Bruce. " Paris begins to live only
 
 156 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 in the evening, and on till two or thereabouts. And what 
 an amusing, bizarre life it is ! " 
 
 " I don't look upon it that way," Roger observed. " It 
 seems to me a whirligig of tormented souls without rest, 
 without hope." 
 
 The images of the chained sinners carved on Notre 
 Dame floated before me. 
 
 " After all, like ourselves, the owners of those souls are 
 working out their own salvation," Bruce commented, turn- 
 ing to include me hi his explanation. " Life is an im- 
 mense kindergarten, a school in which there are a thou- 
 sand standards. When a soul needs quick progression, 
 Miss Fitzpatrick, its experience is violent and terrible. 
 The lowest person in the world may be nearer his final 
 evolution than the Archbishop of Canterbury. What are 
 called sins are but experiences needed by graduating 
 souls." 
 
 The significance of his gaze almost forced me to be- 
 lieve that he knew of the link that affiliated me with the 
 half-world of Paris. 
 
 "Standard!" ejaculated Roger, ignoring the latter 
 part of B race's emphatic statement. " Standard ! The 
 only standard in the world is the Cross of Christ ! " 
 
 For one instant Bruce studied Roger's face contem- 
 platively. " If that's really your belief, Everard," said 
 he, " then that faith in Christ is what your soul needs to 
 graduate." 
 
 "I think Brace's theory is jolly sensible," broke in 
 .Maxey earnestly; " for it does away with the injustice of 
 God." 
 
 Roger swept the boy with quizzical query ; but turned 
 to Bruce in warning. " Stewart, you may not believe it 
 now, but one day you'll admit that there's no truth save 
 in the Bible, and no word but God's, and there is a com- 
 mand for all the Elect to live apart from sinners."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 157 
 
 My face went red, my cheeks burned hot. For a flit- 
 ting instant Roger seemed arrogantly detestable. 
 
 " And you, old man," replied Bruce softly, " will learn 
 that there's no Eternal Power, sacrificial or otherwise, that 
 has decreed an enmity between any of God's creatures. 
 We humans make our lives as we will. Love is the great 
 ruling power of the universe ! God or Good, as you 
 like gives every man his desire. If you think poverty, 
 poverty will come; think happiness, and it's yours. But 
 it's all good, though, everything, everybody. It just needs 
 working out, that's all." 
 
 As he spoke, I looked directly at him. Everything 
 good, everybody good ! No more sacrifices, no more 
 bloodshed ! What a beautiful thought ! Bruce Stewart 
 lifted his eyes to me with a smile and went on: 
 
 " The principle of home-building and food-finding, Miss 
 Fitzpatrick, has done more to civilize the human race than 
 the numberless books written upon the idea of Christ and 
 His Cross. The religious instinct is secondary to the 
 self-preserving and other instincts. The whole of civi- 
 lization is based upon these principles. They have been 
 the whips that have lashed humanity forward.'* 
 
 How noble and beautiful he was ! Roger's noncommittal 
 silence caused Bruce to rise good humoredly to his feet. 
 
 " Come along, Max : we ought to start at once. We 
 mustn't bore Miss Fitzpatrick with our arguments." 
 
 Roger and I were alone at last. He made no move- 
 ment to take me in his arms ; but drew me, reluctant, into 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 " Shall we go to a theater, Phyllis ? " he suggested 
 hoarsely. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " Will you go out for a walk ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then sing for me."
 
 158 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 He bent over my portfolio with a determined gesture. 
 
 I seated myself at the piano and allowed him to place 
 a song before me. In so doing, his hand touched me, 
 and I caught at it faint and dizzy and unnerved. His 
 arms fell about me, and he dropped his lips upon mine. 
 Subdued passionate tones murmured my name endearingly, 
 and his breath flooded hot over my eyes. A wicked fever 
 tore through my veins, destroying and eating up every 
 moral sense. 
 
 I felt myself lifted, wrapped in his arms, and his lips, 
 perfumed with health and love, roved over my face in sweet 
 freedom. God's Nectar ran through my veins my blood 
 was transmuted by a fairy godmother of love and life into 
 a livid fluid of happiness, and and with him I lost my- 
 self in ecstasy. 
 
 It must have been two hours later when Mrs. Everard's 
 bell summoned me to her chamber. 
 
 " Were you and Roger both in the drawing-room ? " she 
 asked faintly. 
 
 The muscles in my forehead and cheeks twitched nerv- 
 ously, making me conscious of awkwardness and con- 
 fusion in the presence of Roger's mother. I tugged at 
 my high blouse-collar, to ease the heavy throbbing in my 
 throat, feeling limply grateful for the protecting dull 
 green shade of the night-lamp. In spite of my attempts 
 to answer her question naturally, I could only utter a 
 harsh, inflected " Yes." 
 
 " Why haven't you been singing, Phyllis ? " Mrs. Ever- 
 ard paused, and added almost fretfully, " I wish you 
 would sing, Dear." 
 
 Sing! I couldn't have sung for anyone in the world 
 just then not just then! 
 
 " I wish you would give me a drink of water," she broke 
 in on my thoughts.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 159 
 
 She had already forgotten her request that I should 
 sing. In relief I hurriedly lifted the glass and held it to 
 her lips. 
 
 " You are trembling, Child are you ill? " 
 
 "No not ill but I think I'll go to bed." 
 
 " Do, Phyllis dear. You stay up too late. You should 
 retire earlier." 
 
 I drew the covering about her shoulders and kissed her 
 tremblingly. 
 
 " Phyllis, my Roger is the best man in all the world ! 
 Isn't he? " 
 
 " The very best ! " I moaned, and went out, closing the 
 door. 
 
 The trembling that had hastened my retreat from Mrs. 
 Everard made my feet lag in my approach to Roger. 
 Yet it seemed that my whole future welfare lay in getting 
 back into his arms. 
 
 His white face increased my agitation, and the inten- 
 sity with which he rose to his feet, and the spontaneous 
 throwing out of his hands, held my halting, upward 
 glance. 
 
 The self-reproach in his eyes swept my embarrassment 
 from me as if it had been washed away by a tidal wave. 
 
 I stood on tiptoe and unblushingly challenged his re- 
 pentance. " Roger, Roger, dear love, I shall remember 
 this night as long as I live ! " 
 
 His face fell into his hands, and bitter tears rained 
 through his fingers. 
 
 " But," I continued hoarsely, " I will work as you have 
 never seen a woman work. Are you listening, Roger? 
 I will make myself as great as even you wish me to be ! 
 You can ask me nothing that I will not do ! " 
 
 In passionate gesture he crushed my face against his 
 breast. " Phyllis ! Phyllis ! Beloved ! "
 
 160 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I've been to see Zadie ! The darling dear ! But but 
 I didn't tell her anything about Roger and me ! 
 
 " Child," exclaimed Marquise one morning, " your voice 
 is so much improved! Something has changed you. 
 You know, my dear, we who want to be artists must suffer 
 like the singing birds in Italy, whose owners pierce their 
 eyes with redhot needles to put sympatica into their tones." 
 
 It's true I have suffered, and to relive it acutely I 
 have but to sit in the gathering twilight, to listen to the 
 sobbing of the wind in the corner of the room or to the 
 steady patter of the rain upon the roof. Formerly, these 
 meant romance to me ; but now they savor only of the Latin 
 Quarter and fill the nostrils of my imagination with the 
 nauseating stench of patchouli. 
 
 As the ancient God once stroked into permanence the 
 three dark stripes on the back of the chipmunk, so the 
 agony of my struggle has marked me with secretiveness, 
 suspicion, and disquietude. 
 
 Day has an unprecedented meaning for me, a brighter, 
 bigger, holier significance than heretofore. I am a verit- 
 able woman of the sun, of the hours when good people are 
 abroad, and I go into the light loving every little ray of 
 sunshine; although when I am in the street with Roger I 
 am menaced with fear that I may meet some of the women 
 I have known. The idea overwhelms me, and brings Lady 
 Jane Grey, with her snakelike movements, vividly to my 
 mind. But Lady Jane Grey is a woman of the night, 
 she sleeps with the other wanderers of the boulevards. 
 But What a slender thread my security hangs on! 
 
 * 
 
 A letter has been forwarded from Casperone. I 
 imagined that I could see in Roger's eyes a desire to know 
 something about it; but I laid it disinterestedly beside my 
 plate, and afterward in my room I opened it and read :
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 161 
 
 How dared you leave me sitting in the Louvre like a fool? 
 I waited for at least half an hour, before I asked the guide 
 where you had gone. You pretend to be so upright and good ; 
 but next time I shall know how far to trust you. But I will 
 gladly forgive you, Phyllis, if you will come to me at the 
 above address, where I have prepared a room for you. Phyllis 
 dear, come ! I want you I need you ! I shall wait for you 
 you this evening. Send your trunk on ahead, and the maid 
 will have everything in order for you. 
 
 P. S. I have seen Lady Jane Grey. 
 
 The paper dropped from my fingers. First I laughed, 
 then I caught my breath with fright, calling to mind the 
 postscript which, when I read it, had impressed me least 
 of all. I snatched up the letter and whispered: 
 
 " I have seen Lady Jane Grey ! '* 
 
 Lady Jane Grey and Casperone! The letter once more 
 fluttered to the table. Would they dare to use their 
 knowledge to separate me from Roger? In his desire for 
 me, Casperone would overthrow my happiness. 
 
 Those last six words, " I have seen Lady Jane Grey,'* 
 stood out with sinister aspect. The beautiful cocotte had 
 told Larodi of my past, and he would 
 
 Rampant with fury, I tore up the letter and threw it 
 violently from me. 
 
 I'm gathering courage to tell Roger all the miserable* 
 tale of my life on the boulevards. When he knows how 
 I strove to find work, how I almost died from frost and 
 hunger, he'll take me in his arms ; and, after I have told 
 him, I shall be the happiest woman in the world.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 THAT was two whole months ago. I shouldn't lose 
 one day, one hour, of that time, although there have 
 been ages of overwhelming sorrow, even terror! 
 Roger's apparent remorse has kept me at times in a tumult 
 of suspense. But I try not to repent. I won't allow 
 certain thoughts to come into my mind. I won't 1 I 
 won't! I just sing, work, and live for him. 
 
 Yesterday he was silent during dinner, and a harassed 
 expression settled about his lips. Afterward, when we 
 were alone together and I was sitting at the piano, he 
 startled me v, kh a question : 
 
 "Phyllis, where are you and I drifting? Will you tell 
 me that? " 
 
 He asked me this so suddenly that my hands came down 
 on the keys with a crash. 
 
 "Drifting?" I repeated. "We're not drifting. 
 We're living that's all ! " 
 
 He paused in his restless march up and down the room 
 and dropped heavily into a chair. I slipped from the stool 
 and sank at his feet. The majesty of a great passion 
 that had colored each day and rose-tinted my dreams was 
 upon me. His fingers roved abstractedly in my hair. 
 
 " Roger," I went on dreamily, " I think that the God- 
 head with Its attributes of the male and female must be 
 instinct with the same kind of love we have, you and I, 
 that one great passion given to all living creatures by the 
 God who created us." 
 
 Roger straightened his shoulders. "What's that you 
 say, Phyllis? " 
 
 162
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 163 
 
 " I believe that God gave us our love ; that He made us 
 with natures attuned to each other, so that we might be 
 able to reach the heights that He Himself has reached; 
 that the millions of worlds were created just with such 
 love as dominates you and me. It's all within God and 
 of God. It's all very good ! " 
 
 My head fell against his knee, and I was silent. I didn't 
 remember then that I had quoted Bruce's words. Of 
 course Bruce didn't mean, when he said " Everything is 
 good," just what I did. I hate even to write it; but 
 somehow I believe Bruce Stewart is better than Roger 
 I mean in a big, big way. As for myself, I may argue 
 differently ; but I know all the time that I'm the wickedest 
 girl in the whole wide world. 
 
 " Phyllis, that's desecration ! " Roger exclaimed pres- 
 ently. 
 
 " I say we are not drifting ! " I continued, rousing my- 
 self again. " We both work, don't we ? We have our 
 studies, and we have our ambitions, and we know what 
 our future is to be don't we, Roger? " 
 
 I was thinking of that not far distant day when we 
 should marry. 
 
 " But we've been such sinners ! " he said. 
 
 " No, we're not wicked ! " I exclaimed, with rising tears. 
 " We didn't make ourselves ! We have each other 
 that's all we need. I won't be scolded! I won't! Do 
 you see ? There ! There ! Kiss me ! " 
 
 I mumbled the end of the sentence with my lips crushed 
 upon his, my arms locked about his neck. 
 
 " My own darling ! " he breathed, as he held me close 
 to him and lectured me no more. 
 
 * 
 
 But I'm not quite so happy as I was. There is no such 
 thing as forgetting; no time when happiness and un- 
 happiness do not alternately rise before me, as the shades
 
 164 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 of midnight creep out with the small hours. There's a 
 cloud in my sky no larger than a man's hand yet it is 
 there. I would gladly brush it away; but I cannot. It 
 haunts my waking hours, and darkens my dreams; it 
 makes me restless and apprehensive. Sometimes when 
 moodiness gets into Roger's eyes I cover them with kisses 
 until he smiles at my impetuousness. 
 
 ..... 
 
 Today is Sunday, and, as we were coming back from 
 the English church, Roger's face was sterner than usual. 
 
 " I feel a hypocrite, Phyllis," he burst out, " a traitor 
 to my own principles. I feel the anger of God heavy on 
 my soul. What you said the other day is sophistry 
 nothing but sophistry ! How could you compare God's 
 love for creation with that of His creature's for each 
 other? Do you put the Creator of the worlds on a level 
 with beasts, Phyllis ? " 
 
 " No," I replied quickly. " I couldn't make Him an 
 eating and drinking God that's all that makes men, 
 women, and animals earthly. But I believe His spirit is 
 in everything, men, beasts, flowers, and all, and I 
 thank Him for the power He has given you and me to 
 love, which is and must be the God within us." 
 
 " Phyllis, please don't try to satisfy your conscience in 
 that way. It's dangerous ground upon which you stand. 
 It seems to me that you must have had a very queer edu- 
 cation." 
 
 " I was brought up in your Church," I answered bluntly ; 
 " although I do not, and cannot, accept it all. I won't 
 allow anyone to say my love for you is wicked! I know 
 it's not ! " 
 
 "Where did you get your ideas, Phyllis? I never 
 heard such sentiments expressed in all my life! You 
 would grant forgiveness without repentance, would make 
 right out of wrong! You would turn the world upside
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY G1UNS 165 
 
 down, make strong institutions weak, and lower the stand- 
 ard of manhood and womanhood! It's all wrong 
 wrong, I say ! " 
 
 I turned squarely upon him. " I can't see it, Roger. 
 You love me, don't you ? And I love you ! I have my 
 ambitions, and you have yours. You say that God made 
 my singing voice, your brain, your talent. Then you 
 argue that the Evil One is responsible for the love that is 
 within us. It is that power in human beings that is re- 
 lated to the Creator, love, just love!" 
 
 "You're too young, Dear, to juggle with the problems 
 of the Almighty," he returned with finality. 
 
 When we're married and of course he'll ask me soon 
 Roger will be happier. 
 
 We reached home, and met Maxey and Bruce coming in 
 from the opposite direction. 
 
 Mrs. Everard was really too weak to go out today, and 
 remained in her bed until noon. Donna had gone to do 
 the marketing, and I was alone polishing the back of my 
 silver brush, when Maxey opened the door and walked in. 
 
 " Oh, you dear boy, to come home when I was feeling 
 so lonely ! " I cried, as he flung himself down. " What's 
 made you forsake Bruce this morning? " 
 
 He flushed to the roots of his hair. " I wanted to see 
 you," he said slowly. 
 
 " That's nice," I replied. " Then you can help me by 
 rubbing this stain from my brush." 
 
 " Oh, Phyllis I wish you always wouldn't treat me as 
 if I were a child ! I'm an ass ; but I'm not a kid ! I'm 
 older than you are, remember." 
 
 "Why, Maxey!" I laughed. "You'll be telling me 
 that you're going to get married next." 
 
 "Well, why shouldn't I? Oh, I don't believe a word 
 of the nonsense that ft chap shouldn't marry young ! "
 
 166 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Goodness me ! You don't mean to tell me that you're 
 engaged ? " 
 
 " There's only one woman that I want to marry. Phyl- 
 lis, I love you so much I want to marry you! I 
 must marry you, I tell you ! " 
 
 He was deadly earnest now, and I got to my feet 
 quickly, dropping the brush on the table. 
 
 " Maxey, have you taken leave of your senses ? Have 
 you completely lost your mind? " 
 
 " Oh, you think that just because I have talked rot 
 with the boys ever since you've been here. But I was 
 only gassing, Phyllis. I will give you my solemn oath 
 upon that!" His voice choked. "I'd I'd I'd 
 rather have you love me than be the greatest philos- 
 opher in all Europe ! " 
 
 Tears stood in his blue eyes. The mingling emotions 
 that surged through me at the boy's avowal made me blush 
 and blanch. 
 
 " I've loved you ever since you came here, Phyllis, and 
 you're the best girl in the world ! " 
 
 I shouldn't have marveled at Maxey's tribute to my 
 goodness if he had paid it at the time I left Boulevard 
 St. Michel to come here ; but I've changed since then, and 
 I'm no longer a girl. And Roger has wrought the 
 change! It was a woman that he accused of sophistry, 
 and in my better self I know my argument was sophistry. 
 I was arguing for my happiness, and to make him less 
 remorseful. And it is the woman in me who, through love 
 for him and for his love, would turn traitress, and sacrifice 
 every principle. Roger had said we had been drifting, 
 drifting because I had given him the most that one human 
 soul could yield to another. Well, we shouldn't be wicked 
 if he'd ask me to marry him. 
 
 Maxey's coaxing, babyish voice drifted to me devoid of 
 meaning; but suddenly his words caught my attention.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 167 
 
 " Phyllis, it's only right that I should love you. The 
 other fellows are too old." 
 
 Roger old! With his magnificent physique, his 
 strength, his superb vitality ! And Bruce, too, I thought of 
 his giant body, and wondered at the boy's remark. With 
 a motion of my hand I silenced Maxey's torrent of words. 
 
 " Hush, hush ! You mustn't speak to me of marriage. 
 I do not love you. You're too young to think of being 
 married. You have a career to make, and so have I." 
 
 " I know no end of fellows the same age as I am, who've 
 made great names for themselves after they've married," 
 he stammered out bravely, winking back the tears. " I 
 wasn't asking you to marry me right away, Phyllis: I 
 just want to know that you are mine, that's all. There's 
 no reason why you shouldn't go on with your singing, 
 there's nothing like real love to make people do big 
 things." 
 
 If such were the case, I ought to be able to move a 
 mountain under the influence of my love for Roger Ever- 
 ard. It rushed upon me that he had never breathed a 
 word of marriage. He had only asked me whither we 
 were drifting. The cloud in my sky had suddenly broad- 
 ened to such proportions that I feared it would envelop 
 the brightness of my life. Was a sword keener than that 
 of Damocles hanging over my head? 
 
 " The first impulse of a fellow who isn't a cad," Maxey 
 continued, as if he had been influenced by my thoughts, 
 " is to ask a girl to marry him when he loves her in the 
 right sort of way. Will you think about it, Phyllis ? " 
 
 " No ! " I replied sharply ; for his words hurt me so ! 
 " No, Maxey ! Can't you see that I don't love you ? " 
 
 " But you might if you tried," he insisted miserably. 
 
 My mind caught at a thought compelling my imagina- 
 tion to picture a horror of which I had not dreamed. If 
 Roger were to tell me that he did not love me, my pain
 
 168 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 would be a thousand times greater than Maxey's. Roger 
 was my husband without the rights of the law! He was 
 my mate with or without the sanction of Heaven ! Why 
 had he let Maxey be the first one to speak of marriage to 
 me? The boy's words echoed through my brain. A man 
 who truly loves a woman asks her to marry him the very 
 first thing! Roger had not! 
 
 " I couldn't love you, Maxey ; for I love someone else," 
 I murmured. 
 
 He rose quickly. " It isn't " he began agitatedly. 
 
 " It's no one you know," I interrupted, fearing that he 
 would pounce upon Roger's name. 
 
 " Some one in America? " he managed to 
 stammer out. 
 
 " Yes, someone in America." 
 
 Maxey went out, closing the door softly behind him. 
 He must have seen my distress ; but thought in his boyish 
 delicacy that he had not the right to soothe me. 
 
 When Roger came in he found a forlorn, red-eyed girl. 
 I rushed to him. 
 
 " Roger, oh, Roger ! You ido love me, don't you ? Oh, 
 tell me that you do ! I shall die if you don't ! " 
 
 He drew me into his arms, and sat in the large chair, 
 his face unnaturally pale and grave. " Phyllis, what's 
 happened? You mustn't cry like that! Do you hear? 
 Tell me instantly!" 
 
 His peremptory order comforted me ; for he gave it as 
 if I belonged to him. He wouldn't speak with such au- 
 thority, save where he was sure he reigned master. 
 
 " Maxey ! " I murmured. 
 
 " Oh, it's Maxey, is it? I imagined something had 
 happened to the kid. I met him looking as glum as an 
 oyster, and he muttered something about being an old 
 bachelor forever " 
 
 I stopped Roger's flow of merry words with passionate
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 169 
 
 kisses. I wanted oh, how I wanted to hear him claim 
 me! 
 
 " Phyllis," he murmured, " Phyllis, what a little witch 
 you are! The man who could not love you would indeed 
 have to be without a heart." 
 
 He enveloped me in his strong arms, and Maxey was 
 forgotten. I am happy God, dear God, how happy !
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 CASPERONE has written to me again, a serious, 
 pleading, lovesick letter, offering to make me a 
 Countess, and to endow me with his worldly goods, 
 setting at naught relatives and all else. But the coronet 
 of a Countess has no attraction for me; for I had rather 
 be with Roger than marry any Count in the world. I 
 wrote very briefly, therefore, declining Casperone's daz- 
 zling proposals. 
 
 When Roger came in he caught me scribbling. " One 
 would think you were writing a book, Phyllis," he said. 
 " You know this is Saturday night, and I always think of 
 it as our night." 
 
 At this the clouds lifted, the sky was blue, and my 
 figurative sun shone brightly. 
 
 " How's Mother tonight? " he asked. " I worry over 
 her health all the time. Isn't she a darling? A gentler, 
 sweeter woman a fellow couldn't possibly imagine. No 
 boy could have had a truer friend than she has been to me. 
 She is such a good woman, too ! " 
 
 I admired his filial devotion and love; but I couldn't 
 help wincing. He stooped over me in concern. 
 
 " Phyllis, you look pale and tired. Don't write any 
 more in that book of yours. Go and have a rest before 
 dinner." 
 
 If I only could have told him ! I must tell him soon ! 
 But he will ask me to marry him first I won't be afraid. 
 He must ask me to marry him before that ! 
 
 170
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 171 
 
 In the hush of the quiet Sabbath afternoon I'm writing 
 down last night's occurrences. Mrs. Everard ate her din- 
 ner in bed, and there was the usual discussion between 
 Maxey and Bruce as to women and marriage. I noticed 
 that Maxej has turned to be an ardent advocate for con- 
 ventions. He was looking directly at me as he talked. 
 Bruce laughed, and Roger smiled at the boy quizzically. 
 
 " What's caused this sudden revolution in your feelings, 
 Maxey ? " he asked. 
 
 " I never really believed in any old theory that mar- 
 riage was a blow to man's individuality and I believe 
 it less now than I ever did. Every man ought to 
 marry a good woman." 
 
 " You're right, Max, in a way," replied Roger gravely ; 
 " but a woman who is not good, though, can prove the 
 most devastating influence in a man's life." 
 
 It seems lately that everything that is said comes home 
 to me. " Roger," I exclaimed, " it is not fair to women 
 to say that! It's the man that makes the woman either 
 one way or the other, good or bad. If she is not as she 
 should be, it is he who places her where she is ! " 
 
 It seemed as if I were making the last appeal to him. 
 My plea finished the argument. Donna brought in the 
 coffee. Roger suggested as we left the table that he and 
 I should take an airing and do the Saturday night's shop- 
 ping. Something awesomely new hovering over me left 
 me strangely silent. Had it to do with the mysterious 
 secret I was guarding in my heart, a wonderful, sacred 
 secret I dared share with no one yet, not even Roger? 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Phyllis?" he asked 
 cheerfully. " You don't get air enough. I'm going to 
 take you out every day after this. You look peaked and 
 pale." 
 
 My heart gave a little flutter. If I only dared tell him 
 lHa- it was not lack of fresh air! I wanted him to talk
 
 172 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 of our future. But it comforted me to feel his warm, 
 strong hand pressing my arm, to muse for an instant over 
 his concern for my health. God! When a woman loves 
 a man how little he has to concede to satisfy her ! 
 
 Later, when we were walking leisurely past the Luxem- 
 bourg Gardens, a woman issued unexpectedly from a by- 
 street. Just before she reached us, she accosted a man 
 who, looking critically at her, rushed on with a grunt. 
 By this time we were in front of her, directly under one of 
 the great disk lights. Something in the quick movement 
 of surprise, her furtive glance at Roger and evident 
 avoidance of us, made me scan her closely through the 
 shadows. Then I came face to face with Captain Zadie. 
 I put out my hands, stopping so suddenly that it startled 
 Roger. 
 
 " Captain Zadie ! " I gasped. " Dear, precious Cap- 
 tain Zadie ! " 
 
 I had forgotten even him. His very presence had faded 
 away before the memories of my days with her. This 
 dear, big woman had offered me bread when I was hungry, 
 had warmed me when I was freezing! She turned at my 
 voice. For an instant I saw a glad expression pass over 
 her face, a look of delight, a look of eagerness, of in- 
 credulity, then she leaned against the wall and her 
 mouth twisted up into a wry smile. 
 
 "What have I to do with the likes of you?" she de- 
 manded in vulgar French, the disdain in her eyes shifting 
 to one of warning. " The young madam has made a mis- 
 take." 
 
 I gathered myself together, and glanced into Roger's 
 face. It had grown white as death. 
 
 " Come, Phyllis ! " he whispered. " Of course you have 
 made a mistake. Of course you have! You don't know 
 that woman ? " He uttered it interrogatively, command- 
 ingly, as if he would force me to admit that I had mistaken
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 173 
 
 her for a friend. The dear, red face shone with a heav- 
 enly light. Zadie changed from French to English and 
 lisped : 
 
 " The leetle madam meestakes. She meestakes, that's 
 all." 
 
 Disconcerted blood leaped into my face; but the world 
 full of tenderness in her voice set my heart throbbing. 
 Roger drew me forward ; but somehow I wanted to remain 
 with the fat, silent figure stationed against the wall. 
 
 " Phyllis, why in the world did you stop that vile be- 
 ing? She is a woman of the street! " 
 
 I realized what I had done, and yet I did not feel sorry. 
 Wild horses couldn't have dragged me past Captain Zadie 
 without a word or a sign to her, not even if it had cost me 
 Roger ! 
 
 " I thought," I said in shaking tones, " that she was 
 a friend of mine that had once been in England." 
 
 " I'm sorry you spoke to her," he answered almost 
 fiercely. " She was a common, awful looking woman. 
 You could have nothing to do with such as her ! " 
 
 My heart prompted the next stubborn tone in my voice. 
 " The woman I'm thinking of was good, very good, and 
 I loved her." 
 
 " She couldn't have been the woman we've just passed," 
 Roger commented. 
 
 The incident, I know, left Roger's mind; but the sight 
 of Zadie's face as she backed against the ivy-covered gar- 
 den wall will always be with me. 
 
 As soon as I can, I am going to see her again. 
 . 
 
 I've tried to confess my past to Roger. Every time I 
 open my lips, I remember how he spoke of Zadie. I 
 won't tell him yet not until he asks me to marry him. 
 
 I'm happy today. Roger's mother has been so sweet 
 to me ! The gentle, high-bred expression on her face, and
 
 174 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 the occasionally humorous twinkle that creeps about the 
 corner of her mouth, remind me of Roger. I sang for 
 her last night, and I saw her blue eyes grow dim as she 
 listened. Instead of thanking me, she said: 
 
 " Oh, my dear, my dear ! You must often sing that for 
 me. It takes me back to my youth. Phyllis, we can be 
 young only once ! " 
 
 Last night Maxey took Mrs. Everard to the theater. 
 We remaining three were sitting over our coffee after 
 they had gone, when Bruce observed: 
 
 " These women in the cafes puzzle me." 
 
 " Haven't you found a working theory about them yet, 
 you truth-seeker? " Roger asked a little sarcastically. 
 
 " It is impossible to form a working theory when there 
 isn't a general type. There aren't two of them alike." 
 
 " Why, Bruce ! " I cried. " You speak as if they were 
 insects under a microscope. They're human beings ! " 
 
 " Yet, I suppose that, unless one treats human beings 
 as insects under a microscope, it is impossible to devolve 
 systems of philosophy, and systems are needed. Poor, 
 suffering souls ! " He took another lump of sugar ab- 
 stractedly. 
 
 " The kind that try me most," Roger burst forth, " are 
 those that bound at you like an animal, and demand a 
 present. What's the difference between them and real beg- 
 gars? If a chap selling lead-pencils or papers were to 
 take a sou over an established price, and the officers no- 
 ticed it, he would be arrested at once ; but these women " 
 
 I heard no more. Donnez moi un cadeau drowned 
 the rest. Donnez moi Oh, to think of it makes me 
 ill! I got up hastily from the table, went into my room, 
 and turned the key. My soul was smarting under a sting 
 I hoped was dead. 
 
 Roger knocked at my door and asked if I were ill. I
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 175 
 
 controlled my voice sufficiently to answer him. On my 
 assurance that I was all right, he went reluctantly back, 
 and I heard him and Bruce deep in discussion until the 
 others returned. 
 
 "Where's Phyllis?" asked Maxey. 
 
 " Oh, she's gone to bed with a headache," said Roger, 
 and the next thing I heard a gentle knock on my door. 
 
 " May I come in, my dear? " murmured Mrs. Everard. 
 
 A longing for a woman's sympathy made me rush to the 
 door and unlock it. Roger's mother took me in her arms, 
 and I think, in the subdued light, she noticed my swollen 
 eyes, for it was with more than usual tenderness that she 
 said: 
 
 " Poor little girl ! you must get into bed. I will bring 
 you something that will make you sleep away your head- 
 ache." 
 
 I wondered, as her hands smoothed my forehead, if she 
 had ever been tempted in all her gentle, even life.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 I HAVE a class of boys at the mission, to teach and 
 amuse, the veriest little gamins of the boulevards. 
 I, myself, have coaxed them to me one by one, and 
 now I have eleven of different ages. Their names were 
 at first difficult to remember; but I have succeeded in 
 learning each one by heart. At the mission last Sunday, 
 Roger made me proud by openly complimenting my class. 
 
 That evening at dinner, Mrs. Everard said, " I've never 
 seen anything like the power Phyllis has over those dirty 
 little urchins. They simply adore her. Did you notice 
 how quiet they were when you were talking to them, 
 Roger? " 
 
 " Of course I did," replied Roger, and Bruce said 
 steadily : 
 
 " All children, big and little, adore Phyllis," and Roger 
 laughed roguishly at me. 
 
 Last Wednesday we prepared a great surprise. I took 
 Maxey into my confidence, and Mrs. Everard, too. To 
 have left out Bruce would have spoiled it all; so he too 
 joined our party. When I began to explain my plan, all 
 entered into it heartily. 
 
 " You see," said I, " I want to give the boys a nice 
 time and to keep it a secret from Roger; but I can't do it 
 alone." 
 
 " Tell us about it," exclaimed Mrs. Everard. 
 
 " I want to give them a little supper here ; to have the 
 whole eleven at this flat, and stuff their little stomachs 
 with all kinds of good things." 
 
 176
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 177 
 
 " And give the youngsters dyspepsia for a month to 
 come," remarked Bruce. 
 
 " Good food won't hurt them for once," put in Mrs. 
 Everard. " I will do all I can to help you, Phyllis." 
 
 " And I'll make the sandwiches," Maxey supplemented. 
 " I'm a genius at cutting bread straight. But why don't 
 you tell Roger? " 
 
 My face reddened ; but I answered quickly, " It would 
 be such great fun to surprise him! You know he is so 
 interested in anything connected with the mission ! " 
 
 I looked up as I said this, and met a quick glance from 
 Bruce ; but he didn't say anything. I think he's inter- 
 ested, too, in children. He couldn't help but be, with his 
 universal' love. 
 
 Oh, dear! what pains a woman will take to please the 
 man she worships! 
 
 Bruce and Maxey were almost as interested as I in the 
 supper, and Mrs. Everard took a childish delight in the 
 arrangements. We cut sandwiches in secret, and imported 
 big cakes into Donna's storeroom right under Roger's 
 unsuspecting nose. 
 
 Just before the hour appointed for the arrival of our 
 young guests, Roger came bounding in, and found the 
 four of us in guilty conclave. 
 
 " Phyllis," he cried, " I've succeeded in getting some 
 first-night theater tickets for you and me. Aren't you 
 glad? It's that new play we spoke of the other night." 
 
 In consternation I turned hastily to the other three. 
 Maxey snorted into his handkerchief. 
 
 " I'm sorry, Roger," I faltered ; " but but I have 
 plans for tonight." 
 
 His face fell, and I detected a touch of hurt feeling in 
 his voice as he said, " As I am excluded from Phyllis's 
 plans, will you come, Mother? "
 
 178 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Darling, Fm sorry ; but I'm going to do something 
 else, too." 
 
 Roger shrugged his shoulders. " Then, we two old 
 bachelors will go, Bruce." 
 
 " Sorry, old chap : I'm hors de combat with the rest." 
 
 " I suppose Maxey has a previous engagement? " 
 Roger eyed the boy suspiciously. 
 
 " Right you are, Roddy," observed Maxey cheerfully. 
 
 " But you are included in our plans, Roger," I inter- 
 posed, taking a step toward him. " It's a surprise for 
 you." 
 
 " But the theater ! " he complained. " Is the surprise 
 worth the loss of the tickets ? " 
 
 "I think so." 
 
 " Then let the tickets go. But you ought to tell me 
 the secret now. It isn't fair to keep me in the dark." 
 
 " Not yet, not yet, Roger ! " I cried. " You shall know 
 at eight o'clock." 
 
 To prove how important I thought the occasion, I 
 dressed in my best frock and arranged roses in my hair. 
 Apart from my wish to please Roger, I was delighted with 
 the prospect of having the tots with me and of seeing 
 their eyes shine with happiness. At last the moment ar- 
 rived, and as -the bell pealed I rushed with flaming cheeks 
 to meet our little guests. Nearing, I heard subdued, angry 
 tones, and above the babble sounded the broken sobs of 
 one little voice. I opened the door. 
 
 " Teacher, teacher cherle! Mayn't I come ? Mayn't 
 I come in, too? " 
 
 " Antoine's a 'dirty pig," broke in two or three voices in 
 unison. " He's used no soap today." 
 
 " Hush, Boys ! " I commanded. " Hush ! Come in 
 quietly and explain. Antoine dear, come here ! " 
 
 The boy came immediately to my side, and lifted up- 
 ward a begrimed small face, as he shoved a dirty set of
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 179 
 
 fingers into mine. I led him into the drawing-room, the 
 others trooping after. 
 
 Bruce stood smiling genuinely amused, while Mrs* 
 Everard held up her hands with a laugh. 
 
 " You've certainly enough to do now," she said, patting 
 my protege's head consolingly. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Max. 
 
 " Never mind, Max," I said. " Go away. I'll settle 
 it. Now tell me, Boys ! " I insisted, holding fast to An- 
 toine. " Tell me all about it. It'll be all right." 
 
 " Antoine's mother isn't good," put in Muret, a boy of 
 ten, with flashing black eyes. " She ought to be spitted, 
 my mother says." 
 
 " Muret ! " I chided, as I felt the small hand in mine 
 tremble and tug away. " No, Antoine, no ! You 
 mustn't ! " 
 
 But I couldn't hold him. Before the words were from 
 my lips he had darted like an arrow upon his tormentor. 
 I was struggling to separate them, when another figure 
 rushed forward, and my two pugnacious urchins were 
 dragged apart by Bruce. 
 
 " Phyllis, Phyllis ! " he laughed, holding Muret in one 
 hand and Antoine in the other. " What's the matter with 
 your brood? " 
 
 Roger appeared in the doorway. "And this is your 
 secret, is it?" he said. "Well, it is a surprise! What 
 have the youngsters been doing? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," I replied in dismay. " An- 
 toine, come to me ! " 
 
 With a dark glance at Muret, the child shuffled forward. 
 
 " Now then, Dear," I said determinedly, " there must 
 be no trouble between you and Muret just when I want 
 you to be happy. Muret, it's wrong of you to speak dis- 
 respectfully of Antoine's mother." 
 
 "She's a "
 
 180 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " She's not ! " screamed Antoine again. " She's good, 
 she is!" 
 
 I placed my hand over his mouth. " Antoine, we'll go 
 away for a few moments and wash off the tears, and when 
 we come back Muret shall apologize, and we'll all be 
 happy." 
 
 I smiled into his small, puckered face. He was the 
 darling of my flock. I loved his swaggering walk, the 
 fearless way he carried his head, and his rattling boule- 
 vard French. * 
 
 Roger was eying me dubiously, and, glancing at him, 
 I said: 
 
 " Yes, that's my surprise ! Won't you stay with us and 
 help?" 
 
 He came toward me with impulsive tenderness. " Phyl- 
 lis, what a little schemer you are ! Of course I'll stay. 
 Wash up your young gentleman there, and we'll give him 
 a royal time." 
 
 He patted Antoine on the head. My heart bounded 
 with delight. 
 
 " Antoine's mother is a cocotte ! " shouted Muret sud- 
 denly, raising his voice to a triumphal shriek. 
 
 I came to a standstill, catching my breath as if a hand 
 had clutched my throat. Muret's face shone with ac- 
 complished revenge. His proud, dark-lidded eyes low- 
 ered tauntingly. I caught a glance from Bruce, and a 
 strange, pitying expression whitened his face. He was 
 sending me a message of sympathy. I am wondering 
 now why? For a moment Antoine stood with clenched 
 fists, then with a sob he sank limply to the floor, hiding his 
 shamed face in my robe. 
 
 I shrank back as if Muret were accusing me. A hun- 
 dred hideous nights on the boulevard seemed to leer one 
 by one at me as if they had entities of their own. Again 
 I was walking through the rain on Boulevard St. Michel
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 181 
 
 receiving the bitter humiliation that comes to all beggars. 
 But Roger's assuring look dispersed the shadows. I was 
 with him, and the horror had gone, even if little An- 
 toine's 
 
 '* Come with me, Deary," I said huskily. " Your 
 mother is a very good woman, I'm sure ; so don't cry any 
 more." 
 
 We did not speak when the washing process was going 
 on ; but when it was finished I kissed him with a whispered 
 assurance that I loved him, and led him back. 
 
 Darling little Antoine ! I'm fonder of him than ever ! 
 
 When we reached the drawing-room, Roger came for- 
 ward, leading Muret. For a moment Antoine looked at 
 the boy distrustfully ; but Muret held out his hand. 
 
 " I was a pig, Antoine," he apologized, and then added, 
 " You needn't mind about your mother : my father's in 
 jail!" ^ 
 
 Antoine's face lightened as he grasped his opponent's 
 hand, and in spite of the gravity of the situation Roger 
 allowed a smile to curve the corners of his lips. But he 
 was solemn enough when he turned to me. 
 
 " We're all going to have a nice time. I'll tell you, 
 Mademoiselle Teacher, what I've been saying to the boys. 
 I wanted them to understand how good you are to give 
 them this evening in your own home, and that they must 
 make it agreeable for you by being well behaved and 
 kindly." 
 
 Each little voice piped an assurance, and afterward I 
 noticed that Muret and Antoine were on the best of terms. 
 They had found a bond of union in the sorrows of their 
 young years. It was a clean and radiant Antoine and a 
 strong and subdued Muret who, scarcely leaving my side, 
 helped with the younger children like the devoted aides- 
 de-camp they were. 
 
 After their feast, I sang to the boys, at Bruce's re-
 
 182 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 quest. Glad tears rose to my eyes, and once Roger came 
 to the piano and looked queerly at me; but I sang on, for 
 I was not ashamed of my emotion. When my little people 
 went away, I gave them all a flower, and Mrs. Everard, 
 Roger, Bruce, and Maxey, among them, gave each child 
 a five-franc piece. 
 
 " I'm going to take a walk before I sleep," commented 
 Bruce ruefully. " I couldn't have believed it would take 
 such a lot of energy to entertain a few youngsters. Let's 
 blow off the excitement, Max." 
 
 " I'm tired too," confessed Mrs. Everard to me ; " so 
 I'll be selfish and leave you and Roger to the clearing up. 
 It was a charming evening, Phyllis dear. I've never 
 heard you sing better. Good night, my baby," and she 
 stood on tiptoe to kiss her tall son. 
 
 The door closed upon her, and I was alone with Roger. 
 He took me tenderly in his arms. I was content. 
 
 " Phyllis, Phyllis ! " he murmured. " I'm so conscience- 
 stricken ! " 
 
 I put my hand over his lips, and, trembled to his heart, 
 remained silent for a long time.
 
 ROGER has been trying to persuade Mrs. Everard 
 and me to go to Switzerland for some weeks. 
 However, all the coaxing in the world won't take 
 me away from Paris. I can't leave him. Although I've 
 made a brave pretense to terminate my visit here, I met 
 with such storms of opposition from everyone that I de- 
 cided to stay awhile longer. Really, Mrs. Everard does 
 need me; but my money is dwindling week by week, al- 
 though I've clung to every sou. 
 
 My desire is greater every day that Roger should ask 
 me to marry him. Bruce says that if anyone wishes for 
 a thing hard enough, he'll get it. He says, too, that one 
 can't get away from his own ; that the best will come some- 
 time. Oh, how strongly I'm wishing for my bestl 
 
 Writing of Bruce reminds me that he has just brought 
 me some more flowers. Their fragrance fills the whole 
 room. I honestly think that Bruce Stewart is is the 
 best man in the world: not because he brings me flowers, 
 and Roger forgets to no, it isn't anything so petty as 
 that. He's noble, strong, and most thrilling when he is 
 pushing an argument against Roger's idea for perpetual 
 after the earth Hell. I believe the same as Bruce 
 does. I cling to his words that God is good, splendid, in 
 His sweeping love for us all even a sinner like me 1 
 
 Today is the fourteenth of July, the greatest fete 
 day in France. And the people are busy decorating the 
 city for the evening's amusement. Roger has asked me 
 to go across the river tonight to watch the fireworks. 
 
 183
 
 184 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Mrs. Everard was to have come with us; but feared it 
 would tax her strength too much, and she decided to stay 
 home. I must stop writing; for we start soon. 
 
 I can't decide whether I can live longer or not. 
 
 Late yesterday afternoon, Roger and I went to the 
 Continental Hotel on the Rue de Castiglione for dinner. 
 We sat in silence ; for he was pale and distrait, while I 
 was so unhappy that I couldn't eat, much less talk. 
 
 Instinct must have told him how badly I felt; for we 
 did not linger over our coffee, but went out immediately 
 into the Bois, where boys and girls were flinging flowers 
 and confetti at one another in high glee. Temporary 
 music stands had been erected at every second corner ; for 
 the fourteenth of July is the one day in the year when 
 the French people cluster about to jubilate on the asphalt 
 pavement. Lanterns were hung from the Place de la Con- 
 corde to the end of the Bois, making it seem that the day- 
 light had been caught and confined in transparent prisons. 
 The whole city was as splendid as a jeweled princess; and, 
 if Paris had been viewed from an airship, the thousands 
 of colored lights strung through every avenue and boule- 
 vard would have looked like a million rainbows arranged 
 symmetrically side by side. In the woods, also, every 
 tree bore its burden of brilliant light, and if I hadn't been 
 so miserable my soul would have delighted in the feast of 
 color. 
 
 Until eleven o'clock, we drove up and down through one 
 festival after another; then Roger ordered the cabman to 
 drive home. 
 
 When we neared Pont Neuf, which spans the river 
 Seine, we found drawn up in scarlet array several lines of 
 guardians of the peace. 
 
 One of them stepped forward to our carriage. " You 
 cannot pass here, Monsieur," said he.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 185 
 
 "Rubbish! It can't be closed for the night! We 
 must pass: we live in the Latin quarter," Roger said in 
 decisive tones. 
 
 The officer shrugged his shoulders, and one of his com- 
 panions laughed. 
 
 " The bridge will not be clear tonight," shouted an- 
 other. 
 
 We attempted farther down the Seine to cross two more 
 bridges, with the same result. At last, muttering some- 
 thing, Roger ordered the cabman to return to the Avenue 
 de 1'Opera. 
 
 " Now, then, what are we going to do ? " he demanded. 
 
 " I don't know," I replied helplessly. 
 
 We halted on the corner near the Cafe de la Paix. I 
 caught sight of the boy imitating Napoleon ; but his chat- 
 ter was drowned in the noise. 
 
 " Phyllis, we simply can't get home tonight ! " 
 
 Roger flung himself back in the seat grimly. I could 
 not have spoken, even if my life had depended upon it. 
 
 
 
 The few moments I spent waiting for Roger at the 
 hotel while he made arrangements in the office, are un- 
 forgettable. I could hear the fiacres dash up, stop, empty 
 their occupants hastily, and then drive away again. Mo- 
 tors whizzed madly past, hooting hoarsely amid the con- 
 stant shuffling of feet on the pavements. Scraps of con- 
 versation in rapid French drifted in from the hall, and 
 there was a constant coming and going. 
 
 Too restless to sit still, I wandered from window to 
 window, until I heard Roger coming through the corri- 
 dor. He almost carried me to the lift. As he closed the 
 door behind us, he said: 
 
 " I had to register you as my wife ; but but I have 
 a suite." 
 
 His voice was cold, and he did not bend to kiss me as
 
 186 WHEN TRAGEDY. GRINS 
 
 he had done so many times at home, but proceeded to take 
 off my wraps, hanging them with his own on the rack. 
 I wish he had beat me I should have adored any master- 
 ful outburst, even to pain, rather than that polite, insuf- 
 ferable nicety. I hate it I hate it! For fully five 
 minutes we had not uttered a word, when all at once he 
 broke out: 
 
 " Phyllis, I would have given half I'm worth not to 
 have been forced to bring you here tonight; but you 
 understand there was no other way." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, trying to be calm. His pallor 
 frightened a feverish exclamation from me. " Roger, 
 Roger, why are you so unhappy and and so differ- 
 ent? " 
 
 I couldn't help asking this question. I was opening 
 up a way to tell him my secret. How I craved to hear 
 him ask me to marry him ! 
 
 " Because," he said, stopping in front of me, " you're 
 too good, much too good, Dear, to have things like this 
 happen to you. When I think of your future, I feel like 
 cursing myself." 
 
 " I don't want to think of my future," I put in coldly. 
 
 " But you must, Child, you must ! You will go into 
 the world with that voice of yours that generous tem- 
 perament God ! what I have suffered since that 
 night ! Everything seems awful to me ! " 
 
 Did this mean that I should go again into the world 
 without him ? Why, I can't go ! I can't go ! I must 
 have him! Paralyzed with fear, I shrank farther and 
 farther into the armchair. 
 
 " Phyllis," he went on, " Phyllis, can you forgive me 
 for bringing you here?" 
 
 " Don't speak of it, please don't. There is nothing to 
 forgive. I am here with you, and I am quite satisfied." 
 
 He bounded forward and lifted my face to his. " I
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 187 
 
 wear upon my eternal salvation that I will protect you 
 from yourself ! I've made a resolution never to to " 
 
 I stopped him with a motion of my hand. To protect 
 me from myself! Oh, that I had been protected from 
 him ! " It is too late for your resolutions," I said dully. 
 
 He misunderstood me, and cried out sharply, " No, it 
 isn't, Phyllis! No, it isn't! If you will make me that 
 promise over again, I shall live with peace in my mind. 
 You are going to be a great woman some day, and I shall 
 be proud of you. But just now, little girl, I am too con- 
 trite to think of anything but what we've done." 
 
 My heart stood still, and I thought all the good in me 
 was dead. He feared only that he had spoiled my career ! 
 At that moment my career and my future sank into in- 
 significance. A tear rolled down each of my cheeks. I 
 wonder what he thought of me when I dropped down and 
 began to sob. He was standing on the other side of the 
 room in silence. Suddenly I got up; but made no move 
 toward him. 
 
 " Will you leave me now ? " I stammered. " I want to 
 go to sleep, please." 
 
 He turned and was gone before I could say another 
 word. For a few moments I heard him moving about; 
 then followed a deathlike silence from his room. 
 
 I don't know when I fell asleep; but the first thing I 
 heard was Roger knocking and telling me it was nine 
 o'clock.
 
 CHAPTER XXIH 
 
 1 HAVEN'T written for several days. Of late I hare 
 had headaches. I told Marquise that I had a cold, 
 and couldn't sing for a time ; so I've stopped taking 
 lessons. 
 
 Oh, if Roger wouldn't wear that harassed look! His 
 conscience must torture him almost as much as something 
 else does me. I've discovered that women are different 
 from men in many vital ways. When I was in the boule- 
 vards, my conscience used to tear me to pieces. Now it's 
 only the insistent demands of my heart I desire satisfied. 
 I don't want Roger to talk of drifting, of high morals, 
 and of women who would give their lives for their honor. 
 There may be such women, there must be many who had 
 rather die than love as I have; but if any living woman 
 loves a man like Roger Everard then, I say, God pity 
 her! 
 
 And I wish, too, that he were never preoccupied when 
 he is with me. I feel as jealous of his preoccupation as if 
 it were another woman. 
 
 Bruce surprised me yesterday by bringing me another 
 bunch of flowers, and when he handed them to me he said, 
 as if to excuse himself, " I bought them of a poor woman 
 because she had a host of young kids with her." 
 
 I>arling giant ! He's so dear, always ! 
 
 The flowers brought about a discussion at the table. 
 
 " Hello ! Where did the roses come from ? By Jove ! 
 they are sweet ! " Roger leaned over and sniffed at them. 
 
 Bruce looked up from his paper. " I brought them," 
 he answered. " I met a woman with a baby and some 
 
 188
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 189 
 
 other children at her skirts. She looked as if she needed 
 the sous." He shot a half-humorous glance at me. 
 
 Roger chuckled. " So you've taken up with philan- 
 thropy, Stewart ! " he remarked. " I thought you were 
 against helping beggars." 
 
 " A woman selling flowers isn't a beggar," replied 
 Bruce lamely. " And she had a lot of children." 
 
 '* Yet you must remember, Bruce, what you've so often 
 said about women who drag kids about with them." 
 
 This from. Maxey, and Mrs. Everard exclaimed with 
 some indignation: 
 
 " And why, Dear, should Mr. Stewart object to a woman 
 with babies taking money from strangers ? " 
 
 Bruce was silent. His face changed color, and a sus- 
 picion of a frown came on his brow. I thought his glance 
 at me was almost appealing. Before I could speak, 
 Maxey broke in: 
 
 " I think you would object too, Mrs. Everard, if you 
 knew that there are establishments in Paris where they 
 maim children and then hire them out to these women. I 
 mean that they put out their eyes and amputate legs and 
 arms." 
 
 "How horrible!" ejaculated Mrs. Everard, and Roger 
 added : 
 
 " You can't imagine, Mother, what a stock in trade a 
 crippled child is to a beggar." 
 
 A vision of Casperone flashed into my mind. I could 
 see the fat man's woman loom out from the crimson of 
 Bruce's roses, and again there came a wave of pity for 
 the strange baby strapped to the board. My face whit- 
 ened, and I exclaimed: 
 
 " Oh, don't talk about such things, please ! " 
 
 Seeing his mother's agitation and mine, Roger changed 
 the subject quickly. The men moved from the table, and 
 Bruce drew on his overcoat. I brushed his sleeve with my
 
 190 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 fingers, and picked a piece of obstinate lint from it care- 
 fully. 
 
 " I thank you for the flowers, Bruce," I said softly, 
 " and I appreciate them." 
 
 For just an instant I saw a strange light flash in his 
 eyes as he turned from me. He paused as if he were go- 
 ing to speak, and then went out, slamming the door. 
 
 . . 
 
 I've been deeply touched by Bruce's continued offering 
 of roses. It's strange how tender we feel when somebody, 
 who is not habituated to do graceful things, suddenly re- 
 members to do them. He brings flowers every day now. 
 The mother with the babies must be very glad to get the 
 sous. 
 
 Lately I have been trying to analyze my feeling toward 
 Bruce. It's very difficult to compare it with my love for 
 Roger and not to one soul in the world would I confess 
 what I'm about to write. There are times, when I'm with 
 Roger, and my nerves tingle my blood till it boils, that I 
 am persuaded of his superior goodness; but here in cold 
 decision I write that I'm the wickedest girl in the wide 
 world, and Roger is wicked, too, but Bruce is the noblest 
 of God's created beings. As I read back a bit, I've a 
 notion to put my pen through what I have just written. 
 No! I won't, because every word is true! 
 
 There are not so many discussions as there used to be, 
 especially for and against marriage. I am grateful for 
 that. There's something torturing in such arguments to 
 me. 
 
 . . 
 
 Roger and I have had many talks lately; but they al- 
 ways end by leaving a sting in my heart. 
 
 " Phyllis," he asked one evening, " how are you get- 
 ting on with your lessons? I haven't heard you sing for 
 an age."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 191 
 
 The question came so quickly that the truth flew to my 
 lips. " 1 haven't taken a lesson for a long time. I 
 haven't felt very well." 
 
 If he had only said something different to me that 
 evening, he could have made me so so much less 
 afraid. 
 
 " You're not ill? " he broke in on my rushing thoughts. 
 
 " No, it's a cold. Marquise told me to wait a little 
 while." 
 
 This only half satisfied him. " Phyllis, I wouldn't do 
 anything to stand in your way, to hinder your advance- 
 ment in a career, for anything in the world, and I feel as 
 if I were an obstacle." 
 
 " Why, Roger? " 
 
 " Well, a person can't be so wholly absorbed in another 
 without losing interest in work. You spend too much 
 time in doing things for me." 
 
 As if that were possible! I wish my heart had the 
 power to beat for him a hundred times faster than it 
 does! 
 
 " I take care of Maxey's and of Bruce's clothes as I do 
 of yours," I whispered. " They haven't the slightest sus- 
 picion." 
 
 " I don't think they have," was his reply. " Still, my 
 conscience hurts me, Phyllis." 
 
 Another thing I've discovered, too. A man's conscience 
 attacks him only when he wants it to. A woman's heart 
 never stops hurting. 
 
 I was on his knee as he spoke ; but he didn't try to place 
 me back in the chair. He only held me close, and I heard 
 his breath come quickly. 
 
 " But for your sake, Phyllis," he began, " your whole 
 future " 
 
 " My whole future depends upon you, Roger," I inter- 
 rupted. " I can be nothing, I care for nothing, but you.
 
 192 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 If you think my love is wicked, I'm sorry. To me, it's 
 the highest, holiest, and the best the world can give." 
 
 Something that lives with me always made me say that 
 and I'm not able yet to decide whether or not it is 
 true. 
 
 Roger sighed and pressed me closer. I drew his head 
 down and kissed his lips. 
 
 Oh, dear! I wish it were the fashion for women to 
 propose marriage ! I'd I'd go and wake him up right 
 now, and and Precious God ! I'm so afraid that I 
 hang to each minute, hating the falling of the twilight 
 hours ! 
 
 * 
 
 When Bruce Stewart suggested a family trip to Fon- 
 tainebleau, Roger said that he must spend the day in his 
 studio, and insisted that I go alone with Bruce. It was 
 decided that the journey would be too fatiguing for Mrs. 
 Everard, and Max had something else to do. 
 
 I had rather have stayed at home than go without Roger. 
 Of late I've been so miserable that excursions of any sort 
 are not alluring. But one can't complain of illness in 
 some circumstances. 
 
 We started very early in the morning, so as to be able 
 to return before nightfall. I wonder Bruce was not dis- 
 pleased with me; for all the way out on the train I was 
 so moody and distraught that I am positive he noticed it. 
 However, he was unusually tender and solicitous. 
 
 There's one thing: I never see Bruce that I don't hugely 
 admire his immaculate dress, big body, and wonderful 
 face. He's a perfect study in human anatomy. 
 
 " This is a trip I've wanted to take with you ever since 
 you came to our home. Last summer I stayed three weeks 
 in the forest," said he, when piloting me among the fa- 
 mous old pictures and galleries. " Weren't you glad to 
 come, Phyllis ? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 193 
 
 " Indeed, yes," I hastened to reply. " It was kind of 
 you, Bruce, to ask me." 
 
 After that, he explained the wonders of the palaces and 
 the one hundred and one things pertaining to royalty. 
 It may not be democratic and American, but I'm always 
 interested in kings and queens, especially dead ones. 
 
 We had dinner in a small, out-of-the-way cafe. 
 
 Bruce asked me not to drink any of the red or white 
 wine. " It's adulterated in these places," he explained, 
 and, lifting his eyes, smiled as he finished, " I don't want 
 you to drink any kind of wine at any time, either." 
 
 This surprised me to such an extent that I couldn't find 
 any answer, nor did he speak to me until we had climbed 
 into the rickety old wagon and were far up the Fontaine- 
 bleau forest-road. 
 
 I've never seen such trees, and I recall perfectly that I 
 spoke first to Bruce, looking up at him at the same time. 
 His deathly pallor made me catch my breath, and I for- 
 got my request that he explain the origin of the white 
 roads and snuggling monasteries. 
 
 "Bruce, don't you feel well?" I gasped, turning 
 squarely upon him. " You're awfully white." 
 
 He shook visibly, ignored my allusion to his sudden dis- 
 tress, and said, " Most of the monasteries are empty at 
 present. The monks are gone." 
 
 The uncommonness of his nervousness struck me. His 
 was such a calm nature ; at least, I had always counted it 
 so. After that, I was disinclined to talk, and we were 
 both silent until the cocker drew up to the roadside. 
 
 In patois he explained that most tourists descended here, 
 and that by walking up the hill a bit, and through a 
 narrow path where a horse could not draw a cab, we 
 might take a view of the wonderful gorges and the forest 
 beyond. As the man settled back in his cab, he shot a 
 w r arning after us.
 
 194 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Keep to the paths, Monsieur. The snakes are plenty 
 and dangerous." 
 
 And there, from our position among the great white 
 boulders, we silently watched numbers of serpents trail 
 their beautiful bodies from the crevices and stretch their 
 lengths over the rocks. 
 
 " I wish I could touch one ! " I said softly. " I used 
 to play with them when I was a child. They're so beau- 
 tiful!" 
 
 This didn't surprise Bruce at all. Roger would have 
 jumped out of his skin at such a remark from me. I 
 bring to mind once when he and I were together in the 
 Luxembourg Gardens, how he trod upon a harmless garden 
 snake, crushing its head flat under his heel. Of course I 
 cried out against the injustice of it, and Roger, flaming in 
 anger, said: 
 
 " Phyllis, have some sense of the fitness of things ! It 
 has been proved biblically that the serpent has been and 
 always will be the worst enemy of your sex. You haven't 
 forgotten the story of Eden ? " 
 
 And I replied, " No, not forgotten it ; but I have never 
 believed it." 
 
 Roger didn't speak to me during that walk home. In 
 the evening, to dispel his frown, I whispered that I did 
 believe the Genesis story of Eve and her tempter. 
 
 I couldn't help but note the thoughtful expression with 
 which Bruce surveyed the reptiles, brilliant in varied color- 
 ing in the sun. 
 
 " Yes, they are beautiful," he said, turning to me. 
 " Every move they make is graceful." 
 
 " And yet they're the most despised of all creation," I 
 put in, " and never, while I live, shall I understand it." 
 
 " Because it is not true," replied Bruce. " Man's ego- 
 tism, his desire to find somebody or something to throw his
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 195 
 
 shortcomings upon, has brought that foolish story into 
 life. It's rubbish!" 
 
 " I hope that it is," I answered meditatively. 
 
 We had walked about half a mile when I wheeled on 
 Bruce Stewart. " Bruce," I demanded, " do you think 
 Roger really believes that women are inferior to men ? " 
 
 He sounded a grim grunt that didn't seem to class with 
 his handsome mouth and glittering teeth. " Roger's an 
 ass about some things," he drawled, and that was all the 
 answer I received. 
 
 Then, as suddenly as I had broken in upon his thoughts 
 a few moments before, Bruce interrupted mine. " Phyl- 
 lis," he said, "will you marry me?" 
 
 I flashed a frightened glance into his strange, com- 
 pelling eyes, now drowsy with inexplicable questioning. 
 His wonderful ruddy skin had pallored in passion. Sud- 
 denly he came close to me and laid a hand upon my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Phyllis ! " he whispered, and then again, " Little Phyl- 
 lis !" 
 
 Still, I could not speak; a mental tumult rushed the 
 blood through my heart at such a rate that I couldn't 
 breathe. Of a sudden, I realized my awful position, and 
 shook off his hand. 
 
 " Of course I won't marry you, Bruce. I can't 1 It's 
 absolutely impossible! Take me back to the cab." 
 
 As we walked slowly back in silence, I stole a glance at 
 the big man, gray-faced in disappointment. I wished I 
 were a man, too. If I had been, I should have slipped my 
 hand through his arm and have told him all the burning 
 ambitions of my life: as it is, every aspiration in me is 
 shrouded in its grave buried by Roger. 
 
 At the end of the broken stony path, Bruce paused. 
 " Phyllis," he faltered, " I had hoped you might love me
 
 196 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 enough to marry me ; but, if you can't, will you remember 
 oh, dear girl, will you remember that if you need me 
 I shall always be your friend? No matter what comes, I 
 shall be ready." 
 
 I could only nod my head, and as we clattered through 
 the forest neither one of us spoke another word. 
 
 I remember that I dreamed that night of Bruce, and 
 woke at dawn, happy and smiling, only to drop back in 
 wide-eyed horror when full consciousness came in all its 
 hideous truth. 
 
 Today I went to the priest in Rue Kleber. His name 
 is Father Beulais. I had to go : the need of comfort from 
 another human being, of unburdening myself to one person 
 at least, was crying within me. 
 
 He met me with the same expression of melancholy and 
 sweetness that I had observed before. " I knew that you 
 would come," he said softly. " It's cooler than yesterday, 
 isn't it? The days we've had lately are wonderful! 
 Won't you sit down here ? " 
 
 I was tired ; for now every little exertion took away my 
 breath. I had lost my youthfulness and vivacity. 
 
 " I felt you would need me," he said presently, after 
 an embarrassing pause ; " for, after the many times I had 
 seen you burning candles, I reasoned that you were un- 
 happy. That's why I spoke to you." 
 
 " Yes, I am unhappy," I replied. " And I'm going to 
 tell you about it." 
 
 " Very well," he answered simply, bringing the tips of 
 his fingers together. 
 
 " I have a lover," I began in a low tone. 
 
 The clear eyes in the high-bred face did not waver. " I 
 imagined as much," he replied. 
 
 " I love him." 
 
 " Of course."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 197 
 
 " And I want to marry him." 
 
 " Naturally." 
 
 I looked into his face pleadingly. He wasn't helping 
 me at all. 
 
 " I don't know what you need," said he. " You will 
 have to tell me just as if I were a physician and you were 
 ill." 
 
 The blood rushed to my temples, leaving a dead ache 
 and a desire that something would happen that would take 
 away the tugging at my heart. 
 
 " He is very good," I put in quickly, " very good, in- 
 deed. He doesn't see matters as I do, that's all, or if he 
 does he hasn't said so." 
 
 " You mean he hasn't asked you to marry him? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " Do you think he is going to ? " 
 
 " I don't know," I answered, with a sob in my throat. 
 " I had thought so, and prayed for it, night and day. It 
 was for that that I burned the candles lately ; but he says 
 nothing." 
 
 " Maybe our Holy Mother has decided that you are 
 better oif without him." 
 
 " I've got to have him ! " I cried sharply. " I will have 
 him ! She couldn't be so cruel ! As a woman herself, she 
 must see that I need him ! " 
 
 " I understand," said the priest thoughtfully. " I 
 thought it was that. Sit up and cease crying. It will 
 make you ill. There ! I want to question you. Does 
 does he love you ? " 
 
 I recalled Roger's first long, passionate kiss. " Oh, I 
 thought he did," I said miserably. " Yes, I'm sure he 
 does." 
 
 " How do you know? Has he ever told you? " 
 
 I was about to give the affirmative nod, when I suddenly 
 received a shock. Roger had told me that I was beautiful,
 
 198 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 that I was his darling; but had he once told me that he 
 really loved me? 
 
 " He's shown it in a thousand different ways," was all 
 I could answer. 
 
 ** You've seen him every day since you burned candles ? " 
 he questioned in a delicate and meaning voice. 
 
 " We live in the same house," I replied in a low tone. 
 
 Father Beulais rose to his feet. He was white, pain- 
 fully white. He had heard something that hurt his finer 
 susceptibilities. " And he has never told you that he loved 
 
 you?" 
 
 " Not in those words," I said bravely ; " but, Father, 
 can't you understand? He does, he does I know it!" 
 I poured into his ear evidences of Roger's affection. I 
 tried to prove to him how impossible it was that he didn't 
 love me. 
 
 " Then why hasn't he married you ? " demanded the 
 priest. " You're mistaken," he continued, reseating him- 
 self. " A man is not like a woman there's a great 
 difference. Men do not love like women." 
 
 " I am sure he cares as much for me as I do for him," 
 I insisted stubbornly. 
 
 " He may love someone else," was his merciless reply. 
 
 '* Some one else ? " 
 
 I drew back, keeping my eyes fixed upon him. Lady 
 Jane flashed for an instant into my mind, and I drew a 
 long, sobbing breath. 
 
 " I heard him tell another woman once that he had his 
 ideal," I admitted, and before I could establish in the 
 priest's mind the belief that I was the woman he had in- 
 terposed : 
 
 " So he has his ideal ! Nearly all men have ; but she's 
 always a good woman." 
 
 " Oh, Father Beulais ! 
 
 He raised a warning finger to ward off an interruption.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 199 
 
 " If, as you say, he is the first man you have ever loved," 
 he went on relentlessly, " he ought to feel a certain re- 
 sponsibility toward you that he seems to have missed." 
 
 " But he does feel it ; for he is always telling me that he 
 is concerned about me.*' 
 
 " And how do you answer him ? " 
 
 " I tell him I'm as happy as I can be ; but it is only 
 bravado." 
 
 Father Beulais bent his flashing dark eyes upon me. 
 " Then I have told you the truth," said he. " If he loved 
 you, he would take you to the priest instead of preaching 
 morals, especially if he knew " 
 
 " But he doesn't know," I interrupted. 
 
