John received them, upon their arrival, with delightful hospitality, and they found that every possible arrangement had been made for their comfort in one of the best pensions of the city, as they preferred to be located thus, rather than in a less homelike hotel.
He had also a most attractive program planned for nearly every day of their stay, subject, of course, to their preferences. But Helen found herself more weary than she had anticipated on reaching Paris, and decided it would be best for her to keep quiet for a few days before attempting to do very much sight-seeing.
As usual, she was allowed to follow the dictates of her own judgment, while the others fell in with John's plans, and went about with their accustomed vigor.
The third day after their arrival, one of Helen's former patrons, who was residing just out of the city, and had known of her coming, came to call upon her, and, seeing that she was not quite herself, begged the Alexanders to give her up into her hands for a week or two, promising to give her every care, and take her about to whatever points of interest she desired or felt able to visit.
Dorothy was wise enough to see that it was not altogether weariness, but something of a mental strain, under which her mother was laboring, and she unhesitatingly, even eagerly, consented to the arrangement. So Helen was whisked away to Mrs. Hollis Hamilton's delightful villa, where, with an unacknowledged burden lifted from her heart, she began immediately to rally, and was quite herself again in a few days.
She saw John only twice after that, until the day before they were to leave Paris. They had planned several times to visit his studio, but something unforeseen had interfered each day. Now they could put it off no longer, and that afternoon found them all gathered in his rooms to view his treasures and have a little last visit together before their departure on the evening express for Italy.
It was the studio of an artist who had won both wealth and renown; richly furnished, artistically decorated, and hung with rare gems from his own brush, as well as from that of others; besides being graced with various costly curios, with some fine pieces of sculpture, upon which one could feast the eye for hours at a time, and never become weary of the privilege.
John had a few minutes' chat alone with Helen after they had made a leisurely circuit of the rooms together, and during which he explained, among other things—what interested her most—the underlying thought that had inspired the subject and been wrought into many of his pictures.
It was the last time he ever saw her, and the memory of her face as she listened to and talked with him never left him. As long as he lived, it shed its luster on his pathway. It was like a radiant star, newly risen, which would henceforth illumine the gloom of his darkened firmament and cheer his lonely hours.
She had been charming, had seemed to forget everything but her interest in what he had been doing since his visit to America. She showed herself well versed in art, also—that she had kept up with the times, and was even well posted upon some of his own more important works that had received honorable mention in some of the art journals. She was eloquent, winsome, and witty by turns. Her manner was frank and gracious, without a vestige of self-consciousness to suggest that she even remembered the tragedy of their earlier years; something as her attitude might have been toward a brother or a friend in whom she was deeply interested. And when at length they paused in a great bow window that overlooked a beautiful view beyond the sunlit Seine, she observed, with glowing eyes: