“My Darling—in three more days I shall stand before a Paris audience. I am not one bit nervous. I am perfectly happy. Yesterday at rehearsal the orchestra applauded and Madame Bordier kissed me. Some very droll things happened. Achilles was intoxicated and chased Ajax the Less with a stick. Ajax fled into my dressing room, and although I was not there I told Achilles afterward that I would never forgive him. Then he wept.”
The letter ran on for a page more of lively gossip and then, with a sudden change, ended:
“But why do I write these foolish things to you? Ah! you know it is because I am too happy! too happy! and I cannot say what is in my heart. I dare not. It is too soon. I dare not!
“If it is that I am happy, who but you knows the reason? And now listen to my little secret. I pray for you, yes, every morning and every evening. And for myself too—now.
“God forgives. It is in my faith. Oh! my husband, we will be good!
“Thy Yvonne”
Gethryn’s eyes blurred on the page and he sat a long time, very still, not offering to open his remaining letters. Presently he raised his head and looked into the street. It was dusk, and the lamps along the lake side were lighted. He had to light his candles to read by.
The next was from Braith—a short note.
“Everything is ready, Rex, your old studio cleaned and dusted until you would not know it.
“I have kept the key always by me, and no one but myself has ever entered it since you left.