 Suddenly the priest wheeled upon me. " You've got 
 to tell him! It's the only way he'll ever be your hus- 
 band." 
 
 " I've wanted him to ask me to be his wife before know- 
 ing that." 
 
 The man was pacing back and forth over the polished 
 boards. " Has he ever spoken of another woman? " 
 
 " No," I replied faintly. 
 
 " Poor little girl ! " murmured Father Beulais, taking 
 another turn. 
 
 I sat awhile in silence, feeling a sort of dumb faith that 
 in this holy place some quietude would come to my turbu- 
 lent spirit. 
 
 " You must tell him you must tell him about it ! " 
 commanded the priest presently. " If he is the man you 
 think him to be, his pity will be aroused, at least. Our 
 Lady will put it into his heart ; for is she not the Mother 
 of Sorrows the Mater Dolorosa? " 
 
 
 
 I walked home dazed and unhappy. And now I am 
 waiting for the call for dinner. I can never bring myself 
 to tell Roger that! This very evening I'm going to try
 
 200 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 and make him ask me to marry him. I will hear in so 
 many words whether he does or does not love me. If he 
 will tell me that he does, my happiness will be complete. 
 If not but I won't think it I can't I can't ! 
 
 After we had finished eating, Bruce and Maxey went out. 
 Roger stayed at home with me. Before I could gather 
 courage, he had picked up a new book of fiction and was 
 soon deeply engrossed. At times like this, or when he is 
 abstractedly silent, I am loath to disturb him ; but I simply 
 couldn't go to sleep unless he relieved my heart some- 
 what. 
 
 " Roger," I said, softly touching his hair, " won't you 
 put down your book for a minute ? " 
 
 " I'm in the most exciting part," he mumbled ; but he 
 laid the book on the table, and took my hand in his. The 
 touch warmed and thrilled me. 
 
 "What is it, Dearest?" 
 
 I placed my eyes on a direct line with his so that he could 
 not avoid me. " Roger," I pleaded, " are you really 
 really fond of me? " 
 
 He had not expected the question. He drew me forci- 
 bly to his knee and, putting his arm about me, looked 
 long into my face. " Am I fond of you ? " he asked. 
 " Am I fond of you? ITou have become indispensable to 
 me, Phyllis." 
 
 " I mean, Roger, more than you were when I came 
 here ? Do you love me as a man ought to : love 
 a good woman? " 
 
 We were at the crucial point. 
 
 " A good woman ! " he repeated, and then paused. 
 
 I uttered a cry and dropped my head on his shoulder, 
 and there, tired, sick, and overcome, wept my heart out as 
 I never had before. 
 
 Roger allowed me to weep ; but at length he broke out,
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 201 
 
 " You see, Phyllis, I might as well be honest : no good ever 
 comes to two people through a lie. We started out 
 wrong. I shall regret it all my life. That you are not 
 dear to me, I can't say. But that's no reason why I 
 should accept sacrifices that I know you are making for 
 me. I should be a brute. Phyllis, I don't believe you 
 ever think of your career, where I'm concerned ! " 
 
 The others, returning, interrupted us, and I had not 
 received my answer. 
 
 
 
 I listen to every sentence of Roger's with such eager- 
 ness that my intensity often makes me cry. Then I twist 
 and turn his words to make them mean something com- 
 forting for me. 
 
 Today, Mrs. Everard has gone to stay with a friend 
 outside Paris. As I was making ready for bed tonight, 
 the murmur of voices came in through the curtains. 
 
 " Where's Phyllis? " asked Bruce. 
 
 " She was tired and has gone to bed," replied Roger. 
 From his tone I don't believe he raised his eyes from his 
 paper. 
 
 " She must have been very tired to go to bed at this 
 hour," said Maxey. 
 
 " Perhaps," was all Roger said. 
 
 He was terse and noncommittal. I could not have 
 spoken of him in such a manner. 
 
 After a time of silence, Maxey blurted out, " I say, 
 Roger, do you know the man in America whom Phyllis is 
 fond of? You ought to know something about her: you 
 knew her before we did." 
 
 "Why do you want to know, Kid?" was Roger's lazy 
 reply. 
 
 Another silence. 
 
 " Because," and I heard Maxey walking up and down 
 the room, " I'd give anything to marry her myself. But
 
 202 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 she said she couldn't: there was someone else in 
 America." 
 
 I listened with every nerve strained. Would Roger 
 stand up for me and tell the other two what he hadn't told 
 me, that he loved me ? 
 
 There was a pause before the next words came, and then 
 Maxey said: 
 
 " She's the only girl I could ever care for. She'd be 
 the making of me. Confound that other chap ! " 
 
 " I thought you were never going to get married, 
 Maxey ? " broke in Roger. I detected a huskiness in his 
 voice. 
 
 " Oh, I've said so," went on the boy ; " but I was a fool, 
 a bally fool. Phyllis wouldn't be doing badly in marrying 
 me. I shall have pots of money one day, and a title, and 
 most girls like that sort of thing." 
 
 I waited in vain for Roger to speak. 
 
 " You've asked her, you say ? " This was from Bruce. 
 There was a tone of curiosity, almost amusement, in hi* 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes, I did," replied the boy shortly. " She said she 
 was fond of the other fellow." 
 
 " Then take her word for it," snapped Roger, and I 
 could hear him nervously turning the pages of his book. 
 
 No one spoke after that. Maxey went to the piano and 
 began to pound out a popular love ditty. 
 
 I'm wondering, in a dreary way, if all men are alike as 
 far as women are concerned? But then there is Bruce! 
 I'm thinking specifically about him.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 I WAITED yesterday for the opportunity to get a 
 word alone with Roger. It came after luncheon 
 when the others had gone out and I was arranging 
 some flowers. 
 
 " Roger," I said, " do you want to see me married to 
 Maxey? " 
 
 I had to fuss among Bruce's flowers a long time before 
 Roger blurted out: 
 
 "No! Of course not!" 
 
 His denial comforted me a little. I came to him and 
 sat on his knee. 
 
 " Dearest," I pleaded, forcing him to look at me, " do 
 you respect me ? " 
 
 He started and made a movement to put me down. 
 
 " I want you to tell me," I insisted, hanging to his neck. 
 
 " Don't ask questions," he answered, with a ghost of a 
 smile. 
 
 " But, Roger, it is so much to me ! I want to know if 
 if you respect me." 
 
 He knocked an ash from his cigar. " Well, I hardly 
 know what you mean. If you want to know whether I 
 should miss you, whether I need you, I've told you that 
 before. If you think you could go out of my life and 
 not have me care, you're mistaken. You can't talk of 
 respect in connection with a woman who is as near to 
 me as you are. One respects a woman who is on a pedes- 
 tal; not" 
 
 " Not a woman who has flung herself at your feet ! " I 
 cried bitterly.
 
 204 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I detected an expression that men bear when they dread 
 a scene. I jumped up quickly, biting my lip to keep back 
 the tears. I could hear Roger fidgeting under my silence, 
 and finally he got up and said: 
 
 " WdJ, Phyllis, I'm going out." 
 
 He hesitated an instant; but, as I neither spoke nor 
 turned my head, he went out of the door and closed it be- 
 hind him. The perfume of Bruce's roses accentuated my 
 aching sense of desolation. 
 
 * 
 
 I've been again to see Father Beulais. 
 
 " I've expected you every day," he remarked quietly 
 as he bade me sit down. " Are you any more at rest ? " 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 "Poor child! Life is hard for you just now. Did 
 you take my advice and tell him? " 
 
 " No," I choked, " it was too much like asking him to 
 marry me. I can't do that." 
 
 " You should have done so," observed the priest, wrink- 
 ling his fine brow. " He has sinned : he must atone for 
 it." 
 
 " I don't want him to atone for it if atoning means 
 that he must sacrifice himself for me. I want him to marry 
 me because of myself, because he wants me to be his 
 wife." 
 
 " Yes, I see ; but the child is the instrument through 
 which he will be yours. Men are not utterly devoid of 
 heart. Besides, you've a responsibility toward another 
 soul now." 
 
 I trembled until he gave me a drink of brandy, which I 
 gulped down thankfully. 
 
 " I can think of nothing so awful in this world," he said 
 deliberately as he took the glass from my hand, " as for a 
 mother to receive the reproaches of a child brought into 
 the world without a name."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 205 
 
 I covered my eyes to shut out the picture. " I never 
 thought of it quite like that," I returned brokenly. 
 
 To this moment I had been thinking of my own content- 
 ment. The priest had given me another thought. 
 
 Father Beulais looked at me long and fixedly, and then 
 sighed as he paced restlessly up and down the room. " I 
 think you are suffering without cause," he continued. 
 " Go to him tell him," and he looked at me keenly, 
 " that you will be the mother of his child in " 
 " Five months," I breathed. 
 
 " He will see things in a new light. Would you marry 
 him then ? " 
 
 " No ! " I said, standing up. " No, not so long as the 
 world has a sun and a moon ! I could marry him only if 
 he needed me, not when I need him. He shall never save 
 me from disgrace out of pity! If I were well and happy, 
 and he asked me, it would be different." 
 
 " What are you going to do about the child? " asked the 
 priest gravely. 
 
 " Love it shelter it and oh, oh, work for it ! " 
 " Do you think that your love can make up for what it 
 will lose, a poor, petty love in exchange for a name and 
 Heaven ? " 
 
 " Heaven ! " I cried. " I shall never do anything to 
 keep my child out of Heaven." 
 
 " You already have," said he, " and that is how you 
 women make mistakes. You should be wholly at the 
 mercy of this man God willed it ! Your child is his 
 and his name should be yours. Without his aid, your 
 child will never see the light of God's face ! " 
 
 I looked at him stunned. Would the fact that Roger 
 and I became man and wife place a heavenly crown upon 
 the head of my child? I turned upon the priest abruptly. 
 " Oh, I don't understand you." 
 " No, of course not : it is difficult."
 
 206 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 >_ 
 
 He took a book from the shelf and ran over the pages 
 till he came to a passage which he marked with his thumb. 
 I read the words with blurred eyes. Several times I 
 brushed the tears away with my handkerchief. 
 
 " Then if my child is born out of wedlock " 
 
 He nodded and pointed to the book, and I read on and 
 on. 
 
 " Then every child's eternal welfare in the world," I 
 said, laying the Bible on the table, " really depends upon 
 its father. A man can give it light or darkness ! " 
 
 " Yes : hence the superiority of men. Woman in the 
 beginning was responsible for all sin, and in the endless 
 ages through which this world must revolve she has to 
 suffer for it. You are no exception to the rule." 
 
 " Does does the child suffer in being kept out of 
 Heaven ? " I asked dully. 
 
 " Not any more than any soul would when debarred 
 from the light of God's countenance." 
 
 " Is there any penance I can do that will save it? " 
 
 None." 
 
 I drew a long breath. I'm so mixed up in religious 
 ideas ! I'm like a leaf turning to every wind of doctrine 
 for what? The priest spoke again solemnly. 
 
 " If it lives and breathes without a name, then as surely 
 as you sit there, as surely as that small bird on the branch 
 of yonder tree breathes, sings, and fulfils the destiny that 
 God intended it should, just so surely will that child 
 never " 
 
 I lost his last words. My eyes wandered to the little 
 bird. It swung to and fro on the slender twig, twittering 
 happily to its mate on the limb above. They needed noth- 
 ing but the pure air, the open sky, the love of life, 
 aye, life itself, to fulfill their instincts. 
 
 The priest divined the drift of my thought. " They 
 were made for the gratification of man, like all inferior
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 307 
 
 creation," he observed. " We are of a race apart. God 
 must have intelligent beings to worship him He will 
 have no stain upon His angelic host. When souls have 
 been purified by the Church, they are ready for His pres- 
 ence. You understand? Your child would not be fit for 
 that presence ! " 
 
 " Is it possible that a just God could bar an innocent 
 soul from Heaven for a sin it never committed? " 
 
 The priest lifted one hand and glanced at me forbid- 
 dingly. " The ways of the Almighty are inscrutable," 
 said he. 
 
 " You say that if it lives and breathes," I brought out, 
 after a moment. " Suppose it never lives ? What 
 if I were to kill myself now? " 
 
 A look of horror spread over his face. He clutched at 
 the beads hanging to his side and began to say them over 
 hastily. I heard " Hail Mary " several times ; but I took 
 no interest in the prayers. 
 
 With misty eyes, I watched the two little birds chirping 
 to each other in innocent coquetry, fluttering from branch 
 to branch. Then I realized that the priest had sat down 
 beside me. As he took my hand, I saw how pale he had 
 become. 
 
 " You would not dare ! " he muttered. 
 
 " But if the child doesn't live, it can't be deprived of 
 light. What good to give it life, hope, and love, and 
 then consign it to darkness ? " I asked bitterly. 
 
 " The man can save you both, if you will but yield a 
 little." 
 
 " He doesn't want me," I sobbed. " Oh, he doesn't want 
 me!" 
 
 " Pride ! " he said again, bending compelling eyes upon 
 me to force me to listen to his reasoning. " That is noth- 
 ing but pride." 
 
 " I had rather die a hundred times over," I said stub-
 
 208 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 bornly. " I would ! I would ! I can't tell him about 
 it!" 
 
 The priest spread out his hands, looked into the palms, 
 and straightened out his long fingers. " Will you permit 
 me to tell him?" he asked after a pause. "Oh, I shaO 
 help you," he went on with growing eagerness, " and re- 
 lieve you if I can. You will allow me to tell him, won't 
 you?" 
 
 I was suddenly conscious that I could not discuss it a 
 moment longer, and rose to my feet. 
 
 " I do thank you, Father Beulais," I exclaimed, ex- 
 tending my hand, " and and I will think it over." 
 
 What mattered the little prevarication compared with 
 what I intended to do? He himself had unconsciously 
 pointed out the only way of escape for me. Physical 
 death was a little thing compared to the mental agony I 
 was enduring. 
 
 
 
 I wondered as I wearily entered our little flat whether 
 Roger would care when he heard what I had done. He 
 was alone when I arrived. 
 
 Boyishly he grasped my hands. " Phyllis, I was be- 
 ginning to worry about you. Where in the world have 
 you been ? You look tired, Child ! " 
 
 He little knew the feelings that dominated me. I had 
 resolved to take this step into the dark, and his conscience 
 should suffer no more on my behalf. He lifted my head, 
 kissed me, and smiled. 
 
 " I see," he said, laughing a little ruefully, " that Bruce 
 has sent you in some more flowers. I'll soon be jealous 
 of him. He likes you immensely, Phyllis. After dinner 
 I have something to tell you," he added. 
 
 I took the roses up and buried my nose in them. As 
 Donna came in and began to lay the cloth, I rushed to my 
 room, not trusting mj-self to speak.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 209 
 
 At dinner I toyed with my food, sending the plate away 
 untouched. Bruce noticed it, and rebuked me by a silent 
 glance. He will make a capital husband for some girl 
 who wants to be cared for in that sweet, quiet way of 
 his. 
 
 Roger's mother, who had just returned from her brief 
 absence, was so absorbed in recounting the incidents of 
 her visit to her son that she also ate very little. Roger 
 devoted himself to her. 
 
 Maxey turned to me sullenly. " I'm going to Eng- 
 land, Phyllis," he said, " to see my people. The mater 
 wants me." 
 
 I wondered involuntarily what he would say if he were 
 going to see his real mother. 
 
 " What, Max? " exclaimed Roger. " Are you going to 
 break up the faithful three? " 
 
 " I can't stay here any longer. What's the use? I 
 hate Paris, anyway ! " 
 
 " I thought you were devoted to it," drawled Bruce. 
 
 " I'm tired of it now," said Max, looking at me as much 
 as to say, " It's all your fault." 
 
 I'm afraid I paid little attention to his accusing glance. 
 
 " Oh, Maxey," cried Mrs. Everard, " don't go until I'm 
 ready ! I do want to visit our friends there, and you know 
 how I dread traveling alone. I sha'n't be able to stay 
 here forever." 
 
 " Forever wouldn't be long enough for me to be with 
 you, Mater mine," Roger murmured. " Besides, I have a 
 very special reason for wanting you to stay, and Max too. 
 I may go with you." 
 
 Something curious in the glance he threw me, half 
 furtive, half pleading, gave me a sensation of foreboding. 
 What could his reason be? He had kept it a secret from 
 me. I've felt shut out of his counsel lately. There came 
 over me a realization that there might be no next week,
 
 210 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 o far as I was concerned. I left the table with an ex- 
 cuse, and when Roger asked me where I was going I said : 
 
 " To the pharmacy." 
 
 " Let me go with you," he called ; but I replied : 
 
 " No, I had rather go alone."
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 WHEN I returned from the chemist's, I noticed 
 that Roger's mother glanced quickly at me 
 as I passed through the salon to my own 
 room. As I gained it, I saw that she had followed me 
 in. I hastily concealed the little vial I held in my fingers. 
 
 " Phyllis dear, I hope you won't think I'm intruding," 
 she said in a low voice ; " but you look ill and unhappy. 
 Won't you confide in me? " 
 
 She sat down beside me on the bed, and in sheer loneli- 
 ness of spirit I let my head fall upon her shoulder. 
 
 " There now, cry, cry ! It'll do you good, Child," she 
 whispered. 
 
 I could no more have stopped the rush of tears than I 
 could have turned the River Seine from its course with my 
 hands. 
 
 During the silence that followed, Maxey's voice, as he 
 read from the evening paper, floated in through the por- 
 tiere. 
 
 " Last night at ten o'clock a terrible tragedy occurred," 
 he drawled in a singsong tone. " A young workwoman 
 abandoned by her lover was found dead in the river " 
 Maxey's voice grew indistinct. 
 
 I listened mechanically, Mrs. Everard stroking my hair 
 with motherly tenderness. 
 
 " Poor thing ! " commented Max, raising his tones 
 again. " I suppose the prospect of disgrace unhinged her 
 mind." 
 
 " She sinned without counting the cost," Roger's voic 
 said. " It's a pity that women will do that."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I thought I felt the hand on my head tremble for an in- 
 stant and stay its caressing motion. 
 
 " By the way you talk, Roger," put in Bruce, " one 
 would think that the girl did all the sinning." 
 
 *' It's expected of a woman to be purer than a man,'* 
 Roger broke forth impatiently. " She's not expected to 
 yield to temptation. If she does, it's one of the Creator's 
 laws that she must take the consequences. As I've said 
 before, that was intended from the beginning." 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed Bruce, moving his chair back- 
 ward. " That's not fair nor just. For instance, a girl 
 may be young, or she may love a man devotedly." 
 
 " Nevertheless," replied Roger obstinately, " the 
 woman's mission is to uphold purity. It has never been 
 asked of the man. In my opinion, and I know that many 
 conservative fellows think the same way, the woman is 
 responsible for the man's fallen position in the world." 
 
 " Hell ! " snapped Bruce. 
 
 The dropping of a pin could have been heard in the 
 stillness. Presently Roger broke forth: 
 
 " They've certainly placed us in direct disharmony 
 with the peace that God intended for us, Bruce. Don't 
 be a fool and argue for the equality of the sexes. It's 
 ridiculous ! No wonder that all good men kill the serpent 
 and ostracize the woman who who dares ! By her own 
 indiscretion, woman has become absolutely subservient to 
 man." 
 
 There was dead silence for a moment, followed by an 
 oath from Bruce and an indignant exclamation from 
 Max. 
 
 " I don't care what you say, Roddy," cried the latter 
 in a high, boyish voice, " if a woman suffers, the man 
 oughtn't to go scot free." 
 
 A faintness crept over me as I listened. And Roger 
 was the man into whose arms I had gone with such faith !
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 813 
 
 This night has taught me all of man's arrogance. I've 
 felt his grinding heel upon my head, and here in secret 
 I rebelliouslj proclaim man master of the world. It would 
 be an absolute physical impossibility for a woman to dev- 
 astate a man's life as Roger has mine. Involuntarily I 
 clutched Mrs. Everard's arm. Her face was as bloodless 
 as mine. 
 
 " In the case of this poor thing," Bruce took up in deep 
 tones, " if she sinned, and, mind you, I don't say she 
 did, but if she did, then it's atoned for. She's dead, 
 anyway," and he rustled a paper. 
 
 I heard Roger pacing the room. " I must have been 
 brought up wrongly," he said ; " but my mother taught 
 me that a woman's path lay among the flowers of virtue. 
 It's an ordinance of nature that a woman must pay the 
 price of sin." 
 
 I have come to a dreadful decision, if something, 
 something as much his as mine, did not hold me to Roger 
 just now, I should hate him. 
 
 " You're a strange sort of Christian," muttered 
 Maxey. " I thought your religion taught forgiveness. 
 Now, to Bruce and me, the girl in the paper here," and 
 he tapped it with his finger, making an audible sound, 
 " to Bruce and me," he repeated, " it's apparent that poor 
 soul needed just this experience in the process of perfec- 
 tion." 
 
 "Rubbish!" ejaculated Roger. "Nonsense! With 
 that confounded doctrine, you'd sweep away all the evi- 
 dences of ancient history and the Bible. For my part, 
 I'm satisfied with the teachings of the Church, and the de- 
 cision of the commentators." Roger moved to a chair 
 as he delivered his doctrine. 
 
 " It would be a hell of a world," said Bruce, " if we 
 tried to follow the advice of dizzy commentators," and, 
 lowering his voice, went on, " It seems to me, Roger, that,
 
 214 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 with your ideas of woman and her unpardonable sin, you 
 do away with the necessity of the Cross, which is your 
 only stronghold. Again, what troubles me in your argu- 
 ment, conceding that the woman alone has to pay, is the 
 question of the child. The little child is innocent." 
 
 Mrs. Everard drew a long breath. She leaned over ea- 
 gerly to catch Roger's next words. 
 
 " Children like that must curse the day they are born ! " 
 He paused a moment, and then burst in impetuously, " I 
 should have to see the serpent clinging to the Cross of 
 Christ before I would admit that such a child could enter 
 Heaven ! " His voice rising high at this juncture, he con- 
 tinued deliberately, " The Bible says that such a child can't 
 live among God's children." 
 
 A shudder ran through Mrs. Everard's body. Her 
 tenseness told me that she was listening with as much 
 avidity as I. 
 
 Bruce still maintained his ground. " I have yet to dis- 
 cover proof of your proverbial Heaven, with its harps and 
 the like. If there was anything in the world that would 
 disprove orthodoxy to me, Roger, it's an argument like 
 yours. A child, a poor helpless little thing, with no 
 say as to coming into the world! I believe the more it 
 suffers at the hands of others, the greater will be its re- 
 ward. At any rate, that rot you're talking was the old 
 Mosaic law. Done away with hundreds of years ago." 
 
 Roger snapped up the last sentence of Bruce's ejacula- 
 tion and replied, " If that's the old law, so is ' Thou shalt 
 not steal ! ' * Thou shalt not kill ! ' What was sin then is 
 sin now. Besides, the whole civilized world agrees that the 
 law is given us through the Bible. When the Blessed Book 
 says that a child of illegal birth shall be kept from the con- 
 gregation of the Lord, then, I say, I have authority for 
 my beliefs." 
 
 He broke off his argument, being interrupted by an
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 215 
 
 oatH from Bruce; but caught it up almost immediately 
 and finished: 
 
 " In my mind, the woman who is mother to such a child 
 has committed the unpardonable sin ; for to condemn an- 
 other to eternal loneliness is unpardonable." 
 
 Neither of the others had interrupted; but Bruce got 
 up when Roger ceased speaking: 
 
 " Roger, you insufferable religionist 1 " came his deep 
 tones. " Damn it ! when a woman's hurt, body and soul, 
 can't you forgive her; just say, ' God bless you!' and let 
 her go? " 
 
 Roger said something I couldn't catch; but his next 
 words were desperately uttered. " No, no I If God won't 
 forgive her, neither will I. That kind of a sin God 
 damns ! " 
 
 Mrs. Everard got to her feet, pressing her hands over 
 her face. I stood beside her, wild-eyed. 
 
 " You're ill," I exclaimed, and I helped her to her room. 
 I didn't wait to speak with her. I was persuaded then that 
 she knew! 
 
 Back into my own chamber I rushed with burning anger 
 in my heart. In his virtuous self-importance, Roger was 
 hateful to me. Life wasn't worth a tithe of what it had 
 been when I had walked by the river that long-ago night, 
 clutching the five-franc piece. 
 
 I stood at the window with clenched fists. Suddenly 
 I felt a touch on my arm, and looking up saw Roger him- 
 self. I turned again, so he would not notice my ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " Confound those fellows ! " he growled. " I was hoping 
 they would go out! They're always getting me into a 
 discussion that makes me lose my temper." Then, laugh- 
 ing a little ruefully, he added, " I think I'm too orthodox 
 for them, that's all. I came because I wanted to tell you 
 something, Phyllis."
 
 216 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I turned and faced him. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter, Child?" he cried, catching 
 me in his arms. " I wanted this to be the happiest evening 
 in our lives. You know how miserable I've been lately, 
 Dear. I've fancied that you've been unhappy, too. I've 
 been thinking it all over. Do you think, if you married 
 me, it would spoil your career, Dearest? " 
 
 The room whirled. The lights flashed, and then seemed 
 to go out. I dragged at my collar for breath. On the 
 dressing table near the mirror lay the little vial I had in- 
 tended to empty. In the street a cabby yelled at his 
 horse, and a hawker shrieked her wares in a high, boy- 
 like voice. The long-wished-for moment had come! I 
 forgot his bigoted words a little time before. Roger was 
 himself again ! He was my lover-husband, my own, the 
 better half of myself! All the anxiety that had rent my 
 soul in the last five months melted away. Truly, as the 
 priest had said, a man holds for a woman who has dared 
 sin the entrance into all things good. He released me for 
 a moment and put his hand into his pocket. 
 
 " You'll forgive me, Darling, won't you ? " he demanded, 
 leaning over me. " Look at this paper, Love. It's a 
 special license for our marriage in London. It's sudden, 
 I know, Sweet; but you won't refuse me! I need you! 
 I want my wife! Why don't you answer, Phyllis? Oh, 
 you will " 
 
 I realized the import of the one word " marriage," and 
 lost the rest in unconsciousness. When my senses re- 
 turned, Roger was still talking with a touch of uneasi- 
 ness. 
 
 " After I had decided upon our future, I couldn't wait 
 to get your consent. But speak to me, Phyllis! Why 
 do you look so strange? " He was pleading with the 
 oldtime passion. " Phyllis, you'll never know how I've 
 fought with myself over this thing. I realized what your
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 217 
 
 career meant to you, and I've had certain ambitions my- 
 self; but we can work together, can't we? " 
 
 I slipped my arms about his big waist. " What is my 
 career or the whole world compared to you, Roger? " 
 
 He laughed happily. " Then, come along and let's tell 
 Mother and the boys. Where is she? " 
 
 I was able only to form the next words. " You tell 
 them, Roger ; then come back to me." 
 
 He ran into Mrs. Everard's room, and I heard him 
 say: 
 
 "Why, Mater mine, in bed? I've a piece of news for 
 you. Tomorrow, you, Phyllis, Bruce, Max, and I are 
 going to London, where Phyllis and I are to be married. 
 What do you think of that? Sudden, isn't it? " 
 
 I heard Mrs. Everard murmur in choked tones, " Roger, 
 Roger, my darling ! " 
 
 Picking up the vial of poison, I flung it with a glad 
 gesture far into the night. In another instant Roger was 
 back at my side. 
 
 "Isn't this a happy night?" he breathed. "I shall 
 make you glad when you have married me, Phyllis dar- 
 ling!" 
 
 I laughed in such glee that Roger joined in. Just 
 then the bell rang, and I heard Donna plod along the 
 hall to open the door. 
 
 " Postman," laughed Roger. " A bunch of home let- 
 ters would top off the occasion nicely, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 " Roger ! " called Maxey from the next room. 
 
 " Coming in a minute, Max," replied Roger, and I has- 
 tily interposed: 
 
 " I have something to tell you tonight, dear heart." 
 
 " Roger ! " Max shouted again, this time impatiently. 
 " Come here a minute, anyhow," and with another kiss 
 Roger left me ; but halted upon the threshold to add : 
 
 " Come along with me, Phyllis ! "
 
 218 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I paused a second to gain my composure, and then 
 parted the curtains and followed him. A faint, sweet 
 thrill of life, like the coming and going of an angel's 
 breath, like a tiny flutter of a baby bird's wing in the 
 spring, just one wild, exquisite sensation of passionate up- 
 lifting, and Roger's babe gave its first slight quiver under 
 my heart. 
 
 " Phyllis, you're ill ! " I heard Bruce say and as I 
 turned I came face to face with Lady Jane Grey !
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 I HAD the dull feeling that Lady Jane Grey looked very 
 beautiful. A long gown, fitting closely about her 
 hips, fell to her feet. The fair face was shrouded 
 by masses of hair, parted on one side of the low forehead. 
 An expression I knew well imparted a sarcastic droop to 
 the babyish mouth. From under the heavy lids the vel- 
 vety eyes gazed straight into mine. I was still huddled 
 up against the curtains, and Roger, as though stunned, 
 made no movement toward me. Maxey still sat at the ta- 
 ble, while Bruce stood close to Lady Jane. 
 
 An expectant hush pervaded the room. It seemed that 
 some supernatural power kept us all from speaking. I 
 still clung convulsively to the hangings, unable to find 
 words. Lady Jane advanced toward me with the lithe 
 motion of a panther, her eyes devouring me from head to 
 foot. She halted in a direct line with Roger. 
 
 " Mon Dieu, mon Dleu! Eet's the American cocotte! " 
 she exclaimed in broken English. 
 
 A vertigo seized me, a haze gathered over my vision. 
 
 " American cocotte ! " she repeated. " You lif here 
 now?" 
 
 Roger was the first to assert authority and presence of 
 mind. " Go to your room, Phyllis ! " said he, and there 
 was protection in his voice. 
 
 Sick with apprehension, I turned to go. 
 
 " Stop ! " ordered Lady Jane Grey. " You not go 
 yet!" 
 
 And, as if the master voice demanded my presence, I 
 halted, turning my eyes on Roger in mute appeal. Maxey 
 
 219
 
 220 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 wlu'rled to leave the room; but changed his mind and re- 
 mained staring fixedly at the table. 
 
 Bruce Stewart took a step nearer to me. I glanced at 
 him and he seemed to have grown taller and straighter. 
 Forgetting Roger for a moment, I instinctively moved to- 
 ward Bruce, feeling in my helpless terror that his strength 
 was mine. 
 
 " Go to your room, Phyllis ! " Roger ordered again. 
 
 " No, let the leetle American cocotte stay," Lady Jane 
 said sneeringly. " Everyone knows the pretty American 
 cocotte on Boulevard St. Michel." 
 
 She turned her vicious, sleepy eyes from Roger to me, 
 and then back again from me to Roger. His face dark- 
 ened with anger. 
 
 " Jane," he said, speaking in French, " I told you 
 never to come to my rooms. I've done all I can for you. 
 I can do no more. You must go now. I am going to 
 marry Miss Fitzpatrick," he concluded, motioning toward 
 me. 
 
 " Feetzpatrick ? How many name American cocotte 
 got? Feetzpatrick not her name on Boulevard St. Michel. 
 You said American men took good women to be their wives 
 to be mothers of their children." 
 
 Again came the thrill near my heart; again a wave of 
 physical nausea swept over me. 
 
 " That is true, I have said it," Roger answered, " and 
 that is the reason I am going to marry Miss Fitzpatrick." 
 
 Maxey coughed nervously. Bruce drew a quick breath. 
 
 " But you choose cocotte, and not good woman," said 
 Lady Jane with a little shrug. 
 
 "That's enough, Jane," Bruce cried hotly. "You 
 leave this house instantly! Instantly, do you hear? " 
 
 If she would but obey Bruce's command! If I could 
 only get Roger away before she told him any more ! 
 
 Jane threw back her head with an equally angry ges-
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 ture. " Ask Mademoiselle if she not Donnez moi un ca- 
 deau cocotte for many, many months." 
 
 " You're mistaken, Jane," said Roger, controlling him- 
 self with difficulty. " You must go at once ! " 
 
 The sleepiness had died in her eyes, she was a blazing 
 tigress. " Ask the white-faced pig ! " she insisted. " Ask 
 her ! Ask her ! " 
 
 Roger turned to me expectantly. Bruce stood rigid as 
 a statue. His face wore a look of consternation that 
 changed the gold in his eyes to brown. Try as I would, I 
 could neither move nor utter a word. 
 
 " You do not speak, American cocotte ! Tell them, tell 
 them, Pig!" 
 
 She advanced toward me with a threatening gesture; 
 but Bruce intervened with: 
 
 " You get to hell out of here damn quick ! " 
 
 " Phyllis," Roger's voice had a shaken note in it, 
 " deny it to her face ! Why, it's perfectly absurd ! Of 
 course she's lying ! " 
 
 Jane turned on him. " I do not lie," she snarled in 
 smooth French. " I don't lie ! When you used to come 
 and see me, Mademoiselle lived in the rooms beside mine. 
 She lived there for many months, and got much money 
 just like the rest of us." 
 
 An exclamation broke from Maxey. " Heavenly 
 Father ! She is speaking the truth ! " he burst out. " I 
 remember now where I heard your voice ! It 
 has always puzzled me. It was you who took me to that 
 house, where the woman who smelled of patchouli bathed 
 my eyes." His voice broke into a sob. " You've de- 
 ceived me as well as Roger ! " 
 
 A storm of fury shook me from head to foot. Trem- 
 bling with indignation at his ingratitude to Zadie, I flung 
 round upon him. " Yes, it was I who saved you from the 
 soldiers ! " I loosened my grasp on the curtains and came
 
 222 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 toward him. " And the woman you ungrateful kid ! 
 who smelled of patchouli is your own mother! She wears 
 a miniature of your father that might be you, it is so like, 
 and the other half of the jade ring that you told me was 
 buried with Rupert ! " 
 
 A profound silence followed my words. Maxey gaped 
 at me in bewilderment. 
 
