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114ARIADNE.and went out of the Hght lovely house wherethe roses. were pushing between the columns,and the nightingales sang all the long springnights.For it was spring now once more" You are cruel to Maryx, my dear,"Isaid,timidly to her that evening, forIfelt timid withher, being ever afraid to touch some wound." He woulcl hurt him," she said, under herbreath, and her face flushed and grew whiteagain.Iknew that it woidd be useless to urge her.Ithink thatit was, without her knowing it,hersense of the love of Maryx which made her heartharden itself like stone to him:for to a womanwho loves greatly eventhe mereutteranceof anypassion from any other than the one she lovesseems a sort of insult,and to hearken to it wouldbe aninfidelity." Why did she let the god come to her; shecould have died first," she had said, long beforeof Ariadne;and she herself wouldhave died,thatbeingher reading of faithfulness. Andtruly thereis no other.