ce
more alone. The moments of their meeting had been few and short, but
they had more than sufficed to show that these two loved each other as
much as ever. Some time afterwards Paul had been alone with his mother
for half an hour and had frankly asked her whether she was able to hear
him speak of Alexander or not. Her face twitched nervously, but she
answered calmly enough that she wished to hear all he had to tell. But
when he had finished she shook her head sadly.

"You may find out how he died, but you will never find him," she said.
Then, with a sudden energy which startled Paul, she gazed straight into
his eyes. "You know that you cannot," she added, almost savagely.

"I do not know, mother," he answered, calmly. "I still have hope."

Madame Patoff looked down, and seemed to regain her self-control almost
immediately. The long habit of concealing her feelings, which she had
acquired when deceiving Professor Cutter, stood her in good stead, and
she had not forgotten what she had studied so carefully. But Paul had
seen the angry glance of her eyes, and the excited tone of her voice
still rang in his ears. He guessed that, although she had come to
Constantinople with the full intention of forgetting the accusations she
had once uttered, the mere sight of him was enough to bring back all her
virulent hatred. She still believed that he had killed his brother. That
was clear from her words, and from the tone in which they were spoken.
Whether the thought was a delusion, or whether she sanely believed Paul
to be a murderer, made little difference. Her mind was evidently still
under the influence of the idea. But Paul determined that he would hold
his peace, and it was not until later, when all necessity for
concealment was removed, that I learned what had passed. Paul believed
that in a few days he should certainly solve the mystery of Alexander's
disappearance, and thus effectually root out his mother's suspicions.

All this had occurred before dinner, and without my knowledge. Madame
Patoff seemed determined to be agreeable and to make everything go
smoothly. Even Chrysophrasia relaxed a little, as we talked of the city
and of what the party must see.

"I am afraid," said I, "that you do not find all this as Oriental as you
expected, Miss Dabstreak."

"Ah, no!" she sighed. "If by 'this' you mean the hotel, it is European,
and unpleasantly so at that."

"I think it is a very good hotel; and this rice--what do you