 " You told me once about the love affair in your brother 
 Rupert's life and of how he married a girl not his equal," 
 I continued with deliberation. " He was your father, and 
 not Lord Donnithorne, while the woman who bathed your 
 eyes is your mother. Your grandmother, Lady Donni- 
 thorne, is responsible for ruining her life and Rupert's ; 
 for it was she who drove your mother into the boulevards 
 of Paris ! " 
 
 For an infinitesimal space of time the boy stood his 
 ground bravely, fighting the proofs that crowded in upon 
 him from the past. Then he covered his face with his 
 hands and sank into a chair. 
 
 " God ! God ! " he brought out with a gulp, and, rising 
 to his feet with a choking sound, blindly stumbled from 
 the room. 
 
 It was thus Max received his death sentence, and I 
 turned to receive mine. 
 
 " Roger," I appealed, " listen to me, and I'll tell you 
 all everything." 
 
 " You have only to say you did not live there," he an- 
 swered swiftly. " No explanations are needed." 
 
 The agony in his voice spurred me to speech. 
 "Roger" 
 
 He sprang toward me with a wild cry. " Deny it ! " he 
 cried. " Deny it, or, by God " His arm dropped and 
 his voice broke in a sob as he ended, " But you can't, or 
 you wouldn't hesitate ! " 
 
 I cowered beneath him like a stricken kitten. Deny it?
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 How could I? I couldn't and wouldn't lie to him again. 
 By my very inability to deny, I stood convicted before him. 
 
 " Roger," I began weakly, " Roger dear " 
 
 " Deny it for God's sake ! " he repeated more hoarsely 
 than before. 
 
 I faced him speechless, shaking from head to foot. 
 Contemptuously he looked me up and down, with swift, 
 sure glances so frigid that they pierced me. Then he 
 spoke, and at first I didn't recognize his voice : 
 
 " So, you're the woman I've loved ! You're the woman 
 I've trusted ! And you're the woman I've almost married ! 
 You with your baby face, your caressing temptation ! I 
 I'd no more marry you than I would walk straight into 
 the jaws of hell! " 
 
 A satisfied exclamation escaped Lady Jane. It signi- 
 fied nothing that Bruce Stewart ordered her again to go 
 and that at the door she paused, looked back, and laughed 
 a low, sensuous laugh. The door closed after her, and I 
 was left alone with Roger and Bruce. 
 
 Roger's voice was still speaking. " You lied to me like 
 a common woman ! You came into my home straight from 
 walking the boulevards ! My God ! straight from a co- 
 cotte house, knowing all the time that you were like the 
 others ! " 
 
 " No, not that ! " I cried in agony. " I only begged 
 my bread like other homeless women. You've never known 
 what it is to be hungry, Roger. You must listen to 
 me!" 
 
 An intolerant sparkle held Roger's eyes. " I will not, 
 Phyllis ! " he exclaimed. " You've lied to me ever since 
 you came here." 
 
 Bruce placed his hand on Roger's arm. " Give her a 
 chance to speak, Roger. Damn it ! she can explain I 
 know she can ! Even a murderer is given a chance ! " 
 
 "You don't know how I've loved her, Stewart, I've
 
 made her my ideal, and my ideal was a woman of honor. 
 She's torn my self-respect into shreds. Merciful Christ 1 
 I remember now ! " and he brought his face close to mine 
 fiercely. " I remember now you did say Donnez mol un 
 cadeau to me when I met you that first night " 
 
 I well remember how I choked for breath, how the light 
 went out as my eyes became blind. " Roger, Roger ! " I 
 moaned. " No no more in mercy ! " 
 
 " Mercy, mercy ! " he rapped out. " Mercy to a har- 
 lot, a begging hussy " 
 
 I did not let him finish his sentence. " You're the cruel- 
 est man God ever created ! " I screamed. " You must 
 hear! You shall! You shall listen, whether you wish to 
 or not! I was on the boulevards! I was a vagabond 
 begging for a crust of bread! I was starving for days, 
 and freezing, too ! I did say those words to you when 
 we met! I did live in the rooms next to Lady Jane's! 
 And I did prowl the streets of Paris at night, asking for 
 money ! But no other man has ever kissed my lips be- 
 sides you ! My soul and body are sacred to you ; for 
 Boulevard St. Michel left me without a stain! In your 
 heart you know this ! You've explained to your satisfac- 
 tion the unpardonable sin, and in your egotism placed your 
 own creed in the mouth of God! But you lie when you 
 say that Christ hasn't atoned for sins like mine ! You lie ! 
 You say your ideal was an ideal of honor! Are most 
 women tempted as I have been? Do they tramp the 
 streets of Paris day after day looking for work? Do 
 they need bread? If there is such a woman, may she 
 pray God to leave her on the boulevards, rather than place 
 her into the arms of the man she loves!" I caught my 
 breath in a spasm of pain. " You say you will not marry 
 me ! You know that in the sight of Heaven we have been 
 married ! And and I want to know what you're 
 going to say to the Christ you pretend to worship when
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 225 
 
 He asks you about your little child I shall be mother of 
 in five months ! " 
 
 A groan fell from Bruce Stewart, and Roger dropped 
 into a chair, and they remained silent long after the por- 
 tieres had closed behind me. 
 
 I went to the window in my own room and rested my 
 head on the sill, my eyes following the dotted trail of 
 lamps that lighted the street below. How long I sat there 
 I shall never know; but at length I heard heavy footsteps 
 and felt a hand upon my shoulder. Looking up, I saw 
 Bruce standing near. 
 
 " Is it true about the child? " he asked huskily. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " I've known all the time about your connections with 
 the boulevards. I was in the Cafe D'Harcourt when you 
 took the American girl away from those scoundrels, and 
 and then I followed you home. After that I recog- 
 nized you in the ballet at the theater ; but you did not come 
 there again, for I waited every night for a week." I felt 
 his arm over my shoulder tighten convulsively. " I would 
 never have dreamed that any woman could have come into 
 my life and change it as you have. I want you to marry 
 me, Phyllis." 
 
 Steadying myself, I looked into his face it shone 
 with exalted love and yearning. Under the warm, leaping 
 glow of his eyes, I covered my own, overwhelmed by his 
 magnificent generosity. 
 
 " Don't, Bruce ! " I groaned. " For God's love, don't ! 
 You'll kill me, I'm sure!" 
 
 He gathered me up for an instant as a father would a 
 suffering child. " I love you, poor little girl, poor, suf- 
 fering baby ! " 
 
 " You're offering me shelter ! " I sobbed. 
 
 " Yes," he replied simply, " and the warmest and most 
 protecting love a man can give a woman." He stroked
 
 226 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 my hair with trembling fingers. " You know, Dear, I've 
 wanted you to marry me for a long time. If you could 
 only have loved me but, of course, I didn't know about 
 you and Roger. Phyllis, you need me more now than 
 when I first asked you. And then too you must 
 think of the little chap ! " 
 
 I shook off his arm and stood up. " Don't talk to me 
 any more, Bruce ! " I cried. " Go away and leave me 
 alone ! " 
 
 " Phyllis," he muttered, leaning over me, "I could 
 have killed Roger for what he said 1 " 
 
 He was gone in an instant. At length I roused myself 
 and began to empty the cupboard and chest of drawers. 
 My one idea was to escape from the house. It didn't mat- 
 ter where I went. Within a few hours the whole world 
 had changed twice, from despair to gladness, and from 
 gladness to this ! I recall that I was kneeling to take 
 a bundle of papers from the drawer, when I was aroused 
 by a slight sound behind me. 
 
 Turning, I saw Roger. 
 
 " What are you doing, Phyllis ? " he asked perempto- 
 rily. 
 
 For a moment I gave him no answer, and then burst out, 
 " I'm going back to the Boulevard St. Michel." 
 
 " You can't leave tonight ! " 
 
 " You are not able to prevent me ! " As I said this, I 
 got up and faced him. 
 
 " I can, and I will ! I have the authority ! " 
 
 "You denied your authority!" 
 
 He winced, and an expression of agony passed over his 
 face. I tossed handkerchiefs, laces, ribbons, and other 
 feminine frippery in reckless confusion into my trunk. 
 
 Roger spoke again. " You were on the boulevards for 
 months? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 227 
 
 "Why didn't you tell me?" 
 
 " I tried to ; but I couldn't of course I couldn't ! 1 
 nearly died through it all." 
 
 " I wish you had died ! " he muttered. " I wish you 
 had!. Phyllis, there can't be the slightest excuse for you. 
 I've tried to pardon you ; but I can't ! " 
 
 My only answer was to fold a silk skirt and place it in. 
 my trunk. 
 
 " You might as well save yourself the trouble of pack- 
 ing," he said frigidly ; " for you're not going tonight ! 
 You've heard what I said, Phyllis you can't leave to- 
 night ! It's at least my duty to plan your future. When 
 I spoke as I did just now, I didn't know of the " 
 
 At that I wheeled on him. He didn't finish the sen- 
 tence ; for a very devil possessed me. I have no recollec- 
 tion of what I said ; but it must have been something awful, 
 for without another word he went out, drawing the cur- 
 tains close after him.
 
 ZADIE has gone to bed. How little I thought, when 
 I last left the Boulevard St. Michel, that I should 
 ever return to beg a night's shelter from her 1 
 
 As soon as I had finished my packing, I put on my out- 
 door things and slipped out without letting either Roger 
 or Bruce hear me. In the hall I met Donna ; and I think 
 from her sarcastic smile that she must have heard every- 
 thing, but I was past being irritated by it. She had al- 
 ways resented my presence in the flat. 
 
 My brain was aching with terrible confusion as I stepped 
 out, and thought of that day when Roger and I came up 
 together and exchanged our first kiss. 
 
 As I turned from the Place St. Michel into the boule- 
 vard, I noticed that the hands of the illuminated clock 
 pointed to a quarter to ten. I knew that it would have 
 been useless to look for Zadie in her rooms ; but there was 
 a chance of meeting her along her beat on the boulevard, 
 the same enticing, lighted boulevard crowded with 
 pleasure-seekers and beautiful women who laugh away the 
 night hours and sleep out their days. My feet were too 
 weary to carry me far, and I stepped into a large cafe 
 filled with students. Dropping into a seat near the win- 
 dow at the end of the room, I determined to keep my eyes 
 open for my only friend ; for I knew she often came into 
 this particular cafe for a syrup. It was all familiar, 
 the clouds of tobacco smoke, and the sea of human faces, 
 forbidding and dissipated. Silent groups here and there 
 bent over chessboards and pushed the ivory men to and 
 fro upon the small squares, with the inevitable " check 
 check." 
 
 228
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 229 
 
 In one corner four students sang ribald songs, shout- 
 ing with laughter at their own coarseness. Life on the 
 Boulevard St. Michel had taught me to close my ears to 
 many things, if one does not listen with the mind, 
 one does not hear at all. 
 
 Just as the clock chimed ten the door swung violently 
 open, and several people rushed in. For a moment the 
 man ahead, on account of his height and the width of his 
 shoulders, obscured the other members of the party, and 
 as they neared me I recognized Anatole, followed by Ba- 
 bette, the cocotte who lived in the rooms near Zadie's. 
 Her sparkling face was wreathed in smiles. They sat 
 down, accompanied by two of their own countrymen. I 
 caught the glance the girl threw me as she said : 
 
 " Come, join us, ma cherie, come!" 
 
 " Merci t non," I answered. " I'm waiting for some- 
 one." 
 
 They paid no more attention to me, and I continued to 
 keep my anxious watch over the door, hoping, every time 
 it swung open, that the newcomer was Zadie. The old 
 clock chimed eleven, then twelve, and still I waited, turn- 
 ing aside invitations to drink and be merry which were 
 shouted across to me from time to time. 
 
 Babette's vivacity and Anatole's dark glances at the girl 
 interested others besides myself. She sipped a tiny bit of 
 absinthe from Anatole's cup ; but wrinkled her pretty nose 
 and ejaculated: 
 
 " I do not like it so ! " 
 
 " It wouldn't be good for your beauty to get too fond 
 of it," put in one of her companions, with a twinge of 
 patois in his speech. 
 
 Anatole turned frowningly upon the speaker; but 
 Babette flashed a look of warning at her tall lover, and he 
 dropped his eyes upon his absinthe, twirling the glass 
 irritably.
 
 230 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Just then I got up and went into the ladies' waiting 
 room. I had the powder-puff in my fingers, when I felt 
 a touch on my shoulder. 
 
 " C'est moi." 
 
 Babette was smiling into my face ; but I thought there 
 was a touch of sadness in her tones. 
 
 "You've been gone a long time," said she. "Where? 
 In Venice? " 
 
 " No, with friends." 
 
 " Oh, I thought Captain Zadie said you'd gone from 
 Paris to Venice." 
 
 "That was some while ago," I made haste to reply, 
 keeping faith with the big woman who had wanted to pro- 
 tect me. 
 
 " Well, it's nice to see you back. Coming to our house 
 again ? " 
 
 I nodded, my throat choking with a lump. 
 
 " Anatole says Lady Jane Grey has lost her American. 
 I asked her about him, and she called me a pig. I don't 
 like her." 
 
 Babette was arranging the folds of her hair over the 
 most beautiful brow I've ever seen. Her limpid, dark 
 eyes smiled at the pretty, reflected picture. I leaned back, 
 too sick at heart to make a reply to her statement, and she 
 went on: 
 
 " Anatole has been away for his vacation. He's just 
 back. He couldn't stay away from Paris and me any 
 longer. And did you notice the monsieur beside me? 
 He's in the school of pharmacy." 
 
 " But Anatole doesn't like him," I observed. 
 
 " No, no ! Anatole hates him ! I am happy when 
 Anatole is jealous. I could die of happiness when he 
 pinches me for flirting with other men. I love the hurt. 
 He did this just now ! " 
 
 With an impulsive movement, she slipped up her sleeve
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 231 
 
 as high as it would go, displaying a long, vivid mark, red 
 and purple, that ran the whole length of the upper arm 
 from the plump shoulder to the elbow. 
 
 "How terrible!" I ejaculated. 
 
 " Terrible, ma cherie, terrible? I wish I had them from 
 here to here," and she made a gesture that embraced the 
 whole of her dainty body, from the top of her head to her 
 beaded slippers. " Cela me fait du bien! I know that 
 he loves me much when he hurts me so. Men don't bother 
 to hurt women they don't love." 
 
 My mind swept back to Roger. Babette broke in on 
 my thoughts impetuously, an eye-pencil suspended in the 
 air. 
 
 " Anatole goes away for good next year, and he's going 
 to be married to his cousin. He says he may kill me be- 
 fore he goes. I hope he will ! " 
 
 " Do you want to die ? " I asked dully. 
 
 " Oui, oui, rather than live without Anatole ! You 
 watch tonight ! I'm going to have another like this," and 
 she pointed significantly toward the bruise on her arm. 
 With another perk at herself in the glass, she smiled bril- 
 liantly at me and was gone. 
 
 When I was taking my seat again, I thought I saw 
 Anatole slipping his strong fingers up and down Babette's 
 white arm. She smiled languidly ; but I knew he had hurt 
 her, for her face whitened and she leaned more heavily 
 upon him. 
 
 I transferred my attention to the student with the hand- 
 some face, whose eyes were filled with slumbering fires. 
 They dwelt continually on Babette. Anatole's expression 
 grew darker and darker, and I could see that Babette was 
 reaping the consequences. However, a coquettish smile 
 perpetually wreathed her lips as she pressed closer to 
 Anatole, and threw daring glances into the other man's 
 face.
 
 232 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 The absinthe had gone to their heads. Anatole lifted 
 his glass, and drained it at a draft, calling furiously for 
 another. He was white with suppressed passion ; but the 
 repeated doses of absinthe brought the color back into the 
 swarthy skin until it was red as an apple, and a furtive 
 look came into his eyes. He raised one great arm and 
 placed it across the girl, and with the other hand he sought 
 the flesh on the slender arms, and I knew that each touch 
 left its mark. 
 
 At length, without warning, the strange student, under 
 the influence of drink, bent forward. Babette saw his 
 movement; but I don't believe that she imagined what he 
 was going to do. She raised her piquant face one mo- 
 ment to Anatole's, and in her expression was a heaven full 
 of love such as any man might die to win. Then she flung 
 her head forward, and the stranger's lips came directly 
 down upon hers. The way in which she jerked herself 
 back, and the look of quick disgust that sprang into her 
 eyes, assured me that she had intended only to glance 
 wickedly into the student's face. 
 
 I rose to my feet with a low cry, when Anatole lifted 
 the girl completely from her chair, encircling her body 
 with one gigantic arm. With his free hand he snatched 
 something from his pocket. It was all over quickly, and 
 the red stains on Anatole's hands told more than the cries 
 that followed. The strange student slipped quietly away. 
 After that I saw something take place between Babette and 
 Anatole that was different from anything I had ever seen 
 before. He had crushed her into his- arms, and was 
 searching her face with eyes that flashed burning 
 sparks. 
 
 " Babette! Babette! 'Mon Dieu! que je t'aime, que je 
 t'aime! I love you! I love you more than myself." 
 
 "Babette!" I cried, hastening forward. "Oh, poor 
 little child ! You have been killed ! "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 233 
 
 She turned her bloodless face to me for one instant as 
 Anatole rose with her body strained closely against his. 
 
 " I shall not die," I heard her say. " It's a good hurt. 
 Mon Dieu! I love it ! " 
 
 Her arms, weak as a child's, encircled the huge neck for 
 an instant, and Babette, unconscious, dropped her face 
 upon the student's shoulder. 
 
 There was a confused shout that the officers were com- 
 ing, and the proprietor, red and angry, placed himself 
 directly in front of Anatole, commanding him to release 
 the girl. 
 
 " Let me pass ! " roared the student, with his white bur- 
 den lifted high above the heads of the sobered revelers. 
 " Let me pass, or by the Mother of God I'll give you a 
 taste of the knife too ! " 
 
 The proprietor jumped back, making loud protestations. 
 
 "The girl's mine! Does anyone want to interfere?" 
 Anatole cried once more, glancing belligerently round. 
 
 No one stirred. Without further word, the student 
 strode forward, bearing his precious burden out through 
 the swinging doors into the white electric light of the 
 Boulevard St. Michel. 
 
 A man beside me shrugged his shoulders and laughed, 
 and I heard a low voice in my ear say : 
 
 " A pretty scene ! Anatole's lucky, by le bon Dieu! 
 The girl loves him madly. It's well to have a knife now 
 and then to prove love ! " 
 
 I turned my head slowly, and saw the smiling, half- 
 closed eyes of Casperone Larodi. 
 
 " The officers will be here in a moment," he said. " You 
 don't want to be mixed up in a student row, do you? You 
 had better come away with me." 
 
 I was too dazed to resist him, and allowed him to pilot 
 me through the gabbling crowd to the door. He was in 
 high good humor, and passed a franc to the waiter who
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 handed him his hat and stick. He took my arm in master- 
 ful fashion and directed my steps toward the Place St. 
 Michel. 
 
 " I'm not going that way," I said, coming to a halt. 
 
 "Where are you going, then?" 
 
 " Nowhere with you. Please loosen my arm." 
 
 " No, I will not this time, my sweet ! Don't make a 
 row in the street. You know, scenes are bad for women 
 if the police hear them : 
 
 " Let go of my arm instantly, Count Larodi ! " I re- 
 peated. " I shall throw myself on the mercy of the next 
 officer who passes if you do not." 
 
 " Don't be foolish, Phyllis 1 " insisted Casperone. 
 " Come and get something to eat. I want to talk to 
 you." 
 
 His face was so close to mine that I felt the hot breath 
 against my cheek, while the expression in his eyes fright- 
 ened me. I felt my strength ebbing I was so alone, 
 and so dreadfully tired! 
 
 Just then, near the shadow of a tall monument beyond, 
 I saw a familiar figure, and caught the flamboyant glint 
 of red hair under the light. Zadie's fat form was coming 
 toward me. Like a flash I left Casperone's side, and went 
 as fast as my legs would carry me toward the only woman 
 in Paris whom I really loved and trusted. 
 
 Zadie did not see me at first, and I almost threw myself 
 into her arms. 
 
 " C'est toi, Mignonne! " she gasped. " Ees eet you ? " 
 
 " Oui, oui c'est bien moi! " I cried brokenly. " Za- 
 die darling, take me home with you ! " 
 
 We passed Casperone as we came back toward Cafe 
 Pantheon, and, as he looked significantly from my friend 
 to me, he smiled evilly, fingering his mustache.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 235 
 
 Zadle went after my trunk, and informed me that Donna 
 was alone in the flat. I was glad, because, after pondering 
 a long time, I had decided that I would not tell Zadie 
 I had seen her son. 
 
 I went to the bank to make arrangements for my mail 
 to be forwarded to Zadie's home. I did not want to have 
 to be forced to send for letters to Rue de Bac. And to- 
 night, as I sit here thinking of what this day has brought 
 me, and of my changed condition, I marvel at the strange 
 happenings of Fate. 
 
 The cashier of the bank asked me in polite French te 
 step into the private office. There the president took my 
 hand obsequiously. 
 
 " Madame has regained her money," said he. 
 
 I stared at him dumbly. 
 
 " Word came to us yesterday that your American bank 
 has opened and is paying off the depositors dollar for dol- 
 lar, with interest. Here are your papers, Madame." 
 
 I sank dizzily into a chair. My mind swept back to my 
 friend in Boulevard St. Michel. I got up and, thanking 
 the president, went out. 
 
 I faced Zadie tremblingly. 
 
 " M a file, you ees sick ? " she gasped, leading me to a, 
 chair. 
 
 " No, no, Zadie, not sick, only happier than when I went 
 out this morning. My money isn't lost at all. I am rich, 
 Dear, very rich, with more money than ever before." 
 
 Zadie thrust me away, and the heavy face lost its smile. 
 "Rich you ees rich?" she repeated dully. 
 
 " Yes, Zadie look ! Oh, you can't read English. Sit 
 down close to me while I Why, Zadie, you're not cry- 
 ing!" 
 
 Her big round shoulders were shaking with sobs, and for 
 a moment the stoic Frenchwoman gave way like a child.
 
 236 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 That made me fall to crying, and for a moment we both 
 wept stormily. 
 
 " Zadie," I gasped as soon as I could speak, " we are 
 just a couple of babies. Oh, aren't you glad, aren't you 
 glad?" 
 
 She wiped her face, looking at me with a touch of dull 
 wonder. " You ees a rich American lady now, 
 and I ees only Captain Zadie!" 
 
 I caught each separate word between her sobs. " What 
 do you mean, Dear? " I tried to raise her face to mine. 
 
 " I say," she burst out impetuously, " that now ven I 
 ees to make somethings for you, you not need me. I vas 
 thinking vat care I ees to take of you. And now Mon 
 Dieu, mon Dleu! I nef er see you again ! " 
 
 " Zadie ! " I said in a choked voice, smoothing her hair. 
 " Zadie dear, big, stupid Zadie, listen to me ! I am going 
 to tell you a story. So please stop rubbing your eyes. I 
 sha'n't talk until you do." 
 
 " I ees looking at you, Pheelis," she got out at last over 
 her handkerchief. 
 
 " Then I'll begin my story. There was once upon a 
 time a lonely little girl who lost all her money. She hadn't 
 a single friend in all the big city she lived in " 
 
 Zadie was leaning over me, her arm over my shoulders. 
 
 " The girl found her way to a place where another 
 woman lived. If this woman hadn't been wise and kind 
 to the poor, foolish girl, and if she hadn't given her heaps 
 of advice, goodness only knows what would have happened 
 to the silly little thing! The woman did more than that, 
 too: she took the girl into the country to see her mother, 
 and made the terrible days and nights as pleasant as she 
 could Now do you know whom I mean, Zadie ? " 
 
 " Oui, oui, oui! But you ees poor then, and you ees 
 rich now?" Her voice raised on the last word, making 
 it a question.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 237 
 
 I felt a new happiness in my money. " Yes ; but I was 
 telling you about the girl, Zadie. Are you going to let 
 me go on? " 
 
 " Oui! " 
 
 " Then she loved someone " I stopped, and my sor- 
 row rushed over me with such force that I could not finish 
 the parable. " Oh, don't you see that money makes it 
 easier for you to take care of me, Dear? " I cried desper- 
 ately. " Zadie, Zadie, I'm so miserable that if you left 
 me I should die ! I never want to be separated from you 
 again." 
 
 " Pauvre mignonne,*poor fille! " There was a world of 
 sympathy in her ejaculation. 
 
 After thinking a moment, I said, " I want to go to the 
 forest of Fontainebleau, and you must go with me right 
 aWay ! " 
 
 " Fontainebleau ! " She lifted her hands in shocked 
 surprise. " But eet ees trlste there, ma cherie, so lonely, so 
 triste! " 
 
 " Nevertheless, I've a fancy to go, Zadie. It's very 
 solemn, quiet, and restful. I was there once. Bruce 
 Stewart told me that he stayed there one summer in a mon- 
 astery that had been turned into a resting place for tour- 
 ists. There's where I want to go ! " 
 
 Zadie looked frightened. " Mais non! A monastery ! " 
 she cried. " These places ees haunted." 
 
 " Haunted? Nonsense ! " 
 
 " Oui, out, oui, with the dead monks, ma petite! " 
 
 " Zadie dear, how foolish ! Dead people can't come 
 back ! " 
 
 " Monks can get out of their graves," she insisted stub- 
 bornly, " and then eet ees, cold and dull for my girl." 
 
 " Not if you will go with me, Zadie," I replied wearily. 
 " 1 want to lose the world and rest ! " 
 
 " I come weez you, Mignonne" was what she said ap-
 
 238 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 prehensively, and the mother-look I knew so well illumi- 
 nated her face as she kissed me. 
 
 **** 
 
 Before Zadie and I left Boulevard St. Michel I went in 
 to see Babette, with Violetta in my arms. Anatole had 
 gone out to smoke, and the little cocotte was alone, her 
 hair brushed back and plaited in two long braids that fell 
 over the pillow. She smiled as I bent over her and pressed 
 her hand. 
 
 " Is Babette better? " I asked, as if she were a child. 
 
 She nodded, and I saw an expression leap into her eyes 
 that puzzled me. "You are getting well now, Babette," 
 I insisted. 
 
 " Oui, oul; but not quickly, and I'm so unhappy ! " 
 
 " Why? " I queried. " Why, Childy, Anatole loves you 
 more than the whole world." 
 
 " Oui, out, I know that ; but but " Two scalding 
 tears rolled down her cheeks. Her lips quivered pitifully. 
 
 " Babette ! " I whispered, leaning over her. " Poor 
 little Babette, you must trust him! He loves you de- 
 votedly." 
 
 " But but I can't I can't get money while I am ill, 
 and we must have money, Anatole and I ! " 
 
 Just at that instant the door opened, and Anatole came 
 in with the subdued awkwardness of a man in a sickroom. 
 He took off his hat and smiled bravely at the girl on the 
 bed. 
 
 " My little one is better? " 
 
 "Oui, Anatole." 
 
 " And the baby-love doesn't cry any more ? " 
 
 For answer two more tears welled up and stole slowly 
 down to the pillow. Anatole stooped over her, and wiped 
 them away. 
 
 " Anatole will punish his baby if she weeps." Then he 
 looked at me in apology. " She wants to work ; but I
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 239 
 
 know that in some way we shall manage to get along. You 
 see, Mademoiselle, I've promised Babette that when I go 
 away next year she shall go with me. I'm going to marry 
 her." 
 
 The flash that lit up the white face lasted but a moment ; 
 but the shadow settled over it again. 
 
 " But I can get no money for you, Anatole. If any- 
 one else works for you, I shall die ! " Her voice was fierce 
 in spite of her weakness. 
 
 " Hush, Babette ! " cried Anatole with eagerness. " I 
 can work, can't I ? It doesn't matter if I lose a year, after 
 all. I can earn enough money to take the lectures next 
 spring. We will struggle through somehow." He 
 turned to me. " I can work ! " he repeated. 
 
 A thought came to my mind straight from Heaven. 
 How happy it made me ! I pushed Anatole aside and bent 
 over Babette. 
 
 " Babette cherie, would you like to give Anatole some 
 money ? " 
 
 " He must have money ! " she wailed. " It has made 
 me so happy to work for him, my Anatole! Oh, I shall 
 soon be able to go out again I Anatole, mon amour, wait, 
 wait, only wait a few days ! " 
 
 " Babette," I insisted again, " listen ! I am going to 
 give you money for Anatole ! " 
 
 Her whole expression changed in a twinkling. Unbe- 
 lief struggled with hope; hope was quenched by weari- 
 ness. 
 
 " You're poor, too, Mademoiselle. You couldn't give 
 Anatole and me money." The flower-like face drooped 
 painfully. 
 
 Anatole kissed her slim fingers. A glance, intense and 
 longing, shot from his eyes. Babette looked at me wist- 
 fully, with a kind of dumb faith that I would give her the 
 solution to the problem that confronted her.
 
 240 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Babette, wouldn't it make you happy if I if I gave 
 you enough money to carry you and Anatole over this 
 next year? Then you need not go on the boulevards ! " 
 
 In my eagerness to make the girl happy, I had forgot- 
 ten Anatole; but his exclamation brought his presence 
 back to me, and I glanced at him. 
 
 " It has been like death to have her on the boulevards ! " 
 he groaned. " Yet, what could we do ? I couldn't leave 
 her I can't now, can I ? " 
 
 The sharp French voice asked the question with an in- 
 tonation implying that no answer was expected. Neither 
 the girl nor the man took in the import of my offer. How 
 was it possible for them, when they didn't know of my 
 change of circumstances? They were searching each 
 other's soul through glances that were tinged with fire. 
 
 " Anatole, are you going to marry Babette right 
 away ? " I asked. 
 
 " Ou i, Mademoiselle ! Life is too short to live without 
 her. My cousin is rich; but I'd sooner kill myself than 
 marry her now. I shall never love anyone but " he 
 glanced toward the bed, tears springing into his eyes. 
 
 " And you want to marry Anatole, Babette ? " 
 
 "But naturally." Her tone was almost petulant. 
 
 " Then, Dear," I took her eager face between my palms, 
 " I am going to let you have enough money to keep you 
 and Anatole until he begins practising for himself and 
 can earn money for you both. My money has been re- 
 stored to me ! " 
 
 They were silent with amazement. I stretched out my 
 hand, and Anatole with a sob impulsively took it in his. 
 
 " Can't you understand? " I said, with swimming eyes. 
 " I am so miserable myself that it will help me if I can do 
 something to make you two happy." 
 
 As I ran tearfully out of the room, Violetta lifted her 
 cold, pink nose and gave me a long, sympathetic lick.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 WE have been here at Fontainebleau one day. The 
 journey in the closed carriage up the long, 
 winding road that runs through the forest to- 
 ward the white gorges, rising high in the vapory mist, 
 brought back that day when Bruce had asked me to be his 
 wife. Again and again I asked Zadie if we were nearly 
 there. 
 
 " When we turn the corner by the big tree weez the 
 broad arms we see the building. Tired, ma petite? " 
 
 " Out, oui, so very tired ! Zadie, you said there was a 
 boy is he very young? " 
 
 " Eight or nine," she answered. " I like a child about 
 the place. Eet ees more cheerful. I'm glad I bring Vio- 
 letta!" 
 
 Zadie put her eye to the opening in the curtain and 
 nodded idly as she counted with halting precision the long 
 shadows of the trees. Presently she pulled the curtain 
 aside, and pointed to an edifice of dark stone reared in the 
 mist-covered sunshine. 
 
 " There ees eet ! " she cried. 
 
 Out of the roof of the monastery came a faint trail of 
 smoke, and beyond I could see a giant boulder rise in its 
 grayness, the top lost in the cloud vapor. 
 
 " How desolate it all is ! " I exclaimed with a shudder. 
 
 Zadie involuntarily put out her hand. " I told you " 
 she began. 
 
 " I know you did, and Pm not sorry I came. I could not 
 have come alone, Zadie. So that is the monastery ? " 
 
 " Oui and there ees the little Fra^ois, Mere Durand's
 
 son, wafing to the cocker. He ees a pert leetle wretch." 
 
 The carriage came to an abrupt standstill, and before 
 the cocker could descend or Zadie could move the peasant 
 boy thrust a sunburned face, wrinkled with curiosity, into 
 the cab. As far as I could see, he was the only youthful 
 thing within view. His strong, young body seemed an 
 emblem of spring in this gray, hoary place. 
 
 Directly at his back, his mother, a hard-featured peas- 
 ant woman, who seemed to have gathered grayness from 
 the mist, peered in upon us. She did not speak until we 
 were out and Zadie had given the francs to the coclier. 
 
 " Bon jour, Mere Durand," said Zadie. 
 
 " Bon jour," she replied somewhat sullenly. 
 
 I noted her inquisitive womanish scrutiny ; but the f or- 
 lornness of my position made me indifferent to her un- 
 friendly eyes. She accused me by her rasping tone, 
 though her words were natural enough. 
 
 " Does Madame's husband come, too ? " 
 
 Zadie opened her lips to speak, then closed them again. 
 
 " No," I replied in pain, " he won't be here at all." 
 
