ANTOINE'S LOVES
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I.
ANTOINE ST. LUKE was supping with the Widow Cassner, and a good supper it was, daintily served and nicely cooked. Everything that the clever little woman did was executed with artistic feeling; and she herself was trim and neat and fair to look upon, with large, dark eyes and beautiful, white teeth.
Antoine admired the pretty little widow tremendously. They had been playfellows in early childhood, and in their youth the best of friends and comrades; and then their paths had stretched apart, or, rather, hers had suddenly diverged, while his had gone on much the same. A solitary, secluded path it was, hemmed in on either side by a wall which his own unsocial spirit had erected.
From his first school-days Antoine's world had been the world of books; he knew no other, nor cared to interest himself in outside explorations. His earliest ambition had been to own a library, and for the attainment of this end he had drudged and striven and denied himself the absolute necessities of ordinary existence.
As time went on he rapidly acquired a taste for unique volumes and rare editions. He hunted in old book-stalls and haunted the musty little shops where curious treasures were apt to be discovered. He hobnobbed with the well-known dealers and learned of them what next to covet.
And now, at forty years of age, he was the proud possessor of a valuable library, and nothing else. His small abode was shabby to the last degree, almost unfurnished. It was no wonder that the tasteful dwelling of pretty Mrs. Cassner seemed a bright paradise of cheer and comfort.
The widow's sitting-room was simple in all its furnishings, but ah, so cosey and attractive; and by the little air-tight stove the plump presiding genius of the place formed a most pleasing picture as she busied herself knitting bright-colored yams into gay stripes for afghans.
How easily she did things! Yes, and how well! Such muffins, and peach preserve, and potted chicken!
As Antoine sat upon the other side of the small, polished zinc on
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