The water-wagtail was her daily visitant, and the girl’s gay and often spiteful gossip helped to beguile her during this terrific heat.  Katharina’s mother made no difficulties; for Heliodora had gone to see her in all her magnificence, and had offered her and her daughter hospitality, some day, at Constantinople.  They were very likely going thither; at any rate they would not remain in Memphis, and then it would be a piece of good fortune to be introduced to the society of the capital by such people as their new acquaintances.

Martina thus heard a great deal about Paula; and though it was all adverse and colored to her prejudice she would have liked to see the daughter of the great and famous Thomas whom she had known; besides, after all she had heard, she could fear nothing from Paula for her niece:  uncommonly handsome, but haughty, repellent, unamiable, and—­like Heliodora herself—­of the orthodox sect.—­What could tempt “great Sesostris” to give her the preference?

Katharina herself proposed to Martina to make them acquainted; but nothing would have induced Dame Martina to go out of her rooms, protected to the utmost from the torrid sunshine, so she left it to Heliodora to pay the visit and give her a report of the hero’s daughter.  Heliodora had devoted herself heart and soul to the little heiress, and humored her on many points.

This was carried out.  Katharina actually had the audacity to bring the rivals together, even after she had reported to each all she knew of Orion’s position with regard to the other.  It was exquisite sport; still, in one respect it did not fulfil her intentions, for Paula gave no sign of suffering the agonies of jealousy which Katharina had hoped to excite in her.  Heliodora, on the other hand, came home depressed and uneasy; Paula had received her coldly and with polite formality, and the young widow had remained fully aware that so remarkable a woman might well cast her own image in Orion’s heart into the shade, or supplant it altogether.

Like a wounded man who, in spite of the anguish, cannot resist touching the wound to assure himself of its state, Heliodora went constantly to see Katharina in order to watch her rival from the garden or to be taken to call on her, though she was always very coldly received.

At first Katharina had pitied the young woman whose superior in intelligence she knew herself to be; but a certain incident had extinguished this feeling; she now simply hated her, and pricked her with needle-thrusts whenever she had a chance.  Paula seemed invulnerable; but there was not a pang which Katharina would not gladly have given her to whom she owed the deepest humiliation her young life had ever known.  How was it that Paula failed to regard Heliodora as a rival?  She had reflected that, if Orion had really returned the widow’s passion, he could not have borne so long a separation.  It was on purpose to avoid Heliodora, and to remain faithful to what he was and