 She turned abruptly and led us through the stone door. 
 In another minute we stood under the roof of the low 
 room in which I am now writing. From the window I 
 can see the huge piles of rocks, grotesque and vast, as 
 though a giant at play had tumbled them down in pure 
 mischief. 
 
 The forest is stretched over miles of towering moun- 
 tains, meeting the night at the distant horizon. The bird 
 and insect life of the gorges is now silent in the twilight, 
 and I see the stars come out one by one. The grinning 
 old moon makes fantastic, playing figures with the tree 
 shadows. And so I face my first night in the forest of 
 Fontainebleau.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 243 
 
 Zadie and I got up at the dawn of our first day here, 
 and with the consent of the peasant woman ransacked 
 every inch of the monastery. 
 
 This room is oblong in shape, and stands by itself, hav- 
 ing at one time been the cell where the monks did penance. 
 It was here that they used to flagellate themselves. In 
 one corner lies a round, dark stone, in another a cot cov- 
 ered with a white bedspread, and a bench runs the length 
 of the wall opposite close to the stone. 
 
 I have been roused from lethargy by the sight of a huge 
 cross that rises to the ceiling with the body of the cruci- 
 fied Savior carved rudely from stone upon it. It seems 
 that the symbol of divine suffering has an almost sinister 
 significance for me. Was this Roger's Christ, or the smil- 
 ing Savior of the Louvre? The carved body gives me no 
 solution; and there is but an expression of pain on the 
 face. 
 
 The child is at his play, and I can see him digging with 
 a rusty knife on the white path that leads to the well, 
 while voices talking in patois come from the inner monas- 
 tery. 
 
 " Ask her for a hundred francs more," said a man's 
 voice gruffly. 
 
 " Hush ! " replied the woman. " She'll hear " 
 
 My eyes sought Zadie's ; but the rest of the sentence was 
 whispered. A moment afterward, the peasant woman 
 came shuffling back. 
 
 " As Madame is likely to be ill," she hesitated, taking 
 me in with significant eyes, " I must charge a hundred 
 franc more the month." 
 
 " I bargained with you for two of us," Zadie broke in 
 angrily in French. " How dare you ask Madame for 
 more? " 
 
 " You didn't tell me all," the woman answered stub-
 
 244 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 bornly. " There is danger, and doctors are far away. I 
 must ask for payment in advance." 
 
 " Give her the money, Dear," I interposed, and at my 
 insistence Zadie ungraciously counted out the notes from 
 my purse. 
 
 I turned to the Frenchwoman, whose manner had soft- 
 ened at sight of the money. " May your little boy go 
 with me sometimes into the gorges beyond? " 
 
 " Whenever Madame likes," she answered with some sur- 
 prise. " The little Francois is all I have he's a good 
 child." 
 
 She looked out on the boy, still scraping up the dirt 
 with energy and purposeless effort. Suddenly he raised 
 his eyes. The peasant's homely face brightened, and the 
 child threw down the knife and ran into the room. She 
 stood stolidly, running her fingers through the straight, 
 black hair, as Fra^ois stared impudently at me. There 
 was something in her pride of motherhood that touched 
 me. I was obliged to turn to the window to hide my agi- 
 tation. 
 
 As far as sight could reach, great boulders rise gray in 
 the misty air, north, south, east, and west tell the eternal 
 tale of some glacial age that had left this desolation in its 
 track. 
 
 The woman spoke again. " There ! " she said, pointing 
 to the dark stone. " There's where the monks did pen- 
 ance when they sinned." She wrapped her hands in her 
 coarse apron, and inclined her head cornerwise. " Those 
 dark spots are blood," she went on; and then, changing 
 the conversation, asked, " Will Madame have her food in 
 here?" 
 
 " Yes," I replied ; " at least for the present." 
 
 The peasant noted my eyes linger on the Cross, and she 
 changed the subject again. " It's been there ever since 
 the monks went away. Madame doesn't object? "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " I love it ! " I broke in eagerly. " If the monks found 
 peace with it " 
 
 " Madame will find it also, n'est ce pas? If Madame 
 asks for peace, the good God will surely send it to her." 
 She crossed herself devoutly. 
 
 Zadie gave a grunt, and turned upon my interrogator. 
 " Do not worry Madame, Mere Durand. She must rest 
 now." 
 
 Taking the child by the hand, the peasant went out, 
 and I saw her walking awkwardly to the wash-house near 
 the well. 
 
 Zadie closed the door in answer to a look that I gave 
 her. " You ees tired, ma mignonne" she said, patting my 
 shoulder with her big hand. 
 
 " It seems to me," I said presently, " that in the quiet- 
 ness of this place I shall grow to understand things a little 
 better. Roger said I had committed the unpardonable 
 sin; but now, somehow, I feel that his God is not my God 
 any longer. If He were as merciless as that, Zadie, I 
 know I should hate Him ! " 
 
 " The man ees an ass," Zadie observed decidedly. 
 " Think your head no more about him, ma petite" 
 
 " I will not allow myself to think that what I have done 
 has placed us beyond redemption," I went on, speaking 
 rather to myself than to her, and I searched the mute stone 
 face of the Christ for an answer. 
 
 Zadie, uncomprehending, grunted again. The only 
 fact she understood was that I was suffering, and she re- 
 peated, " The man ees an ass." 
 
 " Hush, Zadie ! " 
 
 " I vish to le bon Dieu you not come here ! " she broke 
 in. " You haf your money. You haf eferyt'ing in the 
 vorld to mek you happy. You not want to marry the 
 man, do you ? " 
 
 " I can't tell what I want, Dear."
 
 246 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 And Zadie cried, " Dear, dear ! the girl ees a fool. Vhat 
 good ees a man weezout sense? " 
 
 This was Zadie's measure of Roger, and, as it was I who 
 had given it, I did not attempt his defense. Her next 
 words opened up a train of thought and gave me new in- 
 terest. 
 
 " Eef you not find somet'ing about your God puzzeel 
 here," said she, " there ees no place vhere you can." 
 
 Suddenly the mist lifted and the sun shone out in splen- 
 dor. The dark gorges were alight, and slowly from the 
 crevices that separated the great stones snakes stole out, 
 some large and some small. They rose to the tops of the 
 boulders, and stretched themselves out, their long, curved 
 bodies forming half-circles of black on the whiteness of 
 the rocks. 
 
 Roger's words dinned into my brain with maddening 
 persistence : " I should have to see a serpent clinging to 
 the cross of Jesus Christ before I would admit that such a 
 child could enter Heaven ! " 
 
 Could I discover from one of these outlawed creatures 
 if there ever had been, or were now, an enmity still existing 
 between the serpent and the woman? My eyes fell on the 
 cross, which was gilded by a level beam of sunlight. 
 
 The Serpent and the Cross! Both were within my 
 reach ! 
 
 Was my mind in a state of morbidity as Zadie had in- 
 timated? It seems to me that I am on the verge of solv- 
 ing a mystery, on the brink of a new comprehension. 
 . 
 
 Zadie had arranged our baggage, and was standing by 
 the window. " Ah, me ! the meest falling again," she 
 said, " and daylight ees going ! I not like these autumn 
 efenings." 
 
 " Does Paris call you, Zadie? " I asked, going over and 
 slipping my hand into hers.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 247 
 
 She did not speak ; but thrust her face into the stone 
 aperture. 
 
 " Zadie," I cried, " you can't be lonely for Boulevard 
 St. Michel? " 
 
 " God forbid ! " she answered plainly, in a low tone. 
 " I ees finking thet eef I ees there, mebbe I meet my Eng- 
 leesh boy again, my Engleesh baby ; but but he hate 
 me and despise me ! " She broke off abruptly ; then added, 
 " Oh, la la ! I haf fetch your suppaire, Cheriey" and 
 moved off in the direction of the cuisine. 
 
 " I not know vhy eet ees, Pheelis," Zadie remarked to 
 me at supper, resting her bare elbows on the table, " since 
 I haf not worked, I haf thought more about thet boy than 
 I efer before make. Perhaps eet ees because I ees with him 
 that once." 
 
 She ended with a sigh, and for a long time we were 
 silent. Even then I was not tempted to tell her of my 
 new knowledge of Maxey. The moon was up, and as I 
 looked out once more into the overhanging mist I saw 
 that the gorges were white, glistening with the steady drip 
 of the vapor, and that the snakes had gone back into their 
 hiding places. 
 
 
 
 Zadie came home from Paris the other day, and for some 
 minutes she fidgeted nervously about without taking off 
 her hat. Her face was very pale ; and, because I can't get 
 up my courage to meet trouble now, I didn't ask her what 
 worried her. Suddenly she cried out. 
 
 " I brought 'em both back weez me ! " 
 
 " Who ? " I exclaimed in terror. 
 
 " Carlotta and Rosalie." 
 
 I went up to her eagerly. " Then where are they ? 
 Why didn't you bring them here to me? Are they in the 
 village?" 
 
 Zadie laughed. " You ees in terrible hurry, Pheelis.
 
 48 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 They're waiting down by the spring. Oh, ma bebe, they 
 suffer so weez that man, and I sneaked 'em here ! You say; 
 sneak in America, n'est ce pas? " 
 
 I didn't heed her forced joke about American slang, but 
 cried, " Oh, run and get them, Zadie 1 Bring both of them 
 quick ! Go now ! Don't wait ! " 
 
 Walking excitedly to the door, I watched her disappear 
 round the bend in the path. Then, as she came to view 
 again, I saw first Rosalie, with her youthful, beautiful 
 face, and following after her Carlotta, weak and wretched. 
 
 Zadie was speaking to them rapidly ; and, although I 
 couldn't catch what she said, I knew it was about me, for 
 she looked up and smiled. When Rosalie saw me, she ran 
 forward; and, cupping her face with my palms, I kissed 
 it. Carlotta, her great eyes searching my soul miserably, 
 sidled from Zadie to me ; and, because I realized the agony 
 of the hour through which she was passing, I kissed her 
 also, and drew her into the room. There we four waited 
 as the mother wept during our silence. Rosalie stood with 
 filling eyes, and Zadie grunted hoarsely as she set out some 
 chairs. 
 
 When Carlotta was quieter I hastened them to their 
 story. Rosalie had been taken to her father's home where 
 another woman, now his wife, had not only abused her, 
 but day after day her mother's dishonor had been flaunted 
 at her. Rosalie's voice lowered as she rehearsed the scene 
 between her father and herself. 
 
 " He told me horrible things about my mother, Madame 
 untruthful things that made me hate him. My mother 
 told me they were lies." 
 
 " So they were, Rosalie mignonne," I insisted stoutly. 
 !C Your mother, your poor little sick mother, must have a 
 chance to get well ! " 
 
 Rosalie bounded toward me, and spoke in English, 
 "Madame, will you give her that one chance? I'll work
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 249 
 
 for you and her always " She began to sob violently. 
 *' She'll die if she has to sew and work now, when she's ill. 
 I can work, though." 
 
 Later, when Zadie had soothed her, she went on rapidly 
 with the history of her escape, of her return to Boulevard 
 St. Michel. Still speaking, she went forward and slipped 
 an arm round the stooped shoulders of Carlotta. The 
 woman passionately kissed the girl's slender fingers. 
 
 " I've decided," went on Rosalie, " to stay with my 
 mother, and, Madame, Captain Zadie said you were good 
 and would tell me what to do." 
 
 Like a flash of lightning came the thought of Roger's 
 threat. He had said that I was unfit to be a mother. Car- 
 lotta's mother-life was much the same as mine. Impul- 
 sively I drew Rosalie to me. 
 
 " I'll not only tell you what to do," said I, " but help 
 you do it. Zadie, take Rosalie down by the spring." 
 
 When we were alone, Carlotta rose and stood looking 
 down at me, her features convulsed into woeful contortions 
 under suppressed emotion. Fearing she would break into 
 wild weeping again, I said: 
 
 " You want to leave Paris, don't you, Carlotta ? " 
 
 " Old, out, with my baby ! But how ? But how ? " 
 
 " If you had the money, you could go away, couldn't 
 you?" 
 
 She nodded, dropping her face into her hands. " But 
 I haven't any ! If Zadie hadn't brought us here today, 
 he would have come and taken Rosalie away. She could 
 never escape from him again ! " 
 
 " It was right, quite right, of Zadie to bring you to 
 me," I soothed. " I'm sorry I haven't done something 
 before, Carlotta; but there is still time. Have you ever 
 thought of going to America? " 
 
 " America America ! " repeated Carlotta. " The 
 land where people are free and women are good? "
 
 250 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Remembering the peace of my home, I nodded. 
 
 "How could we get there?" demanded Carlotta, hope 
 springing into her eyes. 
 
 " I'll help you for your sake and Rosalie's. Besides, 
 it will make me happy. I have more money than I need. 
 You must not return to Boulevard St. Michel, because it 
 would be dangerous for Rosalie. Zadie will attend to 
 every detail for you. Will you stay here with me until 
 you go away ? " 
 
 At first she didn't fully understand my broken French ; 
 but I took pains to repeat it all over, and added : 
 
 " You must never break your girl's faith in you by 
 telling her anything about your Paris life. In America, 
 among the mountains, you will forget it all and be well 
 and good again. Go now and bring back Rosalie." 
 
 The few moments I was alone I grew so nervous that 
 when Zadie came in she exclaimed : 
 
 " You have a fever, ma petite! Lie down and let Zadie 
 bathe your face ! " 
 
 From my position on the cot I told Rosalie our plans, 
 and she skipped about in delight, clapping her palms to- 
 gether, the traces of tears entirely gone. 
 
 "You're wonderful, Pheelis!" exclaimed Zadie when I 
 had finished. 
 
 " And America wonderful America ! " burst out Ro- 
 salie in girlish glee. " We're going there, ma mere, my; 
 sweet mother, my good mother ! And your baby will take 
 such good care of you that when Madame Fitzpatrick 
 come to that country one day she'll see you fat like this ! " 
 
 Rosalie pouched out her cheeks, and, snatching a kiss 
 from Carlotta's radiant face, danced out into the sunlight. 
 
 " I couldn't have done it, if it hadn't been for Aunty's 
 money," I said presently, " and, Zadie, you're to go to 
 Paris tomorrow and buy them what clothes they need, 
 and make all the arrangements for their trip. They
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 251 
 
 mustn't go to Boulevard St. Michel any more ! Oh, dear ! 
 how happy I am ! " 
 
 , 
 
 I suppose it's living over again the days before Car- 
 lotta and Rosalie went away that makes me so tired. I've 
 had a boat postal from them. Very soon they will arrive 
 in New York. 
 
 What a lot of pleasure and hope a little money can 
 give ! I take a long breath of satisfaction when I think 
 that I have had it to give, and I haven't that feeling of 
 rebellion that I had when I paid little Nan's fare back to 
 America. I wonder how the wee girl is ? What a glorious 
 thing money is, after all 1 
 
 No, I mean that it is delightful to have it to exchange 
 for happiness, and I do love poor Carlotta and pretty Ro- 
 salie ! 
 
 Lately I've been wishing to see Bruce Stewart.
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 EVER since coming to this monastery I have been 
 weighed down with the sense of my sin, burdened 
 with the responsibility of a life other than my own. 
 Last night, as I tossed about, the realization came to me 
 that all my faith in God, all my looking up toward better 
 things, had been inspired by love for one man. In wor- 
 shiping Roger, I had deluded myself into belief that I was 
 worshiping the Christ. 
 
 This morning I got up at daylight and went into the 
 gorges just as the sun, like a solid orange ball, rose in 
 the vapor that curled upward, blue, thick, and opaque. 
 It gained color as the sun gained strength, until it became 
 shot with rose like an opal. The fog formed itself into 
 wraiths, a veritable procession of ghosts, passing over the 
 forest, and as I breathed it the heavy dampness compressed 
 my lungs like a weight. The shrill, clear twittering of 
 the early birds rose from the distant gorges, and high 
 up, along the horizon, the trees lifted themselves into ranks 
 against the sky, their lower branches still submerged in 
 the mist. A menacing loneliness seized me, the loneliness 
 of a soul without a god. Roger's Christ had gone with 
 him! 
 
 Something stirred a few paces from me, and I saw the 
 stealthy body of a snake, gray as the morning itself, glide 
 swiftly over the stony path. Fascinated, I came to an 
 abrupt halt and watched the reptile's undulating body dis- 
 appear. The gray snake and I were at enmity with 
 God, were both outcast creatures in a world filled with shad- 
 ows. 
 
 252
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 253 
 
 Roger's words, about the serpent clinging to the Cross 
 of Christ, recurred to me. Was my child to share in the 
 curse of the serpent? Must I pay the full penalty of 
 the unpardonable sin? Or was Roger's God a false god, 
 a cruel myth built out of a narrow creed? With a multi- 
 tude of conflicting thoughts tormenting my mind, I hurried 
 back to the monastery. 
 
 ** 
 
 As day after day has passed and I near the week of my 
 dissolution, I have tried to form a religion for myself. 
 The Savior has risen for me : Roger cannot keep me from 
 the redemption that was meant for the whole world. 
 
 The other day I asked Franois to catch a snake for me. 
 I had a fancy to bring it into this room in which the 
 atmosphere still seems permeated with prayers like a fra- 
 grance. But he has not brought one yet, and I'm not 
 sorry ; for what should I do with it ? 
 
 Roger said that he would expect to see the serpent cling 
 to the Cross sooner than a child 
 
 Dear God ! how could he say that? How dare he? My 
 precious little love Baby! Even now, before your 
 birth, I adore you ! 
 
 * 
 
 This afternoon I sat working on a small garment for 
 future use. I delighted in looking it over. I am happy 
 when I think of some things, even without Roger, and the 
 sight of the box of tiny clothes in the corner makes my 
 heart beat wildly. 
 
 Fra^ois came to the door, stopped immediately before 
 me, and surveyed me with grave eyes. 
 
 "What have you there, Dear?" I asked, looking at a 
 tiny tin box he had in his hand. 
 
 " Spider," he ejaculated. 
 
 " You're not going to kill it, Francois? " I implored. 
 
 " I'm going to pull his legs off and see him hop without
 
 254 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 them. He can jump without any legs at all as far as 
 
 that!" 
 
 His small, sunburnt face broke into a smile as he meas- 
 ured off a distance with his bare toe. " Fra^ois," I 
 coaxed, " if you'll give the spider to me, I'U give you a 
 franc. But, besides that, you must promise me not to 
 catch any more spiders and hurt them. Will you? " 
 
 He stretched out the box, and I took it in my hand. 
 
 " You see, Dear, this poor spider might have a lot of 
 little spiders somewhere. There's your franc: run away 
 and show it to mother." 
 
 After he had gone, I opened the tin box, and the spider 
 took himself away under a rock nearby. How I loved that 
 little spider, his spraddling legs, his poppy eyes ! I love 
 all of him because I am persuaded that God's spirit is 
 in him, too. And I fell to thinking of the life mystery of 
 the gorges of the tiny, round-eyed, harmless insects that 
 scamper out of the shadows and away again before one 
 can tell where they have gone. And men say that Christ 
 did not reconcile that part of his creation ! I don't believe 
 it! 
 
 H 
 
 Today has brought me a true revelation. 
 
 This afternoon when Fra^ois was playing by the 
 spring, from which his mother was bringing water to wash 
 her linen, I sat stitching and waiting in the sunshine, stitch- 
 ing and thinking, until the tears fell upon the tiny, 
 rounded sleeves of my baby's robe. Franois shouted in 
 glee, his youthful voice ringing through the gorges as he 
 ran and played. It was one of those days when the sun 
 shines hot upon the earth as if in passionate farewell to 
 the dead summer. 
 
 In the corner of my room the cold block stands, fash- 
 ioned into the Cross, with the Savior upon it. On the 
 boulders, stretching themselves in the sun, lay the serpents
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 255 
 
 whose prototype made the Cross a necessity. From one 
 to the other my eyes rolled with infinite longing. Above 
 the tops of the trees was the blue of the sky ; beyond that 
 was the solved mystery of the woman and her sin. 
 
 I was brought out of my dreaming by a laugh coming 
 from the trees below, and a voice said in English : 
 
 "Isn't that extravagantly funny?" 
 
 Extravagantly funny ! Where in this white-bouldered, 
 spirit-haunted forest of Fontainebleau could anything ex- 
 travagantly funny be found? 
 
 Again the laugh pealed out, and an instant later I saw 
 a troop of tourists clamor into a vehicle and drive slowly 
 down the hill, the brake grating as they went. 
 
 Fra^ois stood watching the party with open mouth, 
 and then followed his mother into the wash-house. 
 
 Under my fingers a tiny, embroidered edge, encircling 
 the neck of a snow-white robe, grew inch by inch, soft 
 ruching folding tenderly to shield a baby skin, and the 
 tears of a sinful mother must do something to smooth 
 the way of the little child who, in spite of the law, in 
 spite of conventionalities, will live and demand its being. 
 . Perhaps an hour later, perhaps less, I have no means 
 of knowing, my eyes became riveted upon a black line 
 moving slowly up the white track that led from the spring 
 to the monastery. I stood up, and the dress fell to the 
 floor. I stepped over it into the sunlight. A snake was 
 dragging itself painfully along the path, its head poised 
 high in the air, a hissing sound issuing from its throat. 
 
 " Extravagantly funny ! " 
 
 The meaning of the words was plain. Someone had 
 wounded the ponderous back so that the trailing tail be- 
 yond the hurt was a useless thing. The glorious life of 
 the creature lay in the head and in the rounded, curved 
 throat with its magnificent coloring. The wounded part 
 was inert, and quivered in the very agony of its dying.
 
 256 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I moved a step nearer, and the creature, frightened, 
 reared its head upward as if to strike me; but the effort 
 made it drop panting to the earth. Without a reasoning 
 thought, I stooped downward and grasped it by the neck. 
 The forked tongue fluttered searchingly in and out. Close 
 to the gaping throat little muscular waves ran quivering 
 over the bleeding back as I pulled the body into the room. 
 
 Breathlessly shutting the door, I was alone with the 
 stone Cross and the bleeding Serpent. Through the small 
 window slanted a lonely ray of sun, falling first upon the 
 quivering reptile, then upon the Cross, and lastly upon 
 me, a golden beam, dancing with motes. 
 
 I sat down on the couch, and for several seconds watched 
 the writhings of the forest monster. Presently I rose, 
 walked wide of it, and, pouring some milk into a small 
 pannikin, heated it over the candle. When it was warm, 
 I placed it before the creature, and, after the first moment 
 of doubt, it ran its tongue in and out of the milk. Then 
 I straightened out the injured body until the silvered tail 
 rested upon the pedestal of the Cross, and suddenly I 
 noticed that I had dropped the body of the snake upon 
 my baby's dress. It did not strike me as incongruous that 
 I should wrap it in it until this moment it was impera- 
 tive just then to cover its bleeding wound. 
 
 >.... 
 
 I've named my invalid Napoleon ; for he is much like that 
 old warrior. I can imagine the fight he had for his life. 
 As I think back, I can remember how the beady eyes 
 seemed to take in the whole room, and how, with a swift, 
 furtive motion, the serpent made its way toward my cot, 
 dragging the blood-stained dress along in its undulating 
 retreat. I have filled a wooden box with straw and stones 
 for him. I can hear now the rustling of his body. 
 
 What a bewildering, mysterious plan Creation is! 
 There was a time when I thought that Roger's ideas must
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 257 
 
 be true because they were his; but I have disproved one 
 already. Roger had said that the Heavens would fall if 
 the Serpent and the Cross came into contact, my serpent 
 had trailed his nerveless tail over the foot of the Cross of 
 Christ, and the heavens are as silently majestic and un- 
 failing as ever.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 YESTERDAY, as usual, I started out to walk, and 
 had just turned the bend in the hill when a dis- 
 tance up I saw a man outlined against the sky. 
 He was dressed in gray, a slouch hat was drawn well over 
 his eyes, and from beneath it he was peering at the hills 
 beyond. I paused, not wishing to attract his attention, 
 hoping that he would depart by the tourist's road on 
 which he stood. As he faced me, I discovered Bruce 
 Stewart. 
 
 " Oh, Bruce ! " I exclaimed, hurrying forward and hold- 
 ing out my hands. 
 
 " I couldn't stay from you any longer, Phyllis," he said 
 softly. " I've been frightened since receiving your letter 
 telling me where you were. Poor child, how pale you are I 
 One would think I was a deadly enemy ! " 
 
 I piloted him down the path leading from the spring to 
 the monastery. The tears were dropping from my eyes, 
 and Bruce, noting them, remained quiet. I ushered him 
 through the little stone portal of my home. 
 
 " You can't stay here, Phyllis, you simply can't ! " he 
 said with misery in his voice. " Tell me why in Heaven's 
 name you chose this dismal hole ! " 
 
 " I don't know why I came here, Bruce," I replied, " un- 
 less it was to get away from Paris and everyone there. I 
 heard you speak first of this place when we were here in 
 the forest that day. Do you remember? " 
 
 He nodded. " But I didn't live here, Phyllis. It's too 
 confoundedly lonely. Now, a bit to the south there's quite 
 a settlement in summer. It's impossible for you to stay 
 here!" 
 
 258
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 259 
 
 " I can and I must, Bruce," I cried ; " for it seems to 
 me that since coming here I'm beginning to work out my 
 own salvation, to destroy old beliefs, and to dig out new 
 ones for myself." Half laughing through my tears, I 
 pointed flippantly to the stone in the corner, and con- 
 tinued, " That's where the monks used to bang their 
 heads when doing penance ; so, if I can raise a greater con- 
 sciousness of my sin, it's ready for me ! " 
 
 " Phyllis, for God's love ! " Bruce cried out sharply. 
 He caught me by the shoulders, twisted me round, and 
 looked into my face. 
 
 " I'm not mad, Bruce," I said soberly. " I'm sorry I 
 said that. It was stupid. Forgive me! I seem some- 
 times scarcely fit for human society." 
 
 " Poor little broken child, poor girl ! " he murmured 
 softly. 
 
 I went to the door and looked out in silence for some 
 time, during which Bruce did not move. 
 
 " If it's true," I said presently, without turning my 
 head, " that there was a Christ crucified, I am growing 
 into the conviction that He is mine; no matter what I've 
 done, the child's yonder, and his dog, and those silent ser- 
 pents sunning themselves out there on the white boulders 
 are also a part of him." 
 
 After a brief pause, Bruce came to my side and scanned 
 the gorges. " Phyllis," he said, in deep inflection, " with- 
 out doubt the Master lived, a good man! He had no 
 thought of anything but universal love and eternal kind- 
 ness. As you say, He loved the dog, the serpent, and 
 even the ugliest little worm and insect that crawls on the 
 ground." 
 
 " Oh, Bruce dear, it's a beautiful thought, a wonderful 
 belief," I replied with a fresh rush of tears, " and I want 
 to believe that way, too! But tell me all that happened 
 after I left that night."
 
 260 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Roger and I are no longer living together. We didn't 
 agree about you." He supplemented this after a moment's 
 reflection with, " And Max has gone to England." 
 
 " Does Roger know where I am ? " 
 
 " I did not give him your address, as you requested me 
 not to. Still, he knows where you are." 
 ; My face must have betrayed much anxiety, and Bruce 
 looked at me and sighed. 
 
 " I want to know all that happened," I insisted, " all that 
 he said. Bruce, won't you tell me? " 
 
 " Roger told me how he came to love you and every- 
 thing else." 
 
 " Yes ? " I interrogated, waiting for him to continue. 
 
 " He said that the night he asked you to be his wife you 
 did not tell him of the " 
 
 " No, I didn't ! " My face paled under his gaze. I 
 knew there was something he wanted to tell me.- 
 
 " God knows, it was an awful shock to him ! Of course, 
 I had known all along about the boulevards, and have 
 cursed myself a thousand times for not speaking to you 
 about it. Roger told me that until you yourself admitted 
 it he would have staked his soul upon your innocence. 
 Phyllis dear, I want to tell you something. I would 
 stake my soul now, this minute, upon your goodness and 
 truth ! " 
 
 I turned to him suddenly; but he motioned me to 
 silence. 
 
 '* Your life at the flat, your face, your voice, every- 
 thing, told me that." 
 
 He was speaking too well of me. " I loved him, Bruce 
 dear, I loved him so ! " I sobbed in excuse. 
 
 " And that great love condones any sin there might have 
 been," he put in swiftly. " For such love much may be 
 pardoned." 
 
 He went white as he spoke the last sentence, and I made
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 261 
 
 an effort to touch him ; but he shook off my hand nervously 
 and hurried on: 
 
 " Phyllis, I don't want to offend you with what I'm going 
 to say ; but things will not go well with you and Roger." 
 He hesitated. " You've got to have the protection of 
 someone who loves you." 
 
 I endeavored to say something ; but the expression in his 
 eyes silenced me. 
 
 " I must speak ! " he said, almost harshly. " I came pur- 
 posely for that. I must protect you from Roger ! " 
 
 I rose unsteadily to my feet. " Protect me from 
 Roger? " I repeated. " He couldn't, he wouldn't, harm 
 me!" 
 
 Bruce gave no attention to my interruption. " And 
 then there's another to be thought of the little fel- 
 low ! " His voice was twisted with pain. " It's for the 
 good of both of you that I have come," he murmured. 
 
 " Tell me of Roger!" I 'insisted faintly. 
 
 I remember now how tenderly Bruce bent over me and 
 touched my face with his large, white hands. " I will tell 
 you everything, if first you will answer a question of 
 mine." 
 
 I gave a hasty, affirmative nod. 
 
 "Phyllis, do you do you love your little child? " 
 
 I drew back and stood up, and before I could reply 
 Bruce had taken up again hurriedly : 
 
 " I couldn't realize just how you felt about it. You 
 see, I didn't know, and I must know ! " 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " On Roger's account." 
 
 He rose also and looked down at me, pale to the line of 
 his hair. He waited for me to answer. I put back my 
 hand and braced myself against the wall. 
 
 " Why on Roger's account ? " I got out at last. 
 
 " I had to come and warn you," he said. " I could not
 
 262 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 let it go. Roger says that he will take your child away 
 from you as soon as it is born. I have come to ask you 
 to marry me, Phyllis, that I may be able to protect you 
 even against him." 
 
 He made no move to come forward; but kept his eyes 
 steadily upon me. Every drop of blood in my body froze 
 under his words, and sight left my eyes. Suddenly the hor- 
 ror of what he had said swept over me, and all the love I had 
 for my unborn baby surged within me like a raging sea. I 
 remember that when my sight came back I saw Brace's 
 eyes filled with tears, and he quickly turned to the door; 
 but on the threshold he paused and looked back. I sprang 
 forward and caught at his arm dizzily. 
 
 " Don't go ! " I said. " Please don't leave me ! " 
 
 " I don't intend to. I have come to ask you to marry 
 me. It is the only way to save you and be happy my- 
 self." 
 
 My thoughts flew back to Roger, and I said faintly, 
 " He couldn't do that ! He simply couldn't be so wicked ! 
 Did he tell you so? '* 
 
 Bruce nodded. 
 
 My spirit took fire. " He shall never have my baby 
 so long as I live ! " I cried. " Never never ! Why, he 
 couldn't, Bruce, he couldn't ! " 
 
 Then I think I fainted, and when I came to myself 
 Zadie was sitting beside the cot rubbing my hands and 
 Bruce was gone. 
 
 . 
 
 I was sick for three weeks, not having strength to raise 
 my head or to think out a plan whereby I might keep what 
 God has given me. 
 
 One afternoon I said to Zadie, " Darling, could could 
 Mr. Everard take my baby away from me? " 
 
 Zadie turned from the dress she was mending. " Nom 
 de Dieu! He won't vant eet ! "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 263 
 
 " Yes, he does," I said wearily. " He thinks I am not 
 good enough to have it." 
 
 " Vat? " Zadie shrieked out the word, throwing her 
 sewing from her. 
 
 " He has said so. I want to find out if he can take it by 
 law." 
 
 " The law ees alvays for the man," remarked Zadie 
 darkly. 
 
 I told her slowly and with many tears the story Bruce 
 had told me, and she punctuated my broken sentences with 
 grunts. 
 
 " You not luf the pig now? " she demanded. 
 
 " No, no ! " I cried. " He's too wicked ! Oh, if I had 
 only realized how petty and little-souled he was ! " 
 
 Zadie eyed me thoughtfully. 
 
 "What are you thinking of?" I asked. " Tll me, 
 Zadie, can't you help me ? " 
 
 "You luf thees Mr. Bruce?" 
 
 I shook my head. " But I have a great respect and af- 
 fection for him." 
 
 Although my words were scarcely audible, Zadie caught 
 them. " Marry heem, then, and he steeks by you weez the 
 other devil. He told me vhen you sick he wanted to marry 
 you. He comes back soon." 
 
 "I couldn't do that, Zadie. I couldn't! He is too 
 good. It would be the greatest crime I could commit. I 
 am not good enough for him." 
 
 " You too good for any man," she said with finality. 
 
 
 Babette sent me a letter. She and Anatole are married 
 and are keeping house in a little flat near the Sorbonne 
 University. When I am better, I shall accept her invita- 
 tion to their home.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 YESTERDAY I went to Paris to see Father Beu- 
 lais. He is the one man to whom I can unburden 
 myself. I realized that, if I'm going to rise out 
 of my prccont state to better conditions, I must gather 
 together all my forces. If ever woman wanted to learn 
 to use the wings of her soul, it is I. 
 
 At the priest's house the concierge met me with the in- 
 formation that Father Beulais was out. 
 
 " He was confessing someone," said he ; " but I fear that 
 he has gone to keep an appointment. I heard his door, 
 close five minutes ago." 
 
