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IN A WINTER CITY.
They brought her her chocolate, and she sipped a little of it, and lay still, looking at the myrtle and hearing the ringing of church bells from across the water; she was happy; it seemed to her that all her life before had not been happiness after all;—only pleasure.
An hour later her maid brought her a telegram. She opened it with a little impatience. Why should anything break in on her day dream?
It merely said that her brother was in Paris, and would come onward; and be with her that night. She let the papers fall, as though she were stung by an adder.
It recalled to her what she had forgotten.
