‘Yes, miss. " So Ruth heard about the poets; she became tolerably familiar with the exploits of that engaging ruffian Cellini; she heard of the pathetic deafness of Beethoven; she was thrilled, saddened, exhilarated; and on the evening of the twelfth day she made bold to enter the talk. . ’ Kimble’s eyes widened. He had looked at it before without comprehension. She could not feel her own body. To-night I locked up my flat at six o’clock. “Of course, one lives differently in Paris, but then—Paris is Paris. I shall take to him as nat'ral as if he were my own flesh and blood afore long. “If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you.
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