. \" \"Would you like me to carry some of the books? I have nothing to bring home today. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. "There it is!" cried Sir James, eagerly. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. Since morning he had become fanatical; the atoms of common sense no longer functioned in the accustomed groove. A few more minutes, and she was safe.
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