As they returned to their carriage, Martha, who during the recent scene had been furtively watching her friend’s face, now saw upon it an expression which she was at a loss to account for. Was it, she wondered, religious devotion, stirred by the associations of the church, which made the lovely face beside her look so passionately tense with feeling? For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what her friend’s religion was.
“Are you a Catholic, Sonia?” she said.
The answer came impulsively:
“No, I am not a Catholic. It is easier to say what I am not than what I am—except that, before and beyond all, I am a miserable woman.”
As these words escaped her the lack of self-control of which they gave proof was so alarming to her that she begged her friend to take her home at once, saying that she was really not well, and must be alone to rest. Martha felt chilled and hurt. It was all so disappointing, and she seemed so completely put at a distance. The day which she had looked forward to with such eager joy had turned out dreary and sad. There was nothing to do, however, but to drive her friend back to her apartment.
When they got there, Sonia turned and kissed her warmly, but said nothing; and Martha drove home, feeling lonely and perplexed.
She did not expect to see the princess at the atelier next morning; but to her amazement, when she got there quite early herself, the beautiful, lithe figure was already before the easel, hard at work. There was, moreover, an air of strength and self-reliance about her which offered the greatest contrast to her manner of the day before.
As Martha came into the room, Sonia, who was one of the quiet group around the model—a thin child who twitched and wriggled and could not keep still for two consecutive minutes—waved her a welcome with a little flourish of her brush, and gave her a bright, decided nod. It was too late for Martha to get a position near her, so talk was impossible until the midday recess; but that gesture, glance, and bow of the head were enough of themselves to put new spirit into the girl, and she found her place, and fell to work, going ahead with more vim than she had been able to command for a long time.
When rest-time came the two friends showed their canvases to each other, and both of them could see the improvement in their work. Feeling much encouraged, they went off to the butcher’s shop, selected their chops, and while waiting for them to be cooked, sat at their little table in the crémerie, and talked.
At first they spoke only of their atelier work and Etienne’s criticisms and suggestions; but when that was pretty much talked out for the moment, Sonia, with a sudden change of manner, said abruptly: