The Dryad

The Dryad felt an uneasiness, a fear, as if she were in a place where she should not be. It was a house of silence, a great hall of mystery and secrecy. Everything was said in whispers or in silent trust.

Now the Dryad realized that she was wrapped in silk and a lace veil, like the ladies of wealth and noble birth. Was every one of them a child of desire and longing like herself?

A deep, painful sigh was heard; did it come from the confessional or from the bosom of the Dryad? She drew the veil more closely about her. She was breathing in incense fumes and not the fresh air. This was not the place she had long for.

"Away, away! Take flight, without rest! The May fly that lives but a day has no rest; her flight is her life!"

The Dryad was out again among the bright gas lamps and the magnificent fountains.

"Not all the water from the fountain can wash away the blood of the innocents slain here!"

Those words were spoken. Here stood many strangers who spoke in loud and lively tones, which no one had dared to do in the great hall of secrecy from which she had just come.

A big stone slab was turned and then raised - why, she did not understand. She saw an opening into the depths of the earth. The strangers stepped down, leaving the starlit sky, the brilliant gaslights, and all the life of the living.

"I'm afraid!" said one of the women who stood here. "I don't dare go down! I care little about seeing the wonders there. Stay here with me!"

"And go home?" said a man. "Leave Paris without having seen the most remarkable thing of all, the wonderwork of modern times, the result of one man's mind and skill?"

"I'll not go down there," was the reply.

"The wonderwork of modern times," it had been said. And the Dryad had heard this and understood. At last she was to reach the goal of her greatest longing, and here was the entrance - down to the vast depths beneath Paris. She had not expected this, but now she had heard about it, and had seen the strangers descend, and she followed them.