or murdered boy,--the boy I
loved. Oh how I loved him!"

This time her tears could not be controlled, and at the thought of
Alexander she sobbed again, as she had sobbed before. Hermione was too
much astonished and altogether thrown off her mental balance to know
what to do. Her amazement at discovering that her aunt had for more than
a year imposed upon Professor Cutter and upon the whole household was
almost obliterated in the horror inspired by Madame Patoff's words.
There was a conviction in her way of speaking which terrified Hermione,
and for a moment she was completely unnerved.

Meanwhile, Madame Patoff's tears ceased again. In the strange deception
she had practiced upon all around her for so long, she had acquired an
extraordinary command of her features and voice. It was only Hermione's
discovery which had thrown her off her guard, and once feeling that the
girl knew her secret, she had perhaps enjoyed the luxury of tears and of
expressed emotion. But this stage being past, she regained her
self-control. She had meditated so long on the death of her eldest son
that the mention of his name had ceased to affect her, and though she
had been betrayed into recognizing Paul, she had cleverly resumed her
play of apathetic indifference so soon as he had left her. Had Hermione
known of the early stages which had led to her present state, she would
have asked herself how Madame Patoff could have suddenly begun to act
her part so well as to deceive even Professor Cutter from the first.
But Hermione knew nothing of all those details. She only realized that
her aunt was a perfectly sane woman, and that she had fully confirmed
the fearful accusation against Paul.

"Go now, my child," said Madame Patoff. "Remember your promise. Remember
that I am a wretched old woman, come here to be left alone, to die.
Remember what I have told you, and beware of being deceived. You love a
murderer--a murderer--remember that."

Hermione stood a moment and gazed at her aunt's face, grown calm and
almost beautiful again. Her tears had left no trace, her thick gray hair
was as smooth as ever, her great dark eyes were deep and full of light.
Then, without another word, the young girl turned away and left the
room, closing the door behind her, and nodding a good-night to Mrs.
North, who sat by her lamp in the outer room, gray and watchful as ever.

If her aunt was sane, was she human? The question suggested itself to
Hermione's brain as sh