You will choose to gaze rather after this shadowy vision of the fair, golden hair that lies tranquilly on the high and beautiful forehead; the face, pale as pallor itself, which seems to have no color, except in eyes and lips: the eyes so large and blue; the lips with their story of firm courage and true genius, so grand in calm. A figure, however, not likely to attract the many, but whom it held for once it held forever.
So the organist came to the room of Adam von Gelhorn.
She knew his working hours and habits, it seemed; at least, she did not fail to find him, and at work.
As she stepped forward into the apartment, before whose door she had paused a moment, no trace of embarrassment or of irresolution was to be seen in face, eye, or movement.
But the artist, who arose from his work, was taken by surprise.
The armor of the world did not suffice to protect him at this moment. He was at the mercy of the woman who was here.
"Mrs. Edgar!"
"Adam."
"Here!"
"To thank you for the flowers, and to warn you that setting them in deserts is neither safe nor providential."