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TO COME THERE WITH THE BIANCA WAS TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE EXISTENCE OF A TIE
Out in the cool of the falling night the pulses throbbing in his temples abated, and his reason asserted itself. There in the night waited his lady of Heart's High Worship — waited the cool, shrined maid of the level, gray eyes; the woman who, wise and woman-tender, had promised to be his wife. He knew that he loved her with all the fineness in him, with every breath he drew in his noblest moments, with the real, manlove of him. He knew that it was she to whom he turned in his aspirations and strivings for the better things ; it was she whom he dreamed of cradling his children on her white breast; it was she to whom he knelt with supplicating, silent prayer when, shamed and bruised of respect, he came from the exotic presence of the dancer who had enslaved the baser self.
They were the cynosure of all eyes as they entered the Pavilion du Bois late that evening. To come there with the Bianca was to acknowledge the existence of a tie, and Pierre knew that to its most dire certainty. There had been rumors of his infatuation
abroad, but they had been only rumors ; and, so long as he kept his liaison confined to the proper places and did not flaunt it in the eyes of his world, no one had anything to say. This was different. This was brazenry, and the inhabitants of the clique within whose charmed circle Pierre de Brezeux had moved and where such as the Bianca might never set foot, raised their penciled eyebrows and scandalmongered gluttonously. They craned their necks and wondered, breathlessly, whether Marthe Rozay, Pierre's affianced wife, would appear. They had not to wonder long. A slim figure, in softest gray — a queenly, light-poised figure, with an air of gentle, gracious dignity— entered, accompanied by her mother and father, and sat at the table only once removed from that where sat Pierre de Brezeux and his notorious inamorata.
Pierre tasted of the waters of Lethe that night. Wormwood were the horribly obvious charms of the dancer as he saw the dearer, rarer lures of Marthe fading forever beyond his