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fanned themselves frantically on the most bitter days, and where a gentle lunatic with eyes like a dog's bedizened her with what were left of the Brandenstein crown jewels.

In one wing of the castle was a chapel, where gaudy statues, bleeding hearts and paper roses ran rampant; in the other was situated a tiny theater, where once, years ago, Eitel Gustav's mother had encouraged the performance of amateur theatricals. It was here, on a little cramped stage with a provoking "rake," that Lina danced for her lover. In Paris the gossips said that he had built the theater specially for her. But Lina had fallen into an apathy of depression and cared not at all what Paris said of her. She danced at least once a week for the mimic court of Brandenstein, and sometimes, when she saw devotion in the Grand Duke's vague tired eyes, she could have wept for him, had she one single tear left for any one but herself.

And then, like a bombshell shattering this strange nightmarish existence, came Guy's letter. She read it once, twice, a third time, and feit dazed to think that he could say such frightful things to her. That it was the letter of one cruelly wounded, who insulted her out of despair, to conceal his own youthful pride and grief, did not once occur to her, for she was herself too deeply in love to make allowances for her lover. His letter reproached her bitterly, savagely, for her infidelity. He reminded her that they had once sworn to love each other all the days of their lives, and that in his view, despite their separation, they were bound together irrevocably, by every sacred tie save one. Now, however he would release her, and would furthermore in the future consider himself equally free. He wished her all good fortune in the profession she had chosen for herself, and would ever be honored that she had endured, even for two short months, the society of so insignificant a person as himself. It occurred to him, in-