"'Hadn't he ever tried to break away?' I asked her, amazed. 'To leave them? To go back?'
"She told me: 'Oh, no, he was the only support his mother and his sister had, and there were all the little children. He had to stay.'"
The actress broke in fiercely: "Oh, stop! stop! it makes me sick to hear. I could boil them in oil, that family! Quick! You saw him? You brought him away? You"
"I saw him," said Vieyra, "yes, I saw him."
Madame Orloff leaned toward him, her eyebrows a line of painful attention.
"I drove that afternoon up to a still tinier village in the mountains near where he lived, and there I slept that night —or, at least, I lay in a bed."
"Of course, you could not sleep," broke in the listening woman; "I shall not to-night."
"When dawn came I dressed and went out to wander until people should be awake. I walked far, through fields, and then through a wood as red as red-gold—like nothing I ever saw. It was in October, and the sun was late to rise. When I came out on an uplying heath, the mists were just beginning to roll away from the valley below. As I stood there, leaning against a tree in the edge of the wood, some cows came by, little, pinched, lean cows and a young dog bounding along, and then, after them, slowly, an old man in gray—very lame."
The actress closed her eyes.
"He did not see me. He whistled to the dog and stroked his head, and then as the cows went through a gate, he turned and faced the rising sun, the light full
