Her religion, forsooth! Herr Wilenski, one might be sure, talked little enough about his 'religion'.

What did Alma think as she listened?
Was she overcome by the despair of the artist-soul struggling in its immaturity?
Or did she smile, as ever, and congratulate herself on the five hours a day, and tell herself how soon she would reach perfection if there were real necessity for it?
Hopeless to comprehend a woman.

The senses warred upon the wit; seized by calenture, one saw through radiant mists.
He did not like the name 'Alma'.

It had a theatrical sound, a suggestion of unreality.
The _maestro_ knew his audience; he played but for a quarter of an hour, and the babble of tongues began again.

Rolfe, sauntering before the admirable pictures which hung here as a mere symbol of wealth, heard a voice at his shoulder.
'I'm very thirsty.