 " Will he be gone long? " I asked. 
 
 " I think not. Will Madame wait? " 
 
 I assented briefly, and he ushered me into the small 
 drawing-room. The place was filled with memories ; for it 
 was here, some weeks before, that I had decided to end my 
 life in order to save another from the priest's superstition. 
 I have traveled a long distance in spirit since then and de- 
 cided a lot of things for myself. 
 
 A slight noise broke in upon my thoughts. Somewhere 
 a door banged, and I heard the sound of approaching 
 voices. The portiere that divided the anteroom from the 
 room beyond stirred as a draft caught the curtains. The 
 owners of the voices had entered the next apartment, and 
 one of them I recognized as Father Beulais. 
 
 " You did not tell me everything," he was saying, and I 
 thought his voice was more than ordinarily solemn. 
 
 I half rose, not wishing to play the part of listener 
 
 264
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 265 
 
 to a private conversation; but the next speaker's voice 
 made me sink back again. 
 
 " I want your absolution for that one thing, Father 
 Beulais ; but I will tell you everything now, if you like, 
 all all!" 
 
 The tones, gentle and sweet, were those of Lady Jane 
 Grey ! My impulse was to speak, to cry out ; but a faint- 
 ness swept over me and kept me glued to the chair. 
 
 There was silence for a few moments. Lady Jane began 
 to speak once more. 
 
 " I wanted to marry the American and leave the boule- 
 vards ; but she took him from me ! " 
 
 "She?" 
 
 " I mean the American girl, the one who was always 
 burning candles to Our Lady at the Notre Dame. You re- 
 member her? " 
 
 The priest gave a monosyllabic assent. " You say she 
 took him from you ? " he queried. 
 
 " Yes ; but they're not together any longer, and they're 
 not married, either." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because he was angry when he found out that she had 
 been a cocotte." 
 
 " You're mistaken ! She was never that ! " the priest 
 said harshly. 
 
 If an almighty voice had ordered me to move then, I 
 could not have done so. My brain was living and working 
 among the events of the past. Was it Fate or God that 
 had brought me so close to my enemy? 
 
 I thought I heard a sob ; then silence followed. 
 
 " But you did not come to tell me of the American 
 woman," the priest said presently. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Then speak, Child, speak ! If you poor souls could 
 only understand the plan of redemption, you would not
 
 266 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 look upon temporal things as so necessary. Death would 
 be preferable to sin. My heart bleeds with sorrow for you 
 all. If I could do something if I only could 1 " 
 
 " The American tried to help me leave the boulevards ; 
 but he wouldn't save me the way I wanted him to." 
 
 Lady Jane spoke so bitterly that I imagined just how 
 she looked as she spat it forth. 
 
 " Do not forget that I am a priest," was the grave an- 
 swer. 
 
 " Isn't that why I came to you ? And I have something 
 to tell you, I've left the Boulevard St. Michel as you ad- 
 vised." 
 
 " I'm glad." The man's voice expressed genuine pleas- 
 ure. 
 
 " But that's not all," Jane went on wearily. " I must 
 go back to a time about which I haven't told you. A man 
 first sent me to the boulevards when I was only a little 
 girl; for when he cast me off my people would not take 
 me back." 
 
 I imagine the priest crossed himself; for he jingled his 
 beads and muttered a petition to the Virgin. 
 
 " I am with Casperone Larodi ! " Jane's voice came 
 sharply through the curtains. 
 
 If I could have made my presence known just at that 
 moment ! But my limbs and throat were paralyzed. 
 
 " You do not expect me to absolve you from some action 
 you are committing over and over again, do you ? " de- 
 manded the priest. " You remember one day at the Notre 
 Dame that I warned you against the sin of repetition ? " 
 
 " So you did, Father ; but you don't know what it means 
 to have starvation staring you in the face and I was ill 
 when he took me with him. One can't work on the boule- 
 vards when one is ill." 
 
 She paused, and the priest offered no remark. 
 
 "I shouldn't have done it t if the American had loved
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 267 
 
 me if it hadn't been for that pig of a countrywoman 
 of his, that worthless chamois " 
 
 " Hush ! " ordered Father Beulais. " You must not 
 speak so ! " 
 
 " But he doesn't love her any more \ " cried Jane. " He 
 hates her and has sent her away ! " 
 
 She spoke with such triumphal assurance that I trembled 
 as if she had dealt me a blow between the eyes. In an in- 
 stant she brought out: 
 
 " It was Captain Zadie who told me about them. She's 
 a woman who once lived in our house. The red-headed pig 
 nearly took my head off ! " 
 
 " Where is the American woman now ? " asked the priest. 
 
 " Somewhere in the Forest of Fontainebleau. She's not 
 married to Everard. That's my one consolation. Holy 
 Mary ! How I hate her ! " 
 
 " Hush, hush ! " the priest reproved sternly. " Remem- 
 ber you are in a holy place. And the poor little American 
 woman has suffered for her sin ! " 
 
 " Oul, oui y out! And I'm glad of it. Roger Everard 
 turned her out directly after he found out about it." 
 
 " About what? " The words came harshly. 
 
 " That she had been on the boulevards." 
 
 It seemed a long time before the priest asked in a low 
 voice, " How did he discover that fact? " 
 
 " I told him ! " rasped Jane. 
 
 How exultantly she spoke ! And she made a quick move- 
 ment; for I heard the rustle of petticoats and the rattle 
 of bangles. 
 
 " For shame, for shame ! " Father Beulais chided her 
 with his voice deepened with emotion. " Some day 
 now I speak more as a man than as a priest you may 
 have to call upon a woman for mercy, perhaps this same 
 woman. God grant that she may be more tender than 
 you ! "
 
 268 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 There was a note of prophecy In his tones, and he walked 
 up and down the room. 
 
 " Poor little American girl ! " he murmured softly. 
 
 " You needn't waste your pity on her ! " sneered Jane. 
 " She's rich, with more money than any one person could 
 use in a lifetime." 
 
 " Perhaps," Father Beulais paused, " perhaps that is 
 the reason Everard is seeking her." 
 
 Jane's next words caused me to rise unsteadily. 
 
 " No, no, he doesn't care for money ! He's got enough 
 of his own. He's going to take that baby away from her 
 when it's born." 
 
 "How do you know?" demanded the priest. 
 
 " He told Casperone Larodi. He would have married 
 the pretty pig Casperone, I mean " 
 
 Father Beulais stopped her with, " Cease your gossip 
 and go home ! The man's a brute to make that girl suffer 
 more. He can and probably will take the child; but " 
 
 I brought to mind Bruce's warning that Roger; but just 
 what happened next I only vaguely remember. It must 
 have been that my feet moved without my own volition. 
 I dragged the portieres apart and stood breathless and 
 wild-eyed before them. They turned at the rattle of the 
 hooks on the curtain rod, and Father Beulais sprang to- 
 ward me. 
 
 "Are you sure of what you have just said?" I 
 panted, waving him away as he tried to take my hand. 
 " Is it possible for him to take my baby from me? " 
 
 Lady Jane muttered a French oath; but Father Beu- 
 lais did not reply to my question: instead he asked an- 
 other. 
 
 "How 'did you get in there? " 
 
 " As I always have by the door. But, oh, do tell " 
 
 Jane laughed jarringly. " Mademoiselle came to listen, 
 it seems."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 269 
 
 " Please go back and wait a few minutes," interposed 
 the priest, addressing me. " I shall come to you very 
 soon. v 
 
 He placed himself between Lady Jane and me; but she 
 pushed him aside and came to me white with anger. 
 
 " It was like you, you snake, to listen ! I suppose you 
 heard about Larodi? You would have done better to have 
 married him. He loved you he loves you still ! You 
 couldn't make Roger happy. I could! I hate you 
 how I hate you ! I hope that all the misery that can come 
 to a woman will come to you through your " 
 
 " Silence ! As you hope for forgiveness in this world 
 and the next " commanded the priest. 
 
 He did not complete his sentence ; but crossed himself. 
 Then he touched the bell for the servant, and Lady Jane 
 was shown out. The priest lifted the curtain for her to 
 pass through. She halted a moment, and looked at me 
 with an unaltering expression of hatred, until Father Beu- 
 lais forced her away. I sank down, half fainting, in the 
 nearest chair. Immediately the priest was back at my 
 side. 
 
 " Sit up," he ordered gently. " How came you in that 
 room ? " 
 
 " The concierge told me that you were out, and I was 
 waiting for you. I couldn't help coming in you can't 
 think what I've endured ! " 
 
 " I knew you would suffer," he replied gravely. " A soul 
 like yours can't break God's laws without anguish." 
 
 " Oh, I want to be assured that I can keep my little one 
 I love it so ! " I lifted one of his hands and kissed it. 
 He touched the crucifix with the other. 
 
 " A father has more moral and legal right than a 
 mother," he said hesitatingly. 
 
 I stood on my feet indignant, ashamed. " How can a 
 man be so wicked? And he he is more heartless than
 
 270 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 anyone else I ever knew. Oh, God ! what shall I do ? " 
 
 He made a deprecating movement with his hands. 
 " Whatever agony you pass through only helps your soul 
 to struggle upward. And this adversity is to perfect it 
 through God's inscrutable providence." 
 
 I choked out my reply. " I have grown to believe, 
 someway, somehow, that there is no avenging God: only 
 great, universal Love ! " 
 
 " And who told you such a nefarious thing? " 
 
 "Bruce Stewart," I replied truthfully. "He is the 
 one good man I know in all the world." 
 
 " You must talk with him no more like that," said the 
 priest. " Have you thought that it might be a good thing 
 for you to enter some sacred place? Not here in France, 
 God help our poor suffering sisterhood ! They won't 
 ever have a home here again, but say in another country. 
 Have you ever thought that you would like to go back to 
 America? " 
 
 I shook my head. " No," I replied. "No! I don't 
 want anything but my baby. Nothing nothing ! " 
 
 He stood in deep thought, and, remembering another 
 matter that had brought me to him, I said timidly : 
 
 " Father Beulais, I want to give you something for your 
 work, to use as you think best." I drew a check from my 
 pocketbook and handed it to him. " It will help, won't 
 it?" 
 
 Glancing at it, he lifted his eyes upward and moved his 
 lips in prayer. 
 
 " I'm glad if you are pleased," I said, before he could 
 speak. 
 
 " I can't express myself," he murmured. " We have 
 been needing money so badly for our work ! I have been 
 asking for it. This is my answer. I shall pray that God 
 may make you as happy as you have made me ! " 
 
 " Dear Father Beulais, I want nothing in return," I
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 271 
 
 said. " I owe you more than you know. At any rate, let 
 me think that some little child or suffering woman will be 
 benefited, and if you want more, ask me 1 " 
 
 A sudden radiance illuminated his face. " I still believe 
 that Heaven intended you for a Sister of Mercy from the 
 beginning. God alone knows why you were sent into such 
 temptation ! " 
 
 I winced, and he must have seen the pain in my eyes ; for 
 he turned and walked up and down the room. 
 
 " I am a man myself," he went on ; " but I am glad that 
 I was saved from the world of men, for I should be bowed 
 with remorse if I had been instrumental in making any 
 human being suffer as you have suffered. It seems that 
 things have been ordained wrongly, and that the power of 
 sin is stronger sometimes than God Himself." 
 
 " Don't say that ! " I cried. " I came here, hoping " 
 
 The priest wheeled about abruptly, and faced the minia- 
 ture altar upon which were candles burning before the 
 statue of Our Lady. " To think that I should have for- 
 gotten God's goodness," he groaned, " that someone should 
 have to remind me of it! Verily, out of the mouth of 
 babes " 
 
 He did not finish the quotation; but stood for a long 
 time with his head bowed before the Madonna, his lips 
 moving in secret prayer.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 I'M nearly wild with anxiety and dread. Added to 
 the news Bruce brought me, I've had a letter from 
 Casperone, and I scarcely dared to read it to Zadie; 
 but I simply couldn't keep it to myself. I began by asking 
 her to sit beside me. 
 
 " Zadie," I said, " do you remember what Mr. Stewart 
 told me?" 
 
 " About the other man ? " she demanded. 
 
 " Yes. Well, this letter," I held it up, " this letter is 
 from the man who stole his brother's baby. iYou remem- 
 ber Larodi ? " 
 
 " Sure," she said interestedly. 
 
 " I'll read," I went on, " and then I want you to tell me 
 just what to do ; for I'm racked with uncertainty." 
 
 Without waiting for her to speak, I began : 
 
 DEAR PHYLLIS. 
 
 I've met and talked with Roger Everard, and we have made 
 a plan for your future. He has utterly abandoned you; but 
 demands his child. I love you, and would marry you, now 
 that you have money, and because I have wanted you sorely. 
 So, after a time, when Everard has had his way, I shall come 
 to you with an offer of honorable marriage. I think it might 
 help you to decide if I send you Everard's message. He said 
 to me, " Tell her that I bid her to marry and be respectable." 
 I shall see you soon, ma cherie! 
 
 Yours in lifelong devotion, 
 
 CASPERONE. 
 
 I dropped the letter and looked at Zadie. Her face was 
 crimsoned with rage. 
 
 " Vhat a pig ! Vhat a damn pig ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 272
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Don't swear, Zadie darling ! But oh, what shall I 
 do?" 
 
 " Send and get the good man ! " advised Zadie. 
 
 I knew she meant Bruce. 
 
 " I can't, Zadie, I can't ! He's too good for me ! Oh, 
 Deary, isn't there some way out for me? I can't and won't 
 give up my baby, and I'd rather die than marry Casperone 1 
 What shall I do?" 
 
 " Send for the good man," Zadie said again. 
 
 I only shook my head, and there was no more said just 
 then. For an hour afterward Zadie labored over a letter, 
 and when I asked her to whom she was writing she said 
 laconically : 
 
 " To ma mere" 
 
 The letter had no sooner gone than she came to my 
 side. 
 
 " I tell you a lie, Pheelis. I haf sent letter to Monsieur 
 Bruce, and he comes like the vind to ma petite! " 
 
 I haven't made up my mind whether I'm angry or not. 
 Yes, I have, too. What's the use of writing like that? 
 I'm crazy to see Bruce Stewart, to have him comfort me. 
 What will come out of this tangle of human emotions? I 
 wonder? 
 
 The more I think of Roger's wickedness, the more I 
 tremble for my future. Bruce shines out of my past as the 
 one noble influence in the world. How many times I have 
 wished that I had known him before ! Bruce, darling man ! 
 Any woman with sense would have realized what you were 
 at the very first ! I think now that I really know Roger ; 
 that I must have been in a dream all those awful days. 
 Even then, I remember how devoted Bruce was, and can 
 still sniff the fragrance of the roses he brought me. I'm 
 too tired to write any more!
 
 274 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 Two weeks have gone by, and over my head has passed 
 the most exciting, most secret, days of all my life; but 
 under my feet the ground is securer. 
 
 I remember saying that I knew but one good man ; but I 
 had forgotten Father Beulais. He is the truest servant 
 of the Master he worships. Although I have decided that 
 he is wrong in his doctrine, I am sure of his sincerity. 
 
 Two days after I saw the priest, Zadie and I were sew- 
 ing together. My thoughts were busy with threatening 
 calamity. A footstep on the path made me get to my 
 feet. Bruce Stewart appeared in the door, followed by 
 Father Beulais. I stood unsteadily and looked from one 
 to the other. Bruce's face was set and white, and the 
 priest's filled with solemn sweetness. 
 
 Bruce looked from Zadie to me, and halted as he kindly 
 asked her to leave us ; but I placed my arm about her shoul- 
 ders and was the first to speak. 
 
 " If you have anything to say," I faltered, " let Zadie 
 stay: she is my friend." 
 
 Bruce bowed his head, and Zadie placed chairs for them 
 both. It must have been embarrassment that kept them 
 from speaking. Fra^ois' voice from the gorges brought 
 us to our senses, and Father Beulais spoke: 
 
 " We have come to help you, your good friend and me." 
 
 " No, no one can do that ! " I replied helplessly. " No 
 one is able to do that ! " 
 
 Bruce sprang forward and took my hands. " Dearest 
 of all women, I can ! I have come to marry you, Phyllis 1 
 Listen, Dear," he pleaded, as I slowly shook my head. 
 " Listen, until I have finished ! Don't think I'm the least 
 bit self-sacrificing, as you have said. I love you so, Child, 
 and want to take care of you ! I must, I must, or it will 
 kill me!" 
 
 Never had I heard such a warm thrill in his voice, usu- 
 ally so calmly measured. He was offering me so price-
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 275 
 
 less a peace that I could only weep in the agony of re- 
 fusal. I resolutely closed my soul to the tenderness in 
 his tones. Then I saw that he was thinner and quite pale. 
 If I had only realized his heart bigness long ago ! But I 
 did not see my own happiness when it was at my very door. 
 
 " Will you do this thing for me, Phyllis ? Will you let 
 Father Beulais marry us, Dear? In spite of your decision, 
 I've had the bans published in the village. I shall only 
 watch over and care for you. Phyllis ! For God's sake 
 don't say no and shake your liead that way don't ! " 
 
 I looked at Zadie, and she nodded emphatically. I 
 turned away, tempted to be taken into his arms for the 
 brief space of a minute. But how terrible that would be ! 
 I couldn't marry this man when another had been To 
 think of Roger makes me shiver. I wonder how I ever 
 thought him good? But just then I made up my mind 
 that Bruce should not be sacrificed to the tragedy that had 
 swept me into such dishonor. Not one of the three should 
 make me change my mind, as much as I needed to be 
 shielded from the father of my baby ! 
 
 A touch on my arm, and Father Beulais was beside me. 
 
 " Does Mademoiselle remember the conversation we had 
 a long time ago ? " 
 
 I cried in sudden fear. " Don't you try and persuade 
 me, too, Father Beulais ! Please don't ! I won't ! " 
 
 " Nevertheless, I must speak," broke in the priest. 
 " Please do not interrupt me when I'm talking to you. 
 This man loves you, and has told me that he has loved you 
 from the beginning. You have made an almost fatal 
 mistake which only a man who does love you can save you 
 from. God in His mercy has sent him to you. If you 
 turn from him, you will make another mistake." 
 
 He stopped, and I flashed a look at Bruce. His face 
 w r as ashen, his eyes bent upon me sternly. Something 
 I say it in all reverence some emotion filled me with the
 
 276 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 most exquisite sense of rest. How different it had been 
 with Roger! In my girlish passion I had demanded him. 
 In Bruce's uplifted love he demanded me, simply to save 
 me. He was rich in the spring of his twenty-five years, 
 while I had grown old old during a few months' ex- 
 perience. 
 
 " Can't you two see the wickedness of this thing? " I 
 sighed. 
 
 Father Beulais took a long breath. " Your little child 
 will be saved from a bad father ! " 
 
 My head began to whirl, and my heart to beat until I 
 could hear it. I don't remember just how it all came 
 about ; but when I again realized anything I was standing 
 beside Bruce Stewart, his arm around me, and Father Beu- 
 lais was saying slowly : 
 
 " Those whom God hath joined together, let no man 
 put asunder ! " 
 
 No more had the solemn words pronounced me a wife 
 than the shame of it all crushed me. The wonderful sac- 
 rifice of my husband and my acceptance of it brought me 
 infinite pain. 
 
 " I'm sorry I'm sorry ! " I cried, covering my face. 
 " Oh, how could I have done it ? How could I have lis- 
 tened to you both? It was wicked wicked! Pardon, 
 Bruce, pardon ! " 
 
 I was on my knees near the stone cross. Bruce lifted 
 me up into his arms. 
 
 " Oh, my beloved ! You are my wife," he murmured, 
 " and may God do to me as I do to you ! Listen, Love, 
 listen ! I shall care for you only when you need me, that 
 is all!" 
 
 I remember that before Father Beulais went away I 
 knelt at his feet while he blessed me. Zadie was quiet, 
 save for a sob now and then. I evermore distinctly re- 
 member that Bruce took me in his arms and, tenderly
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 277 
 
 kissing my forehead, followed Father Beulais from the 
 monastery. 
 
 After he went away, I tried to figure out how I had 
 been capable of it. That a woman as sinful as I dared 
 to link my wretched life with that of such a man! But 
 f but he is my husband, my very, very own ! And as I 
 write, I weep over us all, over Bruce with his dignity of 
 soul, over my baby, my little unborn baby, and lastly 
 over myself. My baby is mine by God's decree, and 
 and Bruce's by adoption. 
 
 Every day since I've longed for the sight of his face, 
 although the thought of him makes me tremble. The 
 difference between my affection for him and the oldtime 
 love for Roger 
 
 I mustn't even write " love " when I speak of Roger. 
 It was a mad, rash passion, during which I threw my 
 young life under his feet to trample on. 
 
 Today in my mail that Zadie brought from the village 
 was a letter from little Nan. She had inclosed a ten-dol- 
 lar bill to apply upon the price of her passage home, 
 saying that they were too poor to send more at present. 
 Poor little girl! I shall send it back with a sum for her- 
 self.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 PEOPLE say that Fate does not bring about coinci- 
 dences in real life ; but, when I think of all that has 
 happened to me during the last months, I am con- 
 vinced that almost everything that we do, or say, or meet, 
 is a thread in the intricate web of purpose. I write this 
 because of the manner Zadie's life and mine have become 
 interwoven in the tangle of circumstances. 
 
 I was sewing this afternoon, when I heard two voices. 
 One was that of Mere Durand, and mingled with her rough 
 patois I heard a man's halting French. The next mo- 
 ment a shadow fell across the stone floor, and I rose to 
 my feet. A tall, elderly man, hat in hand, stood there. 
 As I invited him in, his upright figure bent slightly to 
 allow him to enter the low doorway. There was something 
 familiar in his appearance; though to my knowledge, I 
 have never seen him before. 
 
 He hesitated in embarrassment. " Miss Miss Fitz- 
 patrick ? " He stopped with a conscious blush. 
 
 " Yes," I said slowly. 
 
 I had not dared to pronounce my new name yet. I re- 
 member how it flew to my lips, and only with effort did I 
 keep it back. 
 
 " I am Lord Donnithorne. I am " 
 
 " Maxey Donnithorne's father ! " I gasped. 
 
 " His grandfather, rather ! I wish I were his father, 
 poor lad ! " 
 
 I expected that he had come to censure me for telling 
 Maxey the secret of his birth, and felt instinctive hos- 
 tility. I would champion Zadie to the last breath I drew ! 
 
 278
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 279 
 
 The Englishman must have penetrated my thoughts ; for 
 he interposed: 
 
 " I can't deny that I'm sorry you told him : it has 
 caused him such keen distress." 
 
 The little break in his voice revealed more of his anx- 
 iety on Max's account than any words could have done. 
 
 " The reason I have come to you is to discover, if pos- 
 sible, where Maxey's mother is. I obtained your ad- 
 dress from Mr. Stewart." 
 
 Then Bruce has not told the Englishman that Zadie 
 lives with me 1 
 
 " Do I understand that Maxey wants to see Zadie," I 
 asked, " that he wants to know his mother? " and I added 
 bitterly, " He met her once and insulted her to her 
 face!" 
 
 " So he told me," replied Lord Donnithorne. Losing 
 his composure, he exclaimed, " Miss Fitzpatrick, the boy 
 felt so terrible over her that for a time we feared he would 
 lose his reason." 
 
 "Won't you tell me about it?" I implored. "Tell 
 me of everything that has happened. I have heard noth- 
 ing since the night I last saw him." 
 
 " He was nearly frantic when he came to England 
 But possibly I had better tell you first of our own boy and 
 his associations with Maxey's mother." 
 
 " She told me," I replied softly. 
 
 " Then you know that my son, my only son, Rupert, 
 was only nineteen when Max was born ? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " And that his mother came away to France " 
 
 " She was sent away ! " I cried sharply, not willing to 
 concede one inch of Zadie's ground. " She would never 
 have willingly left her baby nor her husband! " 
 
 " Possibly not," answered Lord Donnithorne, bending 
 his head. " I did not then concern myself with particu-
 
 280 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 lars. My wife laid the specter that rose in our path with- 
 out calling for my aid. She thought that she was acting 
 for the best." 
 
 Oh, the pity of it all! How could Lady Donnithorne 
 have imagined that she was doing right, this beautiful 
 woman with a beautiful home, husband, and son? Could 
 any woman worthy of her sex have sent away a defense- 
 less child into an unknown life? 
 
 Lord Donnithorne brought me out of my reverie by ris- 
 ing from his chair and pacing the floor. The heels of his 
 boots clicked upon the stones as they slipped between the 
 rugs. 
 
 " I have promised Max," he continued presently, " that 
 I would do all in my power to aid his mother. I am here 
 to keep that promise. The only thing we want to avoid, 
 of course, is publicity." 
 
 I offered no comment. He paused in his walk and 
 looked down into my face. 
 
 " Where is the woman ? " he demanded sharply. " It 
 seems that I cannot breathe until I've seen her! I could 
 scarcely keep Max from coming here first." 
 
 " She is out," I said. " She won't be home before 
 three o'clock. 5 * 
 
 I caught a glint in his blue eyes, and stumbled over the 
 words. My hesitation was followed by his face becom- 
 ing set, almost hard ; but he spoke resolutely. 
 
 " Then I must make you understand one thing that I've 
 promised my boy. His wishes to disclose his identity to 
 to what did you say her name was ? " 
 
 " To his mother," I said softly. 
 
 " Ah, yes, yes ! But it is very bitter to let anyone 
 claim him after all these years. Lady Donnithorne and 
 I acted wrongly toward this young woman. Believe me, 
 we are suffering for it now."
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 281 
 
 He demonstrated no emotion save for the clutching of 
 the gloved fingers, and the nervous twitch of his lips. 
 
 " I want to help her," said he presently. 
 
 "You're not going to offer her money?" I cried, in 
 affright. 
 
 " God forbid ! I'm aware that she is sensitive upon that 
 point. Max confessed to me that he hoped at first that 
 you had told him a falsehood, or that you were mistaken. 
 It was your knowledge of the jade ring that convinced 
 him. I shall never forget how he faced Lady Donni- 
 thorne ! For a moment he forgot all that he owed her ' 
 a tide of color suffused his face, and he lifted trembling 
 fingers to wipe his brow. " She has been as tender to 
 him as any mother could be, Miss Fitzpatrick. You know, 
 he's a proud boy, and his young heart was hurt, sorely 
 hurt. I didn't know he possessed so much spirit. But 
 I'll tell you what transpired ; for I think you should know, 
 you seem so thoroughly admitted into our dark secret." 
 
 " Whatever you tell me," I replied, " I shall always 
 regard sacredly." 
 
 " Thank you." He was silent for a moment, and 
 little Violetta whined, and uttered a shrill cry as I did not 
 notice her. I picked her up tenderly. 
 
 " We were expecting Maxey in answer to his telegram," 
 Lord Donnithorne said presently. " I met him at the 
 station with the brougham, and he asked me, as we were 
 driving home, if the thing were true. I denied it, of 
 course; but he insisted upon questioning Lady Donni- 
 thorne. She was taken by surprise, and confessed. 
 When he had been told everything God ! I shall never 
 forget his face ! He was like a madman ! " 
 
 " What did he say? " I asked tremblingly. 
 
 " He said some things I can't repeat they were ter- 
 rible." Lord Donnithorne's voice shook. " He told my
 
 282 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 wife he could never forgive her; that she was a murderer 
 and worse. He said he said that we could have saved 
 his mother and father, too, for him, had we desired, and 
 that but I need not harrow you with this. We tried 
 to argue with him; but he was past listening to reason. 
 Then he became ill, and my wife was so broken down that 
 she begged me to agree to everything the boy demanded. 
 If I hadn't come to France, he would have come for her 
 alone." 
 
 " There is but one way to help her," I said, leaning for- 
 ward. 
 
 He turned abruptly. "And that?" 
 
 " Maxey's mother can be redeemed only by living with 
 her son." 
 
 " Oh, it can't be ! Don't you realize how impossible that 
 is with a woman of her class ? " 
 
 I answered him relentlessly. " It's all the more imper- 
 ative when you admit to yourself, Lord Donnithorne, that 
 but for you and your wife Captain Zadie would not have 
 led the life she has had to." 
 
 He moved uneasily, and studied me half doubtingly. 
 " Captain Zadie Captain Zadie " he muttered. " It 
 is scarcely the name we should use. After all, she is Max- 
 ey's mother." 
 
 " She is Captain Zadie of the Paris boulevards as well," 
 said I. " And, while I am helping her all that I can, it 
 will take a greater influence than mine to save her abso- 
 lutely. She is proud and hates charity ; but, Lord Donni- 
 thorne, she has a bigger soul than any woman you or I 
 know. I tell this to you for your comfort. She is a 
 better woman than I, a better woman than many who may 
 shrink at hearing her name." 
 
 Across his proud face an expression of pain settled. 
 ** She is in in Paris now ? " he asked. 
 
 " No," I said softly, " and she never will go back if I
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 283 
 
 can prevent her. But I warn you that you and your wife, 
 with all your family pride at your back, could not be so 
 proud as this woman you censure, and if you say anything 
 to offend her " 
 
 " Rest assured I shall not do anything to hurt her feel- 
 ings," he said. " I know Max too well to suppose that 
 he would forgive me if I did. I should lose my boy 
 and, Miss Fitzpatrick, except for my wife, he is dearer 
 than all the world to me ! " 
 
 My vision blurred with tears. There was something 
 sincere and simple about this great Englishman which re- 
 minded me of Maxey at his best. 
 
 " She will be here tomorrow? " he demanded. 
 
 I inclined my head. 
 
 " Then Max and I will come together early, you 
 understand. You will not tell her of my visit ? " 
 
 " May I not prepare her? " I pleaded. 
 
 " No, you may not ! " 
 
 " But is it fair to her? " 
 
 " I think so. I promised Max that he should be the first 
 to tell her of their relation." 
 
 His tone was decisive, and I offered no further objec- 
 tion. With bowed head he walked to the door; but there 
 he wheeled and came back with extended hand. 
 
 " Goodby," said he. " I cannot thank you enough for 
 for the sympathy and interest you have shown." 
 
 From the window I watched his tall figure until it dis- 
 appeared down the white path. 
 
 ; s * K 
 
 And now I'm sitting in the doorway writing in this 
 book and waiting patiently for the sight of Zadie. Surely, 
 if there is anything in mental telepathy, she will divine 
 that I have something on my mind ! If only I could take 
 her in my arms and tell her the secret ! But I have prom- 
 ised Lord Donnithorne !
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 IT is over at last! And what a day it has been! I 
 could scarcely sleep last night, in my anxiety to warn 
 Zadie of her coming joy. This morning I fussed 
 about her, trying to arrange the stiff red hair into softer 
 folds about her mottled face. I was strung up to the top- 
 notch of excitement. 
 
 " You see, Dear," I trembled, " a little bird told me 
 that someone might come this morning. Let's put on 
 our prettiest dresses, Zadie." 
 
 Her brow lifted as she considered my face. " You ees 
 feeling better, thanks to God's name ! " said she. " I'll 
 put on my green dress." 
 
 " Oh, Zadie, you look so well in your white one ! " 
 
 " White ? White ees not for old voman like me. I haf 
 only the white you gif me. I'll wear the green." 
 
 I knew by the set of her jaw that she would carry out 
 her plan. I sighed when I thought of the violent red 
 hair in contrast with the vivid green of the voluminous 
 dress; but, fearing that she would insist upon going out 
 and leaving me alone with my callers, I went on sooth- 
 ingly : 
 
 " Put on anything you like, Darling." 
 
 I stood on tiptoe and kissed her. Zadie was used to my 
 caresses, and often gave me one in return. I hoped she 
 would change her mind and dress in white ; but she kept to 
 her resolution, and came forth resplendently clad in green. 
 
 " Zadie ! " I expostulated. " You have too much rouge 
 on your lips. Darling, Darling, do take a bit off ! " 
 She went to the dressing table, picked up a mirror, and 
 
 284
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 285 
 
 survcj-ed her reflection. From her position, she turned 
 and regarded me smilingly. 
 
 " Now, Pheelis, that red mek a pretty bow. I haf put 
 it on bien today." 
 
 She added an extra touch of black to her lashes as she 
 spoke. I said no more; for I remembered how many 
 times I had argued this point with her and had lost my 
 breath for my pains. For at least fifteen minutes we sat 
 waiting in silence. Then I caught the sound of an auto- 
 mobile in the distance. I strove to calm my throbbing 
 pulses, watching Maxey's mother mutely. 
 
 " He ees coming," said Zadie, " and I think I just take 
 Fran9ois for a valk. I not want to be sitting here round 
 vhen you talk to fine folks. Eh? Bien, he ees here now ! " 
 
 The machine came to a standstill, and I saw the shadow 
 of a man flash across the window. Zadie thrust her head 
 through the opening, and only her body was visible as 
 Lord Donnithorne and Maxey stepped into the room. 
 
 I am sure my heart stopped beating for a full minute, 
 and it was small wonder I was unable to speak. I got up 
 faintly, and held out both hands to Max. I knew he had 
 not seen the other woman, and, as Zadie's head was so far 
 out, her ears had not caught the sound of their greet- 
 ings. 
 
 "Phyllis!" cried Max. "My God! where is she? I 
 can't wait to see her ! " He grasped my hands. The 
 boyish face was pale, drawn into deep lines. His illness 
 had left unmistakable signs of suffering. 
 
