She was with the great lovers.

Theophil remained behind only to write her name across the high stars.

Then he, too, would pass through the gates of fire to her side.
As he lay down to rest that night, his eyes fell with a sudden sense of freshness upon the familiar Botticelli's "Mother and Child," which hung over his fireplace; and a need that could never be fulfilled awoke in his soul.

If only Jenny could have left him a little child,--a little girl! He had not seemed so lonely then.
It was so he thought; yet perhaps Jenny's child would but have deepened his loneliness, like a bird singing in a garden where our love walked long ago.

Yet the cry was from his heart, and the longing brought with it his first tears.