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cellent woman had no idea that she was assisting at an event so historie as the accouchement of a sylphide.

The unwanted baby was small, puny and exceedingly fretful. Lina called it Paul.

"Paul what?" Heinrich wanted to know.

"Paul Varsovin, of course."

"Do you love this baby?" he asked inquisitively.

"No." But she resumed, after a pause, "I am sorry for it. Poor little thing, no one wants it. And when I was little, no one wanted me. Really, Heinrich, I assure you, no one wanted me! And so this child, this little Paul, shall have everything to make him happy."

"Are you taking him back to Paris?" pursued Heinrich.

"To the rue d'Antin? Are you mad? No. He is to live here, with his nurse. And now let us talk about the Ondine."

"But, Lina, how can you afford to keep up two establishments and at the same time spend money on the d├ęcor and the choreography of this new ballet?"

"Oh, there are ways and means," she answered.

"I have no wish to interfere with your private life "

"Well, you are interfering with it," Lina pointed out, "so please stop, or I shall have to send you away."

Within three weeks of the baby's birth she was working at the bar, her energy redoubled by the long months of idleness. She was slimmer, more graceful than she had ever been before, and her long rest seemed to have given her a luster, a polish, that improved her looks quite remarkably.

"Varsovina is almost beautiful," said Weiss one day to Heinrich. "She always reminds me of jade, perhaps because she is clear-cut, as though she were carved from stone, but now it is as though the white jade of her skin had a light burning behind it. And her hair is black jade. Really she is beautiful!"

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