eatures, gray hair--what there
was of it--and a tiny black moustache curled up at the ends but not
waxed.

He came briskly forward and extended his hand.

"My dear Madame Clephane," he said in French, leading her to a chair,
"how can I serve you?"

"By listening to my story, your Excellency, and believing it," Mrs.
Clephane answered,--"and at the end not being too severe on me for my
misfortune and ignorance."

"That will not be difficult," he bowed, with a frank look of admiration.
"You come from Madame Durrand, I believe?"

"Yes--you know Madame Durrand?"

The Marquis nodded. "I have met her several times."

"I'm glad!" said she. "It may help me to prove my case."

"Madame is her own proof," was the answer.

For which answer he drew such a smile from Edith Clephane that in
comparison the secretary's smile was simply as nothing.

"Your Excellency overwhelms me," she replied. "I'm positively trembling
with apprehension lest I fail to--" she dropped into English--"make
good."

He laughed lightly. "You will make good!" he replied, also in English,
"Pray proceed."

And Mrs. Clephane told him the whole story, from the time she met Madame
Durrand on the steamer to the present moment--omitting only the
immaterial personal portions occurring between Harleston and herself,
and the fact that his taxi had escorted hers until she was at the
Embassy.

Her narrative was punctuated throughout by the Marquis's constant
exclamations of wonder or interest; but further than exclaiming, in the
nervous French way, he made no interruption.

And on the whole, she told her story well; at first she was a little
nervous, which made her somewhat at a loss for words; yet that soon
passed, and her tale flowed along with delightful ease.

"Now you have been a wonderfully gracious listener, your Excellency,"
she ended, "ask whatever questions you wish in regard to the matter; I
shall be only too glad to answer if I am able."

"Madame's narrative has been most detailed and most satisfactory," the
Marquis answered. "But let me ask you to explain, if you can, why Madame
Durrand has not made a written report of this matter to the Embassy?"

"I have no idea--unless she is ill."

"Broken bones do not usually prevent one from writing, or dictating, a
letter."

"It _is_ peculiar!" Mrs. Clephane admitted.

"What is the name of the hospital?" the Marquis asked.

"In the hurry and excitement I quite forgot to ask the name," she
rep