My little princess had found a prince in her own country, and, considering the laws of attraction, his sudden appearance in Paris ought not to have been a surprise to her.  But, to his discomfiture, and even anger, Helen refused to see him.  She had bidden him good-bye at home, she said; they would not be married for three years, if they ever were:  she was going to devote herself to her music; and she did not wish to see him here.  When he had completed his studies and their engagement was announced (it was only a mutual understanding now) there would be time enough to see each other at home.  Excellent reasoning! but a fortnight later a tiny hand slipped between my eyes and the Figaro a little note on which I read: 

“Dear Fred:  I think I should like to say good-bye again.

“Yours, Helen.”

The dark eyes looked half shyly, half coaxingly into mine.

“Well,” said I, “Katrine will mail it for you.”

The next day I saw for the first time Mr. Frederic Denham.  He was tall and slender; with a sallow complexion, rather dull gray eyes and black hair, by no means handsome, but sufficiently well-looking to please a friendly eye.  In his manners there was a coldness and reserve which passed for haughtiness.  He was said to possess great talents and ambition, and Helen had the fullest belief in his genius and success.  Not Goethe himself was a greater man in her eyes.

I had frequent opportunities of seeing them together, for, according to French ideas, nothing is more improper than to leave a young man and woman a moment by themselves.  Was it my fancy that he seemed too much absorbed in himself, too little sensible of the rare good-fortune which made him the favored lover of the beautiful Miss St. Clair?  It might be so, but others shared it.

“What ails the American?” asked Madame Le Fort.  “Is it possible that he is not in love with that fascinating young creature?  Or are all your countrymen so cold and inanimate?  Elle est ravissante, adorable!  I cannot comprehend it.”

“Probably,” I replied, “he has too much reserve and delicacy to make a display of his feelings in the presence strangers.”

But I was not satisfied.  The more I watched them, the more I perceived a lack of deference to her opinions and respect for her judgment—­an irritating assumption of superior wisdom, as if he had worn the visible inscription, “I will accept homage, but not suggestions.  Offer incense and be content.”  Would the little princess be content?  I saw symptoms of rebellion.

“Do you think I am a little fool, Madame Fleming?” she asked with heightened color and impetuous tone, turning suddenly to me while they were conversing apart one evening.