 Zadie drew back slowly. With a simultaneous glance 
 both men caught sight of the huge figure in green as it 
 turned clumsily toward them. And as Zadie's eyes fell 
 upon the boy Max saw and knew her instantly. I could 
 no more have uttered a word than I could have flown. So 
 I waited and waited, and everyone else did the same. Lord 
 Donnithorne stood just inside the room, his high-bred face
 
 286 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 white to his ears. Then, to relieve my anxiety, I sat down 
 in a chair. Still my lips refused to speak ; and for polite- 
 ness* sake I tried to rise, but fell back inertly. 
 
 Zadie stared back at the English boy for the better 
 part of a minute ; then Maxey lifted his proud young face 
 with the sweetest smile I have ever seen on a human being. 
 But Zadie's expression didn't change by so much as the 
 wink of an eye. The seamed mouth, bright scarlet with 
 rouge, sagged at each corner stolidly, and her face was 
 as heavy and unemotional as usual. Her dark red hair 
 glistened with brilliantine and hung over the mottled fore- 
 head in a huge pompadour. Her face seemed to grow 
 gray and old, and suddenly her lips twitched at the cor- 
 ners. She straightened up with a jerk, ran her fingers 
 through her hair, and turned to me. 
 
 " You haf callaires, and not anyone I know. I go out 
 with Fra^ois a leetle while." 
 
 I knew the tumult going on in the dear, big heart. She 
 hadn't the slightest idea that it had all been arranged. 
 Max took the matters into his own hands. He still smiled 
 at her and I loved him for not looking the grotesque 
 figure over. He was trying to search out the mother-soul 
 beneath the color in the faded eyes. 
 
 " You are my mother ! " he said jerkily. 
 
 Like an animal at bay, Zadie turned and glanced from 
 him to the window, thinking to escape that way. But 
 Maxey's voice recalled her : 
 
 " You are my mother ! " he said again. 
 
 This time his tone was caressing, with no doubt in it. 
 What a darling boy he was ! Zadie had not noticed Lord 
 Donnithorne after the first hasty glance, and had forgot- 
 ten me. She was cognizant only of her young son whom 
 she intended to save from disgrace in spite of her own 
 yearning. 
 
 " Beast ! " she whispered with bated breath, shoving
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 287 
 
 aside the appealing hands held out to her. " I haf no 
 son, damn you ! " 
 
 Her oath made Max drop his hands, and Lord Donni- 
 thorne winced. 
 
 " I vant to go out," Zadie muttered again, turning with 
 dizzy, uncertain steps toward the door; but Max went 
 close to her. Stretching out his hands toward her, he 
 cried sharply, in agony: 
 
 "Mother! Mother! Ma mere, Beloved! I love you! 
 I love you! You are my mother! I am sure of that! 
 My father, Rupert Donnithorne, was your husband. Oh, 
 don't don't turn away from me ! I want you so ! " 
 
 His voice became sharp and pleading as he finished. 
 He caressed the one word " Mother " as it fell from his 
 lips, in a tone as soft as velvet. It reached the tender, 
 bleeding heart of Zadie, and I saw her tremble piteously; 
 but she motioned him away with a gesture. I could only 
 dash the tears from my eyes, and Lord Donnithorne 
 coughed. 
 
 " I haf no son ! " Her lips framed with determined ef- 
 fort. " I ees cocotte from Paree ! That ees where I lif , 
 and that ees where I go ! Geet 'way ! " 
 
 But Maxey was not to be daunted. With the aggres- 
 sion of his sex, he drove her inch by inch before him until 
 she was against the wall. 
 
 " Will you swear," he said solemnly, standing in front 
 of her, " upon the soul of Rupert Donnithorne who is dead, 
 that I'm not your son ? If you are my mother, my father 
 loved you, and searched in vain for you after you were 
 gone. And and then he died for love of you ! I 
 say you must swear upon my father's soul that you are 
 not my mother ! " 
 
 There is only one way to express Zadie's efforts to hide 
 her emotion. She whimpered like a hurt child worsted at 
 play. " Oh, mon Dieu, mon Dieu! How I lufed him,
 
 288 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 too ! " A sob came between each hoarsely uttered word, 
 and her eyes sought help of me. " Tell my leetle pretty 
 boy oh, Pheelis, for hees own sake, for hees sake I 
 haf no son ! " 
 
 Her whole soul was weighted with tears and prayers. 
 The cry rang out strange and loud, breaking the barriers 
 Max had been endeavoring to tear away. Two strong 
 young arms closed about her, and the boy tried to raise 
 his mother's face; but she kept her red hands tightly 
 pressed against it. 
 
 Maxey was speaking again : " You will kiss me, ma 
 mere, now that I have found you ! " 
 
 At that moment Max Donnithorne seemed a hero to 
 me. I knew how madly Zadie, with her big-soul nature, 
 desired to smother the pretty English boy with kisses, to 
 snatch him to her starved heart and accept the love he 
 offered ; so I urged : 
 
 " Kiss him, Zadie. He is your own little English son." 
 
 I used the words she had spoken to me in those days 
 long ago, and she straightened up quickly. A smile al- 
 most angelic radiated her usually passionless face. 
 
 "Vait! Vait!" she beseeched. 
 
 It was almost a command, a desire for a moment's time. 
 
 " Vait ! " she said again, struggling to be free ; and 
 Max released her. 
 
 She shoved her red head out of the window once more, 
 and only I saw what she was doing. I suppose I shouldn't 
 have seen her hadn't I had the view of her profile from the 
 position I held on the chair. A smacking sound came 
 from her direction. Zadie was sucking the rouge from 
 her lips, running her tongue quickly backward and for- 
 ward, until, when she turned, they were without a vestige 
 of red. Her eyes met mine in one single, soulful, flash- 
 ing glance. She was ready for the benediction of a son's 
 first kiss for a holy caress from the little child she had
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 289 
 
 loved so devotedly during the bitter years on the Boule- 
 vard St. Michel. 
 
 My eyes are misty \vith new memories. I can't write 
 just how Max soothed her; but I well remember how the 
 big-souled Englishman did his part. I know that he 
 shrank from the green dress, the red hair, and the woman 
 in general. However, not the slightest loo!: showed that 
 he did not regard her as the finest lady In the land. 
 
 " This is my grandfather, Mother ! " There was no 
 regret in Maxey's voice, and tremblingly Zadie took the 
 man's hand. 
 
 " We shall be very glad to have Maxey's mother with 
 us," Lord Donnithorne said in a low, conventional tone, 
 and I saw Max flash him such a glance of love and grati- 
 tude that, if his grandfather had never had another, he 
 could have been satisfied for the rest of his life. Then I 
 grew tired, so weary that Zadie exclaimed at my pallor, 
 and she took Max out into the gorges. Lord Donni- 
 thorne followed at a distance. I shall never know just 
 what was said ; but when they had gone to the village, and 
 Zadie was sitting by the door, she said, running her fin- 
 gers through her hair: 
 
 " You theenk, Pheelis, my hair would be lufly if it was 
 gray? " 
 
 " Yes," I replied, with happy tears. " I love gray 
 hair." 
 
 " I would look more leke " 
 
 " Maxey's mother," I broke in softly. 
 
 Her dear, raddled face changed from red to white ; she 
 stood up quickly. " I ees my Maxey's mother, and in 
 heem I forget Boulevard St. Michel." 
 
 After that we were both silent. From the somber 
 gorges came the cry of a night-bird, shrill at first, then 
 slowly reducing to a sleepy twitter. The sound broke 
 into Zadie's thoughts,
 
 290 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Let's go to bed," she said, " and you sleep weez me in 
 my room tonight. I beleef I see spooks, if you not." 
 
 Zadie begged this between laughing and crying. La- 
 ter, when I thought she was sleeping and had slipped out 
 to write, I heard her get out of bed and go over to the 
 washstand. 
 
 " What are you doing, Zadie? " I asked. 
 
 " You theenk you ees the only one not sleep ? " she re- 
 torted, turning a sublimely happy face toward me. 
 
 I smiled, and went on with this scribble. When she 
 thought I wasn't watching her, Maxey's mother poured the 
 contents of her lip rouge bottle into the wash-basin. 
 What a heavenly sensation to be a Mother ! 
 
 
 
 If I can't call myself contented, at least a spirit of 
 thankfulness is growing in me day by day. There is 
 much to be happy over; for I can rejoice with Zadie, now 
 that she has come into her own, and I am proud and glad 
 that Max has proved his worth. 
 
 I have persuaded Zadie to buy some simple little house 
 dresses. They do improve her so ! Only last week I dis- 
 covered her making a great rent in her green frock. 
 Aghast, I asked her what she was doing. 
 
 " Maxey not like eet, I theenk," said she, making an- 
 other vicious tear. " I ees going to cut it up. I not 
 wear eet again." 
 
 " He didn't tell you so, Zadie? " I questioned. 
 
 " No ; but vhen I say to him you like eet, he say slow 
 he theenk he leke me best in black or gray. That ees 
 enough for me ! " The scissors made another gap in the 
 cloth. 
 
 "Wait, Zadie, don't cut it up! Give it to Madame 
 Durand." 
 
 " If you vish, Pheelis* I now take a needle and cotton
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 291 
 
 and sew eet up once more. I ees going to have some fine 
 black dresses." 
 
 I knew that this was an effort on her part ; yet I verily 
 believe that she likes black now, because Maxey said he 
 admired it! 
 
 .... 
 
 Roger Everard and Father Beulais have said that 
 woman's first trouble came from the serpent; that he has 
 been her worst enemy ; that she has an inborn fear of him, 
 reaching down the ages from the Garden of Eden. But 
 I have discovered this, that serpents are more afraid of 
 me than I am of them. I love them dearly, because of 
 their beauty and vibrant life because I have the firm 
 belief that God loves them as much as He does us. Often, 
 when I have been walking in the gorges, I have seen a 
 snake lift its head from a little groove at the side of a 
 boulder, and glide away, graceful and terrified, before I 
 could approach it. Of course, there is Napoleon, my in- 
 valid; yet even he shrinks from me, and ventures out only 
 when he is hungry, poor thing! 
 
 If Zadie weren't becoming used to my eccentricities, 
 she'd think I had gone mad. Nothing will induce her to 
 go near the box in which the invalid lives. But I'm glad 
 that I brought him here, because he has satisfied me that 
 God doesn't hate him nor me. There must be some mis- 
 take about that Biblical story or possibly in man's in- 
 terpretation of it. I won't believe that a dignified Eternal 
 Creator could deliberately place one of His creatures in 
 direct opposition to His children and Himself. I can 
 remember arguing with Aunty about it, and her shocked 
 face comes vividly ,before me. It was my unorthodoxy 
 that hurt her ; but I have never reasoned it out until now. 
 
 The more I see of Max the better I like him. Zadie, he, 
 and I celebrated their happiness by going down to Eper-
 
 2C2 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 non. The " petite mere " didn't know we were coming ; 
 for we had resolved to give her a surprise, and drove to 
 the homestead in a hired conveyance. Little Gabrielle, 
 playing outside, saw us first, and the shout she sent up 
 brought her mother quickly from the house, and Balan- 
 drot from the cowshed. Zadie embraced them all heartily, 
 while Max stood shyly by. Then she put her arms round 
 the English boy. 
 
 " Look at my son ! " she said simply in French, and 
 that was Maxey's introduction to his new relatives. 
 
 Gabrielle, the elder, wiped her hands on her apron in 
 blank surprise. 
 
 " It's an English milord ! " she murmured abashed ; but 
 her husband was the first to recover, and, leaning forward, 
 kissed Maxey on both cheeks, while Zadie, between laugh- 
 ing and crying, smacked them alternately, including me. 
 
 Max, red in the face and a little embarrassed, behaved 
 beautifully, English though he was to the backbone, and, 
 picking up Gabrielle, the younger, who was endeavoring 
 to reach up to him, he brought her small mouth on a level 
 with his, with a boyish, " Hurry up and grow taller, little 
 cousin ! " 
 
 " Put me down, put me down ! " she cried shrilly, as if 
 remembering something, and as he released her she ran 
 into the house. 
 
 " Granny, Granny ! Get on my back, get on my back ! " 
 we heard her scream. " Aunt Zadie has come with the 
 pretty milliner and an English cousin." 
 
 Her mother and I followed the child at a run, and en- 
 tered just as little Gabrielle was endeavoring to fit the 
 petite mere's two withered old legs about her waist, and 
 draw the thin arms over her shoulders. 
 
 " Gabrielle, Gabrielle ! Why, you'll hurt Granny ! 
 There, there, Mother, don't cry ! You can come out ; but 
 she might drop you ! "
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 293 
 
 The old dame had begun to snivel in disappointment; 
 but she gurgled with joy when her daughter took her into 
 her muscular arms, and carried her bodily out into the 
 sunshine. Zadie kissed the tear-wet, wrinkled cheeks as 
 they put the tiny creature down on a wooden bench in the 
 little garden among the swaying hollyhocks. 
 
 " The mother mustn't cry," she soothed, sitting down 
 beside her. " See, I've brought someone to visit you ! " 
 
 " The milliner who looks like me when I was young? " 
 croaked the aged woman. 
 
 " Oui, oui, and someone else ! " 
 
 Max came to his mother's side and surveyed his grand- 
 mother. I wondered if he thought of Lady Donnithorne 
 as he gazed at the wizened, little, old peasant, with her 
 spotless cap-strings tied under her chin. 
 
 " He looks like a nice boy," said the old woman doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 " Oui, oui, and he's my boy just the same as I'm your 
 girl." 
 
 Two near-sighted eyes took in Max from head to foot ; 
 then the creased lips fell back, and a sweet smile lighted 
 the wan, yellowed face. 
 
 " Is he like little Gabrielle to me, then ? " asked she. 
 
 " Oui, oui, out! Like little Gabrielle. Your grandson, 
 ma mere." Zadie's voice sank to a tremulous whisper. 
 
 The old woman gazed at him with the wise, puzzled look 
 of a young child. A sudden loneliness seized me at sight 
 of their happiness. Perhaps Zadie divined it; for she 
 rose abruptly and dragged me down to her knee beside 
 the grand'mere. 
 
 " And you must make the little milliner a granddaugh- 
 ter, too," she said : " she's my other baby." 
 
 The old woman repeated " A granddaughter, too " like a 
 parrot saying over a newly taught lesson. Then she 
 fumbled around Zadie.
 
 294, WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " It's the sweets she's wanting," Gabrielle explained, and 
 Zadie said, laughing joyously: 
 
 " You must search Maxey's pockets today, ma mere," 
 and jumped up to give her seat to Max. 
 
 My eyes became misty with tears. When I could see 
 clearly again, Granny's face was close to Max's, and she 
 was asking him for a sweet. 
 
 * 
 
 Every day I grow more weary than the day before; 
 so that now I can walk scarcely farther than the well. 
 Once in awhile, when the sun shines, I go with Zadie to the 
 double tree just for exercise. 
 
 Zadie isn't up yet. I've never seen a woman improve 
 so under the influence of new conditions. It's almost like 
 seeing a plant put out new shoots in the spring under a 
 warm May sun. Happiness is a great factor in human 
 life. She has stopped swearing; that is to say, when she 
 begins a round oath, she bites her lips and ceases immedi- 
 ately. 
 
 Before Maxey went away, he tried to persuade me to 
 leave the monastery with Zadie ; but I am resolved to stay 
 here, now that I belong to Bruce. Max writes his mother 
 the sweetest letters, which puzzle me more and more. Who 
 would think that he was the same arrogant, unformed boy 
 I led through the soldiers to Boulevard St. Michel?
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 I HAVEN'T seen Bruce since we were married. I 
 often wonder where he is, and if he thinks of me 
 every day. I know in my heart that he does, or 
 he wouldn't have saved me. We agreed that no one should 
 know that we were married not just yet. I can't bring 
 myself to analyze my feelings toward him. I know this 
 much, though, and I dwell upon it hour after hour : that 
 he is the best of all the world the very best. And it 
 pleases me to think that I am his forever, and that he is 
 mine. He told me that, and I believe him. 
 
 Mere Durand came in this morning in wide-eyed con- 
 sternation. She told Zadie in rattling patois that over 
 the northern edge of the forest, about half a mile from 
 us, a man lived in another monastery. 
 
 " It's been closed for years," she explained. " Why 
 gentlemen and ladies leave Paris and come out here, is 
 more than I can tell ! " She looked at me, and went on, 
 " Of course, I understand about Madame ; but oh, the 
 sadness of a monastery! I should leave tomorrow, if I 
 could!" 
 
 Zadie and I also wonder who could be so sorry about 
 life that he would hide away from the world. I thought 
 only women had to do that ! 
 
 Yesterday I think I saw the man who inhabits the other 
 monastery. He was too far away to trace his features, 
 and disappeared behind one of the gorges before I could 
 
 295
 
 96 WHEN TRAGEDY GRIN T S 
 
 see but that he was tall and wore a gray suit. He isn't a 
 monk, then. 
 
 ** 
 
 I don't know just how to write down. these next few 
 pages ; but, harking back to other times and reading a bit 
 now and then of the boulevard days, I have forced myself 
 to begin. 
 
 Zadie and Fra^ois were out together. I sat sewing, 
 so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not hear a footstep 
 upon the monastery path. But suddenly a feeling that 
 someone was watching me dragged my gaze upward, and 
 I saw a man standing near the cross by the open door. 
 For a moment I was too surprised to speak. Then Cas- 
 perone Larodi's repulsive face came out of the haze in my 
 brain. 
 
 " Oh ! " I cried, starting up. " How did you come 
 here? " 
 
 " I should have come before," he said, with a little hes- 
 itancy, " but my mother was ill. You received my let- 
 ter?" 
 
 I inclined my head slightly, and looked helplessly into 
 the sunshine, wishing first for Bruce, then for Zadie. 
 Even little Fra^ois would have been welcome ; but I heard 
 him shouting gleefully by the spring. 
 
 " My life has been topsyturvy since I first saw you," 
 Casperone burst out, losing his calm. " I can't seem to 
 make anything out of it." 
 
 I didn't expect this, and remained silent. 
 
 " But now," he went on, " but now you must give me 
 some hope. I care nothing about your life with Ever- 
 ard, nothing for his " 
 
 " Hush ! " I protested. " How dare you ? How dare 
 you?" 
 
 " I dare anything to make you mine ! " he exclaimed. 
 " You were mine before you saw him, and I will have
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 297 
 
 you ! " His voice was full of passionate entreaty, his 
 eyes flashing from under straight, black brows. 
 
 " How did you find me? " I managed to say to gain 
 time. 
 
 " Lady Jane told me, and then I saw Everard." 
 
 Lady Jane, Casperone, and Roger Everard! All in 
 league against me and my baby, plotting to ruin what 
 little happiness I might get from the result of my mis- 
 fortune ! All the in j ustice of the tragedy hanging over 
 me filled me with rage. I turned to Casperone. 
 
 " Both you and that man are wicked very, very 
 wicked. He is worse than you ; for he does pretend to be 
 decent." 
 
 " I could have been good, too," replied Casperone, " if 
 you had given me a chance. I believe you still love him. 
 But you can rest assured that he hates you most cordially. 
 The only thing he insists upon is his " 
 
 " Shame ! " I wept. " Please, please ! " 
 
 I sank down upon the cot, and Casperone came toward 
 me. 
 
 " Phyllis, I love you, I love you ! You can't still care 
 for a man who has humiliated you before the whole world. 
 Come to me ! " he whispered in low, passionate tones. 
 " Come to me ! " 
 
 " You have humiliated me more than anyone else," I 
 cried. " I will have you go you can't stay another 
 minute ! " I glanced about quickly to the window, and 
 then out of the door. " I'll scream so loud," I finished, 
 " that the very stones will come to me, if you don't go, 
 and go now ! " 
 
 Casperone stared at me, his repression changed to fury. 
 A horrible oath burst from his lips. " I'll not go," he 
 muttered, " not until you have made me a promise ! I'm 
 going to take you in my arms, in spite of all the devils in 
 hell."
 
 298 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 v 
 
 His eyes blazed black menace, and for one moment he 
 crowded me close in his awful embrace. I had but one 
 thought, one friend. I opened my lips and screamed : 
 
 "Bruce! Bruce! Oh God!" 
 
 And then my almost blinded eyes saw Bruce Stewart 
 loom in the doorway. Much quicker than it takes for me 
 to write it Casperone was dragged from me, and limply I 
 watched Bruce change into a passionate, destroying brute. 
 
 It was a primal struggle of two men over one woman. 
 Even now I can feel my heart clutch with the horror of 
 it. Bruce snatched the lithe cane that the Count had 
 dropped on the floor, and for what seemed many minutes 
 the blows from the stick came down in rapid succession 
 upon the Frenchman as Casperone's small, white hands 
 beat the air with frantic appeal. Suddenly the cane split 
 in two with a crack like a pistol-shot, the smaller piece 
 flying through the window. The other fell from Bruce's 
 fingers, and Larodi took advantage of it. He flew at 
 Bruce with the agility of a cat, his eyes glinting black in 
 his death-white face. Bruce caught him in one of his 
 huge hands, and in a silent, awful, grim grip the two 
 men swayed past the stone crucifix almost through the 
 open door. Casperone thrust his slender hand upward to 
 Bruce's throat, and he bared his teeth in a doglike growl. 
 It was then that the most terrible part of the fight began. 
 Of a sudden they came to a standstill for an infinitesimal 
 part of a minute, Casperone's fingers dragging away at 
 Bruce's collar. 
 
 I remember crying out in agony for them to cease ; and 
 I think it only incensed Bruce the more, for he lifted La- 
 rodi completely from the floor, squeezing his slender body 
 until the man screamed at the cracking of his bones. 
 Bruce raised his fist, and with my trembling hands pressed 
 tightly to my cheeks I counted one two three swift 
 blows as they fell upon Casperone's upturned face. His
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 299 
 
 yells broke out upon the stillness of the forest, echoing 
 and reechoing among the mountain gorges, and brought 
 Zadie running from the spring. Standing in the door, 
 her frightened eyes took in the import of the scene, and 
 she screamed in English : 
 
 " Keel the pig, keel him, Monsieur Bruce ! " 
 
 So thoroughly was Casperone done for that, when 
 Bruce knocked him down and then ordered him to get up, 
 he didn't make a move. My husband literally lifted the 
 limp, pasty-faced fellow from the stone floor and threw 
 him out of the monastery. 
 
 When I saw this, I began to scream loudly, as if some 
 great, threatening danger had passed over. I tried to get 
 to my feet ; but in an instant Bruce was at my side. He 
 knelt down, the anger dead in his face, his dear eyes filled 
 with tears. 
 
 " That you should suffer this, Dearest, and at just the 
 minute my back was turned ! " he moaned. " Oh, the days 
 Pve watched over you, only to see you abused, after 
 all!" 
 
 I wept on and on a he smoothed my face, bathing it 
 with the water Zadie brought. When I could speak, I 
 begged him to see that he hadn't killed Larodi. 
 
 " Oh, it was awful, awful ! " I shuddered. " I've never 
 seen anything so frightful!" 
 
 " He deserved that and much more, the cur ! " replied 
 Bruce darkly, and he went out. Presently he came back 
 to say that Durand had picked up the Count from the 
 walk and that Casperone was weeping in the little shop. 
 
 " He's hurt no more than he can stand, damn him ! " 
 muttered Bruce. "The miserable, dastardly coward!" 
 
 I love all of Bruce's oaths, every one ! They are as much 
 a part of him as his brilliant eyes and his broad shoulders. 
 For a time I lay back and closed my eyes. Bruce turned 
 and spoke to Zadie.
 
 300 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " This is the first day I've left her since she became my 
 wife," said he, " and I only went into the village for a few 
 minutes ! " 
 
 I opened my eyes in startled amazement. " Where 
 have you been, then? " I whispered. 
 
 " Always near you, Beloved," he murmured. " I've 
 spent the day but a short distance away among the gorges, 
 and the nights just at the edge of the forest." 
 
 " He is the man whom Mere Durand spoke of as being 
 in the other monas.ter'y," I said, turning to Zadie. " Were 
 you, Bruce? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Phyllis. It was the only way I could pro- 
 tect you; for I feared even worse than has happened to- 
 day." 
 
 I sank down again and covered my face. He had 
 feared Roger! Suddenly over me came a dreadful fear, 
 a premonition that I couldn't explain. I struggled to 
 my feet. 
 
 " Bruce ! Bruce ! " I cried. " Take me away oh, take 
 me away! Oh, to be anywhere but here! I want to go 
 with you and Zadie ! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " exclaimed Bruce, and straightway Za- 
 die made ready to leave. 
 
 In the hurry of the moment I had forgotten my 
 wounded protege; but when he did come in my remem- 
 brance I went to the cot and lifted the white drapery from 
 under which he crawled each day for his rations. Napo- 
 leon was coiled up in the wooden box dead ! 
 
 I have lost a friend, one that gave me proof of universal 
 love for all God's creation! Napoleon's companionship 
 has caused me to lose my egotism in being human, and I 
 have held out my hands in loving fellowship to every liv- 
 ing thing. 
 
 Bruce buried him for me.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 301 
 
 Although I haven't been able to meditate much, still I 
 vaguely recall how Bruce and Zadie took me out of the 
 monastery to the village. It's all like a dream, one hid- 
 eous dream of bodily pain and heartsickness. 
 
 I can't tell how long it was afterward when I opened 
 my eyes and looked about. Through the dim light I saw 
 Father Beulais, his solemn eyes directed away from me 
 to someone else. As the things in the room became more 
 tangible, little by little, I was aware of the fact that Bruce 
 was standing near him, too. 
 
 Gradually, as my sight returned, I clearly traced the 
 outline of a babe, white and thin, stretched out on his 
 hands. I moved my head slowly on the pillow. My 
 hearing must have been cleared; for Bruce's deep voice 
 broke in upon me. 
 
 " Father Beulais, I would give all my life and my 
 soul's salvation if I were his father ! My God ! how can I 
 bear this ? " 
 
 The words stole through my senses as the faint song 
 of a morning bird comes to one in the last dreams before 
 full dawn. Then again I strained my ears to listen. 
 Father Beulais said in French: 
 
 " My friend, you have much to be thankful for. You 
 have the woman. She will live to bless your days, all your 
 years. The child is weak, and may thank only you for 
 his name." 
 
 This startled a noise from my lips. Bruce passed my 
 baby to Father Beulais, and sat down beside me. I had 
 strength enough to lift my hand and pass it over his face. 
 It was feverish, and his square jaws were lined in sorrow. 
 Shivering, I huddled under the covers, and whimpered and 
 cried until Bruce lifted me and ran his arm round my 
 shoulder. 
 
 Even as I sit here and endeavor to think of something 
 more that happened that night, I can't. The first clear
 
 302 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 episode in my mind is that one morning I woke up to see 
 Zadie sitting in a rocking-chair with my baby in her lap, 
 and Bruce bending over me. 
 
 Like a flash the past came over me, his goodness, his 
 magnificent generosity, and, added to this, he loved me 
 with that sacred, unselfish love with which some men do 
 love their wives. 
 
 . * 
 
 Oh, my baby, my precious little baby! He'a so beau- 
 tiful, so tall, so very, very white! And sometimes, as I 
 look into his eyes, I can read from his soul a pity for all 
 I have borne since I first knew him. A boy, a little son, 
 my own child ! And I'm his mother, his own mother ! I've 
 never loved anybody half so well. But I'm going to write 
 a little about Bruce. 
 
 One day, when my baby was about five weeks old, he 
 came back to me in all friendliness. I noticed that he 
 didn't kiss me as he had so many times before. 
 
 " Phyllis," he said slowly, " I'm going away for a time. 
 You are safe now from any enemy you may have had. 
 Larodi's lesson will teach the rest." 
 
 I felt a stab at my heart. " To America? " I faltered. 
 
 " Oh, no: just for a little trip to buck up a bit, you see 
 to pull myself together." He sent me that brilliant 
 smile that had always awed me, and went on, " I wanted 
 to ask you if, when I come back " 
 
 Intuitively I knew what he was going to say, and cried, 
 " Bruce dear, don't say it ! " 
 
 The light fled from his eyes, and a tide of eolor swept 
 from his throat to his brow. " I love you, Child ! " he mur- 
 mured brokenly. 
 
 " And I hold your dear, unselfish love as the most sacred 
 thing in my life," I said, low toned and tender ; " but, 
 Bruce, you can understand, can't you, that the baby 
 
 " Yes, yes, I understand ! " He paused an instant.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 303 
 
 " It's hard ! " he got out at last in a changed voice. 
 " God! but it is hard!" 
 
 Until now Love at its purest and best had been an in- 
 tangible, fleeting, substanceless thing. At this moment a 
 wonderful thrill swept my being, and then I knew that I 
 had fallen in love with my husband, a real love sancti- 
 fied by suffering on my part and sacrifice on his. I got 
 up and placed my baby in his bed, and slowly walked to 
 Bruce. 
 
 " Dearest," I murmured feebly, " please look at me ! " 
 
 He swung round sharply, and I suppose the expression 
 upon my face drew him to me. 
 
 " Bruce," I said, flushing in hesitation, " when you re- 
 turn to Paris, I want you to come to the baby and mel 
 Then, then but I can't tell you about it now, Dear ! " 
 
 With a mad cry, he snatched me close, smothering my; 
 eyes, my lips and throat, with hot, passionate kisses. He 
 suddenly released me, and when I got back my breath he 
 had gone. 
 
 : , 
 
 As I write I am holding my baby, and oftentimes I stop 
 my pen and look down at his little face in solemn wonder. 
 Just now he is gazing steadily upon the light, his clear, 
 blue eyes holding a strange expression that has been in 
 them since his birth. I'm anxious over him at times. I 
 
 Only today I arranged in my mind how I feel toward 
 him. Of course he looks like just now I can't write 
 that name ; but another time, if I'm less bitter, I'll fill it in. 
 I haven't even given baby a name yet: for that he must 
 wait. I can remember in those first few weeks, after I 
 knew that God was goirg to give me a somebody all my 
 own, I longed with all my soul for him to resemble his 
 father. Then, afterward when things had proved so un- 
 real and unnatural, I thought that, if it should be so, I 
 couldn't find love enough in my heart for him. But how
 
 304 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 changed I am! Love my baby? My little angel boy 
 oh, Childy, how I adore you! I live for you, and only 
 you, and yet I have detached you absolutely from him 
 who is but the other part of you. In his bigoted soul he 
 gave up his right I mean moral right even to look 
 upon your baby face, and if I can prevent it he never 
 shall! 
 
 The most indistinct part of those monastery days is 
 my marriage to Bruce big, wholesome Bruce. I re- 
 gret it only for his sake: he is tied for life to a woman 
 who is held by the bond of motherhood tighter than the 
 ties of earth to Heaven. Sweet baby child! A boy of 
 my very own, much more my own than if Roger could 
 claim him, too ! I think, when a woman becomes a mother 
 of a son, then she's just as big as a woman ever can be, in 
 spite yes, I say in spite of what her life has been ! Even 
 the love of my good man cannot drag my soul near every- 
 thing good as this one, small nameless boy stretched out 
 in his baby helplessness on my knees. Once for all, I've 
 decided that I love him better than any being in the wide 
 world, and, when I liken this mad love for him with all 
 the others I've known, they seem in comparison like pyg- 
 mies to giants. I've even analyzed the love. It's a 
 mixture of Heaven and earth, of God and man, of passion 
 mother-passion, which comes only to a mother. 
 
 I'm wondering, too, as I write of Bruce, and I sigh and 
 wish and hope what am I hoping for ? Nothing ab- 
 solutely, nothing save that my baby may grow to be a 
 man, loving me even when he knows of me and what I 
 have done. At this moment he's sleeping. He must have 
 closed his eyes when I was interested in writing this. His 
 long, dark lashes cast shadows on his face, and my last 
 words tonight before I gather him to my arms to sleep 
 shall be, May God, Heaven, and all His holy armies of 
 angels bless and keep my boy my little, living son !
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 I HAVEN'T thought of one thing lately but my sick 
 baby. He doesn't seem to get any better. So many 
 more things have happened to me I mean real 
 things than have ever happened before ! Bruce had 
 been gone, if I remember rightly, about two weeks, when 
 one morning Zadie came to me, saying that a man was 
 awaiting me in the drawing-room. Strangers were not 
 welcome at any time, and I sent back a message that at 
 that moment I should have to be excused. I heard Zadie 
 give the word, but could not catch the man's answer; but 
 I knew he was persistent, because Zadie argued in a loud 
 voice as to my inability to see him, and she plodded back. 
 
 " He says he must see you one minute," said she. " It 
 is important, very, very ! About your money ! " 
 
 I got up hastily and went into the drawing-room. A 
 heavy-set man in uniform, standing by the table, made 
 a low obeisance to me. I stood still, slightly inclining my 
 head. 
 
 He glanced at a paper he held open between his fingers. 
 " You are Miss Fitzpatrick ? " he demanded in French. 
 
 " Yes and your business ? " 
 
 " Madame, I am this day, by order of the court, serving 
 this paper upon you ! " 
 
 Even then I didn't suspect the nature of his business. 
 He had told Zadie it was about my money. I extended 
 my hand and mechanically took what he offered. 
 
 The man turned toward the door. " Madame may read 
 it at her leisure," said he. 
 
 305
 
 306 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 I didn't even glance at it until I was back at Zadie's 
 side. 
 
 Then I read the paper once, twice, and three times be- 
 fore opening my lips. Roger had served a court order 
 upon me to surrender to him my baby son! Not remem- 
 bering that Zadie didn't know the contents of the service, 
 I burst out: 
 
 " Zadie darling, they couldn't, could they ? Oh, tell me 
 they couldn't ! " 
 
 "Vhat? Vhat ees eet? " she exclaimed, taking up the 
 paper that had fallen to the floor. In a maze of despair 
 I heard her lisping out the words. Her face was pale, 
 when she turned to me. " You need Monsieur Bruce," was 
 all she said. 
 
