dBooks desire

``But I do know what I am not. I am
not a wife.''
She sent away the maid, and sat there in the dressing-
room before the mirror, waiting, her glance traveling
about and noting the profuse and prodigal luxury. In
the corner stood a circular rack loaded with dressing-
gowns--more than a score of exquisite combinations
of silk and lace or silk and chiffon. It so happened
that there was nowhere in sight a single article of her
apparel or for her toilet that was not bought with
the general's money. No, there were some hairpins
that she had paid for herself, and a comb with widely
separated teeth that she had chanced to see in a
window when she was alone one day. Anything else?
Yes, a two-franc box of pins. And that was all.
Everything else belonged to the general. In the closets,
in the trunks--all the general's, part of the trousseau
he had paid for. Not an undergarment; not an outer
garment; not a hat or a pair of shoes, not a wrap, not
a pair of gloves. All, the general's.
He was in the door of the dressing-room--the small
wiry figure in rose-silk pajamas.


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