want to know if you keep specimen prints of all the photographs you
have made within the past few months, and, if so, I should like to see
them."

The young Jew went to a wooden portfolio-holder which stood in a corner,
and dragged it out into the light.

"I have them all here," said he--"everything that I have made within the
past ten or twelve months. If you will let me draw up a chair you can
look them over comfortably."

He glanced at his former patron with a little polite curiosity as Ste.
Marie followed his suggestion, and began to turn over the big
portfolio's contents; but he did not show any surprise nor ask
questions. Indeed, he guessed, to a certain extent, rather near the
truth of the matter. It had happened before that young gentlemen--and
old ones, too--wanted to look over his prints without offering
explanations, and they generally picked out all the photographs there
were of some particular lady and bought them if they could be bought.

So he was by no means astonished on this occasion, and he moved about
the room putting things to rights, and even went for a few moments into
the studio beyond until he was recalled by a sudden exclamation from his
visitor--an exclamation which had a sound of mingled delight and
excitement.

Ste. Marie held in his hands a large photograph, and he turned it toward
the man who had made it.

"I am going to ask you some questions," said he, "that will sound rather
indiscreet and irregular, but I beg you to answer them if you can,
because the matter is of great importance to a number of people. Do you
remember this lady?"

"Oh yes," said the Jew, readily, "I remember her very well. I never
forget people who are as beautiful as this lady was." His eyes gleamed
with retrospective joy. "She was splendid!" he declared. "Sumptuous! No,
I cannot describe her. I have not the words. And I could not photograph
her with any justice, either. She was all color: brown skin, with a
dull-red stain under the cheeks, and a great mass of hair that was not
black but very nearly black--except in the sun, and then there were red
lights in it. She was a goddess, that lady, a queen of goddesses-- the
young Juno before marriage--the--"

"Yes," interrupted Ste. Marie--"yes, I see. Yes, quite evidently she was
beautiful; but what I wanted in particular to know was her name, if you
feel that you have a right to give it to me (I remind you again that the
matter is very important), and any circ