 "Yes, yes!" I cried. "But where is he? Tell me 
 something to do! Could Father Beulais help me? Don't 
 you think he could? " 
 
 " I go for the priest," said Zadie, rising suddenly. 
 
 I noticed before she went out that she bent and kissed 
 my baby, and I heard the clatter of rosary beads as she 
 leaned over him. Zadie loved him with all her big French 
 soul. 
 
 I shall never know how long she was gone ; but her face 
 was still more drawn with anxiety when she came home to 
 tell me that Father Beulais would not be in Paris for some 
 weeks. And my baby is too ill to be taken away from the 
 city, even if I were allowed to go ! 
 
 . , . . . . 
 
 To write all the details of consulting lawyers, and the 
 minutes of uncertainty I went through, would gall me too 
 much. There seemed not the slightest hope for me to 
 keep my little boy from the man who had refused him his 
 name. And Bruce has gone, too, I know not where. The 
 lawyers have all said that the law gives a father the right 
 to his child, marriage or no marriage. Yet, for money,
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 307 
 
 I obtained the services of one not much interested in the 
 baby or me. He smiled disdainfully as he folded the check 
 I gave him. I have made up my mind that when the day 
 comes summoning me to the court I'll throw myself upon 
 the mercy of the judge; that I'll tell him all my story, all 
 of Roger's perfidy, of my love for my baby Oh, they 
 can't take him away ! for how shall I live ? As I watch 
 him from where I sit, I have the feeh'ng that he has always 
 been mine, that there could never have been an hour when 
 he was not with me, and no future day can I survive 
 without him. I've done everything to find Bruce, the only 
 man in all the world to whom I can appeal. If I could 
 go back to that day, that last day, when he left me with 
 love on his lips, how I should hold him! Nothing could 
 take him from me, and in my misery I am honest enough 
 with myself to admit that I want him for my own sake as 
 much as my boy needs him ! 
 
 Zadie came to me this morning with the baby in her 
 arms. 
 
 " I deed this," she said, shoving the morning journal 
 into my hand. I glanced at the marked passage in Le 
 Matin and read: 
 
 If Monsieur Bruce Stewart, American, late of Paris, sees 
 this, come to Phyllis. 
 
 I lifted my eyes and searched the dear, raddled face. 
 She had thought of something that might save me and 
 mine! 
 
 " I had not dreamed of doing that," I said slowly, and 
 when the thought flashed over me that Bruce might see it 
 I sprang up and thrust my arms round my friend. 
 "Zadie, Zadie! God bless you, Dear! Oh, go pray,
 
 308 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 please ! Pray that he will come to me ! I feel very sure I 
 shall die ! " 
 
 She was gone nearly an hour, and when she came back 
 her eyes were swollen and red. 
 
 " I say a hundred Hail Marys and Holy Marys for 
 Monsieur Bruce. He come, you see you beleef he 
 comes, Pheelis ? " 
 
 Her voice twisted with pain and suffering. I stood up 
 and kissed her. 
 
 " I believe, I believe, Zadie ! " I moaned. " He'll come ! 
 My husband will come ! " 
 
 " Then, if you beleef, he comes see ? God has said 
 eet, and Zadie know he comes when Pheelis beleef." 
 
 And I do believe that he will read my need of him! 
 What a mite of a soul I am to have my son, and my hus- 
 band ! Two of Heaven's choicest possessions ! 
 
 It is all over, and Bruce is not here! 
 
 Day after day seemed to fly. Every morning I wanted 
 the day hours to lag, that I might hear something to keep 
 the breath of life in me for the trial I had to bear. And 
 every night hour I held my baby to my heart. I prayed 
 until sleep took my thoughts away, that he might be left 
 with me; for I needed him so! 
 
 Zadie says that men have guarded our house every day 
 since the paper was served. I suppose they thought I 
 would take my baby and run away. I certainly would 
 have tried to, if he had been well enough to travel. Little 
 boy lamb, suffering from blows he received before he was 
 born ! He hasn't had half a chance, even to live ! 
 
 I had been notified that the proceedings would be pri- 
 vate, only those interested allowed in the court. 
 
 At last the morning came, and two men arrived to take 
 us into the city. Never shall I forget how I felt when I 
 took my son in my arms to follow them out.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 309 
 
 When Zadie refused to go with me, I turned upon her 
 sharply. Her eyes were full of tears. 
 
 "Little Pheelis," she whispered, "I steel beleef. I 
 stay and vait for Monsieur Bruce." 
 
 " It is too late," I replied sadly. " But stay and pray, 
 Zadie, if you can." 
 
 I went out, frozen to my bones. How solemn was the 
 courtroom as I walked in and took a chair indicated by 
 my lawyer! The direct proceedings have left my mind 
 I mean the technicalities of them. But I remember 
 that several men with long robes sat high above the gaping 
 crowd of eager faces. I glanced back once, and saw 
 Roger, his hand shading his face. I was nearer hating him 
 then than ever before. The faith that Zadie had instilled 
 in me was dead, and I was alone among the dark French- 
 men who would sign and seal my death-warrant. The first 
 thing I heard was a drooning voice speaking Roger's name 
 and mine ; following this, the reading of a clause of the 
 law that, if carried out, would surely kill me. I had rather 
 see my baby dead before me, than have him taken into the 
 life of a man like his father ! 
 
 It's all so hazy now as I write, that I have only the mem- 
 ory of Roger passing down the aisle after a man had 
 called his name. But every word he uttered is seared into 
 my mind as if it were burning me. 
 
 I raised my eyes to his face as he took the chair, and 
 his gaze was centered upon me. I looked steadfastly 
 back at him. He turned his head to answer the first ques- 
 tion. 
 
 "Your name?" 
 
 " Roger Everard." 
 
 " You are married? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "You are the father of a child?" 
 
 " Yes, a son."
 
 310 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Is that child here in this courtroom? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And the mother's name?" 
 
 "Phyllis Fitzpatrick." 
 
 " Is she present? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And your desire for the boy is what? " 
 
 " To take it for its own good. To separate it from a 
 mother I have proved unworthy to have charge of an in- 
 nocent babe." 
 
 He spoke with such decision in low, even French, that I 
 shivered. He turned his eyes to the judge, whose glance 
 fell upon me, as he questioned. 
 
 " Monsieur, you you could not be persuaded to marry 
 this woman? She's but a girl herself, this mother of your 
 child." 
 
 In a flashing glance at the judge's face, I read deep 
 sympathy and interest, mingled with fatherly benevolence. 
 Tearfully I lowered my head. My mind turned to Bruce 
 with desperate longing, hearing but dimly Roger's force- 
 ful word, "No!" 
 
 " Then let the mother speak," said the judge slowly. 
 
 As Roger rose, a man touched me on the shoulder. I 
 went up with my baby, and sank into the same chair. The 
 usual questions asked of me as to name, age, and other 
 things, I answered dazedly. It all seemed too much like 
 an unhappy dream to be able to grasp its fatal reality. 
 A man came forward after a whispered conversation with 
 Roger, and spoke in an undertone to the magistrate. The 
 judge nodded his head, cleared his throat, and turned to 
 me. 
 
 " Is Monsieur Everard the father of this child? " 
 
 Aroused and full of terror, I shot an angry glance at 
 Roger. His handsome face whitened, and his lips set in a 
 straight line. If I answered in the affirmative, my little
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 313 
 
 son would be torn from me, and to deny that I , i , -., 
 
 couldn't 
 I waited so long that the ludge leaned forward a 
 
 ^^ 'f*1*A C1 1 Y"fl 
 
 the question again. Still, I could not force myself , 
 
 sent. Then something happened that made the few i 
 ,. , . ,. door- 
 
 listeners turn in expectation. 
 
 At the interruption the judge rose to his feet; ,t 
 reseated himself, looking toward the door. I lifted n, . 
 eyes, and saw Zadie sink into a chair, and and Bruc ( 
 Stewart was walking down the long aisle toward me! Hii 
 dear face was ashen to his ears. The golden-brown eyes * 
 sent me a flashing glance of protection. I stood up 
 quickly; but the man at my back touched me authorita- 
 tively and said: 
 
 "Be seated, Madame! You haven't answered his 
 Honor's question. Is Monsieur Everard the father of this 
 child?" 
 
 Limply I sank back, making no effort to speak. Then 
 through my brain came Bruce's strong, reliant voice: 
 
 " The woman is my wife," he said, waving his hand to- 
 ward me. " The child was born in in wedlock ! " 
 
 Through the dead silence came an ejaculation from 
 Roger. He sprang to his feet and came toward Bruce. 
 For fully ten seconds they stood and looked into each 
 other's eyes, hate in Roger's and decision in Bruce's. 
 
 " He lies ! " cried Roger. " I demand that he prove his 
 words ! " 
 
 " It's easy," replied Bruce simply, turning squarely 
 to the judge. " I am handing your Honor a certificate 
 proving that Phyllis Fitzpatrick was my wife long before 
 the birth of this child. In the eyes of the world and the 
 law I claim them both ! " 
 
 The magistrate studied the paper with frowning brow. 
 
 Up through the window came the roar of the city's 
 traffic, mingling together with the shouting of the river
 
 312 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 sailors and the voices of the street-hawkers. But in the 
 room there wasn't a sound until my marriage certificate 
 crumpled in the judge's fingers. Then he turned to me. 
 
 " Is this man jour husband? " he demanded. 
 
 He pointed his finger at Bruce. 
 
 " Yes yes, I am his wife ! " I said chokingly. 
 
 His Honor bent over and handed the paper back to 
 Bruce. " There has been a grievous mistake, an unheard 
 of blunder," he commented slowly. " I cannot fathom 
 it. Madame, you have my heartfelt sympathy, and I beg 
 you to pardon this court for an insult such as has never 
 happened before." Facing Roger, he said, " Monsieur 
 Everard, I have no authority to give you another man's 
 son." 
 
 I drew a long, sobbing breath and cried, " I'm so glad, 
 so very glad ! Bruce dear, take our our baby and me 
 with you take us both home ! " 
 
 I can remember distinctly that one of the court men 
 had to hold Roger; for in his rage he lost his mind for 
 the moment. A confused sound of voices, a calm order 
 from the judge, and my husband placed his arm round me, 
 drew my baby to his breast and the next thing I knew 
 Zadie was with us in a closed cab. 
 
 * 
 
 My baby is dead, and as Zadie is visiting Max at Oxford 
 I am alone in this flat. Every day I long more and more 
 for the little boy who was so suddenly taken away from 
 me. When I ponder on my Paris life, I wonder that I 
 am living at all; but I'm enjoying a new-found peace 
 or is it indifference? No, no, it is not that not indif- 
 ference toward my husband! 
 
 The coming of Bruce stayed my pen last week. He 
 asked me if I would go to Mrs. Everard. She desired to 
 see me, and Roger had implored that I come.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 313 
 
 We were met at their home with the statement that Mrs. 
 Everard was worse, and that the doctor said she couldn't 
 live many hours. Bruce and I waited until we were sum- 
 moned to the sick-room. The nurse whispered in expla- 
 nation as we stood in the hall with one hand on the door- 
 knob. 
 
 " Mrs. Everard has been asking for you. She has been 
 blind since last evening. Her son has not been able to 
 persuade her to give him the message. She has been very 
 uneasy about it." 
 
 " And you don't know what she wants to tell me ? " I 
 asked. 
 
 " No," answered the nurse ; " but Mr. Everard says that 
 you are to come quickly." 
 
 I followed her, with Bruce close to me, tiptoeing in, 
 and looked over the foot of the bed. Roger was seated 
 beside his mother. I shall never forget his face. When 
 I came in he raised his head, but for only one brief in- 
 stant. 
 
 The nurse whispered to the sick woman that I was there, 
 and with a faint smile Mrs. Everard opened unseeing eyes 
 which I noticed were deeply sunken. She looked years 
 older than when I had last seen her. She tried to lift one 
 hand; but Roger grasped it in his. 
 
 " Don't, Darling, don't ! Phyllis is coming nearer." 
 
 " I am here, dear heart," I said gently, and took the cold 
 fingers in mine. 
 
 " You have been gone long, Child," she breathed. " We 
 could not find you." 
 
 " I'm sorry," was all I could say. 
 
 " Roger has suffered with me," she went on closing her 
 lids, " and he told me he had been searching everywhere 
 for you." 
 
 I looked up quickly, and caught Roger's agonized 
 glance. .
 
 314 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Tell me, dear Mrs. Everard, what you want to say 
 to me. You have been wishing to see me? " 
 
 " Yes." The wasted hand raised feebly to brush away 
 the tears welling large in the sightless eyes. My head was 
 close to hers. 
 
 " I am here," said I. 
 
 " Why are you staying away from 
 Roger? " 
 
 . Each word was punctured with a sob. I didn't answer ; 
 but bent impulsively to kiss her hand. It was stone cold 
 with the chill of death. 
 
 " I haven't told her why you and I are not together," 
 Roger muttered to me. 
 
 " How shall I explain my absence? " I whispered back. 
 
 Mrs. Everard opened her eyes again, questioningly. 
 " Roger, send the nurse from the room," she said. 
 
 The attendant disappeared in answer to Roger's sign, 
 and we three waited until Mrs. Everard spoke. With an 
 effort she rolled her head on the pillow in her son's direc- 
 tion. 
 
 " Roger, I haven't told you, but I heard you say that 
 dreadful thing to Bruce Stewart and Maxey the night you 
 asked Phyllis to marry you." 
 
 Roger leaned over desperately, and exclaimed, " I am 
 sorry, Beloved, I am sorry ! " 
 
 " And ; my conscience has whipped me 
 to my death since then ! " came the weak voice from 
 the pillow. 
 
 " Rest now, Dearest. Don't talk any more," Roger 
 urged. " Phyllis and I are both here." 
 
 " No, I haven't finished. ... I mean what you 
 said about the child born of sin " 
 
 Silence fell again. I could see it was a deep emotion 
 that had kept the woman from speaking. She was not 
 struggling with death alone.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY. GRINS 315 
 
 " I have longed to die during the last few months," 
 Mrs. Everard continued in a low tone. " I did not 
 wish" 
 
 Roger's face was convulsed with deep feeling, his voice 
 sharp with entreaty. " Mother, how can you say that to 
 me, when I've worshiped every breath you've drawn ? " 
 
 With a pathetic gesture she stretched out her hands. 
 " I know you have loved me, my darling ; but you wouldn't 
 if you knew the whole truth. Phyllis, are you there? " 
 
 The blind eyes flashed in my direction, and I smoothed 
 her hair back reassuringly. 
 
 " Roger, I have always been a good mother to you, 
 haven't I?" 
 
 Tears stood in Roger's eyes, and he smothered the cold 
 hand that he held with kisses. His lips refused to frame 
 words; but the dying woman seemed to understand, for 
 she lifted her hand and laid it on the dark bowed head. 
 
 " Roger listen ! " 
 
 " I am listening, my darling ! " 
 
 The thin lips tried to speak. An expression of horror 
 flitted through the gray-black eyes, widening the lids. 
 Then they closed tightly. A struggle was going on 
 within the heaving bosom. 
 
 "God! Mother, can't you trust me?" Roger's voice 
 rose sharply. 
 
 "I have committed the unpardonable sin ! " 
 
 I raised my head and uttered something I don't re- 
 member what it was. For one trembling moment Roger 
 started up; but the thin, blue hands of his mother clung 
 to him so frantically that he dropped limply on his knees 
 beside the bed. 
 
 "I want to tell all ! " 
 
 Neither one of us encouraged her to proceed, and I saw 
 Roger's tense muscles soften as he bent over to kiss the 
 twitching mouth.
 
 316 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " I have been dying ever since that dreadful niglit I 
 heard you say that God's face could not shine upon a little 
 child who " 
 
 "Mother, Mother!" 
 
 "Hush! I must tell you!" 
 
 They had ceased to think of me. 
 
 " Your father, Roger, was a good man, wasn't he? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, very good." 
 
 I remembered that Roger had once shown me a letter 
 written by his father just before his death, commending 
 the precious mother to the little boy. It was a beautiful 
 letter, full of admonitions and advice, and brimming with 
 love. 
 
 Mrs. Everard half raised herself in bed. " I was not 
 married to your father when your eldest brother was 
 born the little brother who died ! " 
 
 The last words came out with a rush, and she laid back 
 white and spent. 
 
 Roger sat gazing at her as if transfixed into stone. 
 
 She gathered herself together for one more effort, and 
 her unseeing eyes were filled with a strange, mysterious 
 fear. " I've always hoped that that sin was 
 atoned for ! But if if he is in darkness -. " 
 
 She turned toward me, gray faced and hopeless, and I 
 cried: 
 
 " Poor little mother ! Let Christ, not man, decide what 
 to do with our children. No man is able, no man compe- 
 tent, to say to dare to say that the little child who is 
 dead is not with Him ! " 
 
 That seemed to give her strength. " If I have doomed 
 my little son's soul to misery, I must have committed the 
 unpardonable sin ! " 
 
 Her words rose hysterically high, pitched to a treble 
 so shrill that had the nurse been listening outside she must 
 have heard.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 817 
 
 I saw shudder after shudder run through Roger's body ; 
 but he clung like death to the withered hands. Then the 
 voice came, still sharp with anxiety. 
 
 " I loved the child better than myself " 
 
 She choked for breath, and for a moment I thought 
 she was gone ; but she rallied, drew one hand away from 
 Roger, and felt for me. I could not bear the agonizing 
 appeal, and put my lips close to her ear. 
 
 " Can you hear me ? " I called. 
 
 " Yes," she breathed. 
 
 " Mother, don't turn from me ! " It was Roger's cry ; 
 but she didn't heed it, but tried to search my face with her 
 vacant eyes. I turned frantically upon Roger. 
 
 "Let me assure her. What do you know about 
 a woman's love? " 
 
 " Speak then, speak, quick ! " That was from Roger. 
 With an effort I bent over the white face. 
 
 " You can hear me, Mrs. Everard? " I asked again. 
 
 The drawn lips formed a voiceless assent. 
 
 " You believe that Christ was sent by the God of love ? " 
 
 Again the lips moved. 
 
 " He does not say there is any sin that will keep us 
 away from Him in the next life. You loved Roger's 
 father?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," she managed to bring out, " and I married 
 him afterward." 
 
 Roger kissed the limp hands passionately. With brim- 
 ming eyes I forced my voice into the dull ears : 
 
 " I know that you will see your husband and your little 
 child in the Holy of Holies, with the Christ you love and 
 have served ! " 
 
 I tried to make my voice carry conviction. She heard 
 me; for the light of a great joy flashed over her. As if 
 the blindness had been stricken from her, she raised her- 
 self in the bed, almost tearing her hands from Roger.
 
 318 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " I see, I see ! They are here my husband and the 
 little boy!" 
 
 The tones were so infinitely tender and pathetic that it 
 must have been that ministering angels were in the room. 
 The vision faded with her death. Her loved ones had come 
 for her, and the weary spirit fled with them. The gray 
 head fell forward, and Roger uttered a cry. 
 
 " Mother, speak once more ! Phyllis ! I am the 
 chief of sinners ! " 
 
 Roger's cry and his words brought my husband to my 
 side. He slipped one arm about me and allowed the other 
 to fall upon Roger Everard's shoulder. 
 
 " Old man," he said huskily, " stand up ! Don't cry that 
 way don't ! " 
 
 In sympathy, I too touched the bowed man, and my 
 eyes flashed to the dead woman on the bed. It must have 
 been the shudder that ran over me that made Bruce lead 
 me toward the door and out. 
 
 " Let's leave him alone with her," he whispered, and 
 when we were in the hall my husband drew me close, and 
 I sobbed with hidden face against his breast. 
 
 Suddenly a pistol-shot rang out from the room where 
 death had so lately entered. Bruce dropped me and 
 rushed back. I followed close upon him. 
 
 Roger lay across the bed almost upon his mother's face. 
 His eyes, glazed and dying, were turned toward us. He 
 raised his limp hand to stay Bruce from lifting him, and 
 whispered : 
 
 " Phyllis ! Phyllis ! " 
 
 Bruce pushed me forward, and I bent over to catch 
 Roger's whisper. 
 
 " I'm so sorry, Child dear so sorry ! Forgive, for- 
 give!" 
 
 For an instant I saw in the blanched, dying face an 
 expression like my baby's. I forgot Bruce, everyone.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 319 
 
 I knelt down and sobbed out, " I have forgiven long ago, 
 Roger ! I have, I have ! " 
 
 With the last rallying of his sinking strength, Roger 
 lifted his head. " Shield her, Stewart," he whispered, 
 " and love her ; for she is good, with a soul as big as 
 God's ! " He raised suddenly and in one effort placed his 
 lips to his dead mother's face. " Poor little mother ! " he 
 breathed. " Take me, too, your boy, your baby ! " 
 
 Then he died, and I don't remember anything more 
 until, when daylight came back to me, Bruce was leaning 
 over me bathing my face.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVH 
 
 OUT of my casket of dear memories, I take those 
 last two hours I spent with Bruce after Roger's 
 death. 
 
 He made no effort to persuade me to take up my life 
 with him, and, much to the disgust of Zadie, he kissed me 
 sadly and went away. As much as I desire and miss him, 
 I would gather the tangled threads of my life together 
 by myself. Bruce, in delicate understanding, realized 
 this. 
 
 " Phyllis," he said, " my life belongs to you call me 
 if you need me." 
 
 " Bruce darling," I responded in tears, " may I call 
 you when I want you? There can be no more needs." 
 
 " God speed the day ! " he whispered, kissing me. " Do 
 you love me a little ? " 
 
 " Bruce," I answered brokenly, " every good impulse 
 in me comes from you. You have been my friend, my 
 savior. When we begin, I want to have forgotten in a 
 measure." 
 
 " I understand, sweetheart wife. You have but to 
 speak, and I shall come." 
 
 * 
 
 I had intended to resume my habit of writing every day 
 in this book; but a fortnight has elapsed since the after- 
 noon Father Beulais sent his card in to me with the request 
 to see me on urgent business. 
 
 I found him waiting for me in the little dining-room, 
 and he took my hand in silence. I could see he was moved^ 
 
 MO
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 321 
 
 and hoped he would ask me something that would enable 
 me to show my appreciation of his kindness in the past. 
 
 " Pardon my troubling you," he began. " I am going 
 to beg you to do something that may seem strange. I 
 shall not be surprised if you object." 
 
 " It would have to be very difficult before I refused to 
 comply with any request of yours, Father Beulais." 
 
 His face colored slightly as he bowed acknowledgment. 
 " It is difficult, I assure you." 
 
 " Let me decide," I entreated. 
 
 " I want you to go with me to see Lady Jane Grey." 
 
 I was struck dumb. He had asked the one thing in all 
 the world I could not grant. To see Lady Jane would 
 be like unearthing all that was most hateful in my past 
 life. 
 
 " I was almost sure you would refuse," put in the priest ; 
 " but perhaps you will listen if I tell you something about 
 her." 
 
 All that I had suffered at the hands of the woman of 
 whom he was speaking rushed over me. I could see the 
 beautiful face, hear again the low laugh that had escaped 
 from her lips as she left us after she had succeeded almost 
 in ruining my life. 
 
 Father Beulais went on without waiting for me to an- 
 swer. " She is dying, and she asked for you." 
 
 Still I could not force myself to speak. My heart was 
 rigid with painful memories. 
 
 " She says that you are her enemy, and that she can't 
 die without your forgiveness." 
 
 " You may tell her," I replied in a low voice, " you may 
 tell her that I do forgive her." 
 
 " I told her that," answered Father Beulais. 
 
 " Do you think it is my duty to go? " I asked in a fright. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Quickly I dressed to accompany him, and } we drove in
 
 S22 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 silence to the familiar door of the house that for so long 
 had been my only home. 
 
 I followed the priest upstairs, with but a hasty glance 
 at the door of my former rooms. The aroma of stewing 
 coffee drifted into my nostrils and told me that the brief 
 day of the cocottes of Paris had begun. Father Beulais 
 turned the handle of Lady Jane's door, and without a 
 word I went in after him. There was the same odor of 
 patchouli and cheap soaps that was characteristic of the 
 place. My mind went back to the time I had first seen the 
 rooms through the crack in the panel, when Roger was 
 with Lady Jane. 
 
 The priest and I stole through the small entrance, and 
 found her stretched out on the bed, with the pallor of 
 death fast spreading over the beautiful face. My dread 
 of her changed into pity at the sight. The lovely auburn 
 hair lay in confusion over her shoulders and about the 
 pillows, while her fingers plucked nervously at the white 
 counterpane. At the sound of footsteps she looked toward 
 us. Father Beulais went up to the bed and touched her 
 hand. 
 
 " She is here," he said in a low tone. 
 
 She nodded, and her eyes asked him another question. 
 
 " I have not told her yet," he said, bending over the 
 bed. 
 
 Saying this, he held out his free hand to me, and I ad- 
 vanced softly to the bedside and smiled down upon Lady 
 Jane Grey. I have never seen eyes so changed. They 
 were large, luminous, and beautiful. The hate had died 
 within them, and they sought my face with inexplicable 
 pleading. 
 
 " You wanted to see me? " I asked. 
 
 " Out! " The pain racking her slender body drew her 
 lips into a thin line.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 " Lady Jane," I whispered, " tell me what you desire. I 
 shall be glad to help you.'* 
 
 Again her eyes sought those of the priest, and Father 
 Beulais went out. 
 
 " I want you to forgive me," Lady Jane whispered. 
 " It's easy now for you. I'm going away, while you're to 
 stay. You've heard about Larodi? " 
 
 " No," I replied, shaking my head. 
 
 " He left me not long after Father Beulais married us, 
 and I had to come back here. He went away." 
 
 She writhed in agony at the telling, and I grasped both 
 her hands in mine. They were so emaciated and hot that 
 I shuddered involuntarily. 
 
 " Don't try to tell me if it hurts you." 
 
 "I must, I must!" 
 
 " Then rest awhile." 
 
 I smoothed back the long hair from a brow covered with 
 beads of perspiration. 
 
 " Vous etes gentille! " she whispered in French, only to 
 repeat it in English, " You ees so kind ! " 
 
 As her lips moved -again, I leaned over and caught : 
 
 " Casperone started for America. He was in that boat 
 that was wrecked, the Carlyle" 
 
 " In the steamer that was run down at sea? " I asked 
 quickly. 
 
 " Yes, and since he left I've been waiting and waiting 
 to hear. But it's too late now." She buried her head in 
 the high pillow. 
 
 " But you will get better, Lady Jane. We will have 
 the best medical advice for you. You must try and think 
 that you are going to get well." 
 
 " Non, non! The doctor says I have to go. But I 
 couldn't be content to die without seeing you, Madame." 
 
 All the pitying emotions in me were aroused for the
 
 324 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 girl on the bed. I felt ashamed of the feelings I had har- 
 bored against her. She looked so wan and worn and 
 helpless, that I sank down by her side. 
 
 "Lady Jane," I pleaded, "if there is anything you 
 want me to do, you have but to tell me." 
 
 I did not look round as Father Beulais reentered the 
 room, nor did I note that he had someone with him. It 
 was not until I saw a strange expression on the dying 
 woman that I slowly followed her gaze. My husband 
 stood beside the priest at the foot of the bed ! 
 
 If I am truthful, I must admit that my breath left me, 
 while my heart refused to beat for what seemed at least 
 half a minute. Lady Jane held out her hand, and Bruce 
 came opposite to where I sat and took it. He smiled at 
 me, and I smiled back at him. It was one of those silent 
 moments when each of us understood. I knew then that 
 all these months I had been stilling a love that, had I 
 dared face it, would have loomed larger than life itself. 
 
 As my husband bent over the little woman, she raised 
 her arm and waved him back. I wondered at the time why 
 she had done it; but the presence of death, the grave 
 priest, and Bruce made me powerless to reason. I was 
 recalled by hearing Bruce speak. 
 
 " Jane, you sent for me, too? '* 
 
 " Oui, oui! " 
 
 , "You are ill. I'm sorry. Father Beulais says that 
 you want me to do something for you." 
 
 " Oui, oui! Will you find a home for my little girl? " 
 
 With a gesture stronger than I should have imagined 
 possible for one in her dying state, Lady Jane swept back 
 the coverlet, and there, almost under her arm, snuggled 
 against her breast, lay a babe so tiny that, unless it had 
 opened its mouth to sniff the air, I should have believed it 
 was a wax doll. 
 
 Father Beulais, telling his rosary, bowed his head, and
 
 "YOU ARE ILL. I'M SORRY. FATHER BEULAJS SA
 
 I AT YOU WANT ME TO DO SOMETHING FOR YOU.
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 325 
 
 Bruce and I stood opposite each other in silent wonder- 
 ment. 
 
 " Casperone can never come back to get her," Jane mur- 
 mured. " Can't you find somebody somebody good " 
 her voice had become a wail " who will take care of the 
 little Jeannette? I don't want her to live as I have done. 
 I should like her to be good like the women 
 good men marry. She won't have anyone, not anyone ! " 
 
 The wide eyes, shining big with anxiety, flashed from 
 Bruce to me, and in an agony of pleading glued their gaze 
 upon the priest. 
 
 " I don't want her to go to an orphanage," she hurried 
 on. " The sisters are good ; but they don't know how to 
 love. I want my little Jeannette to be loved. Father 
 Beulais says there are people who might want her ! " 
 
 Obeying an overwhelming impulse, I went hastily to 
 Bruce's side and bent over the baby. Its wee head was 
 covered with soft, auburn curls, and a pair of gray eyes, 
 velvety and beautiful, peeped out upon a new world. Lady 
 Jane's little child didn't look the least bit like my dead 
 boy, he was much larger and whiter, but I thought of 
 him as I watched the tiny fingers close and unclose. The 
 mother hunger awoke in my heart. 
 
 " Jeanne," I cried, " will you give your little Jeannette 
 to me?" 
 
 I shall never forget the hush that followed my question. 
 But for Bruce's spontaneous cry, one might have imagined 
 that the room was empty. Even Lady Jane lay like death, 
 staring up at me from under heavy-lashed lids. 
 
 " I will give her every happiness I can, Jane," I went 
 on. " She shall be loved as if she were my own baby. I 
 will shield her from evil, and she shall know life only at 
 its sweetest and cleanest. Will you give your little girl 
 to me? " 
 
 I've heard it said that women who, at sometime in their
 
 326 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 
 
 lives, have forgotten their womanhood, who have cut loose 
 the strings of conventionality, can never again feel grati- 
 tude; but this is untrue, as many other things told and 
 preached. For one brief instant, Jane sat straight up 
 in bed. She lifted the babe in her arms and smothered tha 
 red head and rosy face with passionate kisses. 
 
 " My angel, my little one tu vas etre heureuse tv, 
 vas " Then she murmured in English, " You ees to 
 be happy, Mtgnonne! " 
 
 She articulated the words feebly as she held the child 
 toward me. I snatched it as her arms loosened, and both 
 Bruce and Father Beulais lowered the woman again to 
 the pillow. The child broke into a dismal cry as eternal 
 silence fell upon Lady Jane Grey. 
 
 I stood mutely watching the men place the white hands 
 under the coverlet. Father Beulais brought the burning 
 candles to the head of the bed ; then he turned to Bruce. 
 
 " Monsieur Stewart," he asked, " are you satisfied that 
 your wife should have the child? " 
 
 When Father Beulais had put the question to him, Bruce 
 came over and looked down at the wee babe on my breast. 
 His face was beautiful to see, shining with love and intense 
 interest. 
 
 "Father Beulais," he replied softly, "this little child 
 has been given to my wife. It is hers now, and mine ! " 
 
 His eyes fell upon the silent figure on the bed, and 
 he stretched out his hand for mine. A thrill of love swept 
 over me, and I drew closer to him. 
 
 " God help us to give the little motherless girl happi- 
 ness ! " Bruce finished. 
 
 Before Father Beulais could reply, my husband's arms 
 were round me with passionate strength. 
 
 " Phyllis darling, beloved wife, are you never, never 
 coming to me? " 
 
 My glance crossed Father Beulais. His was full of
 
 WHEN TRAGEDY GRINS 327 
 
 mute insistence, Then, with abrupt vehemence, he burst 
 out: 
 
 1 'It is God's will ! Bless His Holy Name !" 
 While I was wrapped closely in Bruce's arms, the priest 
 knelt near the dead woman. Without speaking, I softly 
 sank to my knees at his side. Bruce followed me, and our 
 hands met in silent prayer. In the solemn hush, broken 
 only by the rhythmical sound of the rosary beads as the 
 priest's fingers slipped over them, we two, my strong hus- 
 band and I, began our life together. 
 
 THE END 
 
 fF\)ou have enjoyed reading " WHEN TRAGEDY 
 GRINS," you will be equally pleased with "'Gcss 
 of the Storm Country" and "From the Valley of the 
 Missing" by the same author. These books are non> 
 published in a popular edition at fifty cents each and 
 represent the greatest Valut for the money ever offered 
 the reading public.
 
 Says "T&e Boston Globe" in 
 reviewing Grace Miller White's 
 novel "From the Valley of the 
 Missing* : 
 
 'Wherever there is a mother there 
 ought to be a reader of 'From the 
 Valley of the Missing, 'or. at least a 
 sympathizer with its unaffected 
 pathos. A mother could not put this 
 book aside without finishing it. It 
 grips the heartstrings. It is wholly 
 human and incessantly alluring. 
 There is not a superfluous scene or, for 
 that matter, hardly an unnecessary 
 word in it."
 
 A 000036194 9