e highest bidder. She doesn't know what love is."

"What is love?"

"A passion stronger than all others, a force of nature absolutely
irresistible, something akin to thunder, to rising floods, a waterfall,
a storm----"

She gazed into my eyes, forgetting the reproaches which, in the
interest of her friend, had risen to the tip of her tongue.

"And is your love for her a force like that?" she asked. I had a strong
impulse to tell her everything.

But, supposing I did?... The bond between us would be broken, and,
without the lie which protected me from my criminal passion, I should
be lost.

Afraid of committing myself, I asked her to drop the subject. I said
that my cruel sweetheart was dead as far as I was concerned, and that
all that remained for me to do was to forget her.

The Baroness did her utmost to comfort me, but she did not cloak the
fact that I had a dangerous rival in the singer, who was on the spot
and in personal contact with his lady-love.

The Baron, evidently bored by our conversation, interrupted us
peevishly, telling us that we should end by burning our fingers.

"This meddling with other people's love affairs is utter folly!" he
exclaimed, almost rudely; the Baroness's face flushed with indignation.
I hastily changed the subject to avoid a scene.

The ball had been set rolling. The lie, originally a mere whim, grew.
Full of apprehension and shame, I told myself fairy tales which I ended
in believing. In them I played the part of the ill-starred lover, a
part which came easy enough, for with the exception of the object of my
tenderness, the fairy tales agreed in every detail with reality.

I was indeed caught in my own net. One day, on returning home, I found
"her" father's card. I returned his call at once. He was a little old
man, unpleasantly like his daughter, the caricature of a caricature.
He treated me in every way as he would his prospective son-in-law. He
inquired about my family, my income, my prospects. It was a regular
cross-examination. The matter threatened to become serious.

Wha