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 a buzz over her. It seems odd what you tell me of Miss Claudel. I never knew her to bear malice. And as to Mr. Conway, they have always been friends. She used to show me his letters when we were in Paris.

"'You know her, then?' "'Naturally. She is the Countess Palintzka's most intimate friend.' "'Ah!' said Gerome, with a slightly deferential tone.

"His companion looked up amused. 'And why not, pray? She's the best born American I know. She could use her arms by real right if she chose, and show quarterings enough to make her a chanoinesse; but she doesn't think of anything but her work.' "'Her work?' "'Dear me, yes. You've heard of Camille Descartes, haven't you? Of course. Well, you don't mean to tell me that you didn't know that was her nom de plume! She writes in French, you know. But this Miss Ford—I can't imagine her anything but a beautiful injured angel. Look 317