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as it should be; if you were une amoureuse you would not be the dancer of genius that you are to-day."

"What of it?" she argued, with a stubborn, halfunconscious feeling of resentment, "will you teil me what I have missed in life? I've had a husband, lovers—I've got a child. And besides all that I have my dancing. It seems to me I have more than most women, and that I'm to be envied, rather than pitied."

"But, my dear friend, I would never dare to pity you!"

"But if you want to know the truth," she continued, as though the longing to be frank had swept her suddenly and would not be denied, "if you want to know the truth, I will teil you quite sincerely that I realize myself to be a cold woman, with no real desire for anything in life but my work. Love-affairs, somehow, don't seem to touch me at all—I am happier without them. And, that, Heinrich, is a confession I have never made to any one but you."

"When you are dancing, Lina, you make that same confession to every one who sees you!"

"Oh, that's nonsense!" she exclaimed. "Do you really mean to teil me that if I feil passionately in love with any one the quality of my dancing would be in any way affected?"

"I don't think that it would be," Heinrich pronounced after reflection. "I do not think such a thing possible, and therefore my remark was a foolish one. What I really meant, perhaps, was that no woman, no artist, could dance as you dance, with that strange detachment from all that is human, unless she was fundamentally cold. And therein lies your genius, because there have been technical prodigies before you, but never one, Lina, with the spiritual charm that you possess, the charm that enables you to enchant all who watch you."

"And yet," she said, "I know my limitations. I know,

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