Her new husband was pleased to watch the astonished look on her face as tray after tray appeared on the grand table, each better than the next. He won’t be in uniform. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. What would happen to her? Would her soul be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?—as it had been those other times? Music—that took out of her the sense of reality, whirled her into the clouds, that gave to her will the directless energy of a chip of wood on stormy waters. Peste, but everything had become difficult.
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