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IN A WINTER CITY.

I am freer to seek you—that is all. Oh, my empress, my angel!—is not love enough? Has your life without love contented you so well that you fear to face love alone?"

He still knelt at her feet and kissed her hands and her dress, as he spoke; he looked upward at the pale beauty of her face.

She shivered a little as with cold. "That is folly," she muttered. "You must know it is of no use. I could not live—poor."

The word stung him; he rose to his feet; he was silent. After all, what had he to offer her? he loved her—that was all.

She loosened the loose chain about her throat, and looked away beyond him at the lights of the theatre. With an effort she recovered her old indifferent cold manner.

"You have forgotten yourself: it is all folly: you must know that: you surprised me into—weakness—for a moment. But it is over now. Give me my mask, and take me to the carriage."

"No!"——— He leaned against the door, and looked down on her: all the rapture of expectancy and of triumph had faded from his