ver see me again." He released her hands, and
turned from her as though to leave the room.

Madame Patoff's mood changed. Though Alexander was more like her, she
possessed, too, some of the inexorable coldness which Paul had inherited
so abundantly. She now drew herself up, and retired to the other side of
the room. Paul's hand was on the door. Then she turned once more, and he
saw that her face was as pale as death.

"Go," she said, for the last time. "And above all, do not come back.
Unless you can bring Alexis with you, and show him to me alive, I will
always believe that you killed him, like the heartless, cruel monster
you have been from a child."

"Is that your last word, mother?" asked Paul, controlling his voice by a
great effort.

"My very last word, to you," she answered, pointing to the door.

Paul went out, and left her alone. In the corridor he found Professor
Cutter, calmly walking up and down. The scientist stopped, and looked at
Paul's pale face.

"Was I right?" he asked.

"Too right."

"I thought so," said the professor. "Do you mean to leave to-morrow?"

"Yes," answered Paul quietly. "I must eat something. I am exhausted."

He staggered against Dr. Cutter's strong arm, and caught himself by it.
The professor held him firmly on his feet, and looked at him curiously.

"You are worn out," he said. "Come with me."

He led him through the corridor to the restaurant of the hotel, and
poured out a glass of wine from a bottle which stood on a table set
ready for dinner. Paul drank it slowly, stopping twice to look at his
companion, who watched him with the eye of a physician.

"Have you ever had any trouble with your heart?" asked the latter.

"No," said Paul. "I have never been ill."

"Then you must have been half starved on your journey," replied the
professor, philosophically. "Let us dine here."

They sat down, and ordered dinner. Paul was conscious that his manner
must seem strange to his new acquaintance, and indeed what he felt was
strange to himself. He was conscious that since he had left his mother
his ideas had undergone a change. He was calmer than he had been before,
and he could not account for it on the ground of his having begun to eat
something. He was indeed exhausted, for he had hardly thought of taking
any nourishment during his long journey, and the dinner revived him. But
the odd consciousness that he was not exactly the same man he had been
before had come upon him as