Dr. Grey had not seen a feature, but the _pose_ of the shoulders, the
haughty poise of the head, the quick, nervous, elastic step, and,
above all, the peculiar, free, childish swinging of the left arm, made
his despondent heart throb with renewed hope.

Keeping sufficiently near not to lose sight of her, he walked on and
on, down cross streets, up narrow alleys, towards a quarter of the
city with which he was unacquainted. The woman never looked back,
rarely turned her head, even to glance at those who passed her, and
only once she paused before a flower-stall, and seemed to price a
bunch of carnations, which she smelled, laid down again, and then
hurried on.

Dr. Grey quickly paid for the cluster, and hastened after her.

In turning a corner, she dropped a small parcel that she had carried
under her scarf, and as she stooped to pick it up, her veil floated
off. She caught it ere it reached the ground, and when she raised her
hands to spread it over her hat, the loose open sleeves of her dress
slipped back, and there, on the left arm, was a long, zigzag scar,
like a serpentine bracelet.

With great difficulty Dr. Grey stifled a cry of joy, and waited until
she had gained some yards in advance.

The woman was so absorbed in reverie that she did not notice the
steady tramp of her pursuer, but as the number of persons on the
street gradually diminished, he prudently fell back, fearing lest her
suspicion should be excited.

At a sudden bend in the crooked alley which she rapidly threaded, he
lost sight of her, and, running a few yards, he turned the angle just
in time to see the flutter of her dress and scarf, as she disappeared
through a postern, that opened in a crumbling brick wall.

Above the gate a battered tin sign swung in the wind, and dim letters,
almost effaced by elemental warfare, announced, "_Adele Aubin,
Blanchisseuse_."

Dr. Grey passed through the postern, and found himself in a narrow,
dark court, near a tall, dingy, dilapidated house, where a girl ten
years of age sat playing with two ragged, untidy children.

It was a dreary, comfortless, uninviting place, and a greenish slime
overspread the lower portions of the wall, and coated the uneven
pavement.

From the girl, who chatted with genuine French volubility and freedom,
Dr. Grey learned that her father was an attache of a barber-shop, and
her mother a washer and renovater of laces and embroideries. The
latter was absent, and, in answer to h