haps I've brought her to life!" But his brain worked quickly. He touched his pocket.
"I have a letter from her here," he said.
Petrovitch did not even ask to see it.
"Where is she?"
"In the same old place. She has never been out of it all these years. Why don't you go there and look her up the next chance you get? Do you know"—he drew his chair forward an inch or two—"I believe she's still fond of you?"
Petrovitch straightened himself and passed a hand over his forehead.
"I wrote her many letters. She has never replied. I thought she—I believed she was dead. During the war I could not go to Germany. I have not heard from her in twelve years."
"Well, you see," said Noel, "she hadn't every reason to be pleased with you, had she? You know what wives are."
The man was almost himself again. He shrugged his shoulders and thrust out his hands.
"I know what all women are."
Noel nodded.
"True. Perfectly true. Well . . . she's been a good wife to you, Petrovitch. She's let you go your own way, she's never bothered you. If you
