d not count for a single moment," she added, with a
sudden tremor in her tone.

"You are right, of course," he answered, "and yet, Rachael, you must
remember this. You have finished with the world. I am compelled to
live in it."

"If you are," she rejoined, "is that any reason, Bertrand, why you
should pause to listen to the voices whose cry is meaningless? Think!
Remember the blind folly of it all. A decade, a cycle of years, and
the men who pass you in Pall Mall, and the women who smile at you from
their carriages, will be dead and gone. You--you may become the
Emperor of Time itself. Remember that!"

"And in the meantime, one has to live."

"Keep your head in the clouds," she said. "Make use of these people,
but always remember that in the light of what may come, they are only
the dirt beneath your feet. Remember that you may be the first of all
the ages to solve the great secret--the secret of carrying your
consciousness beyond the grave."

"Life is short," he said, "and the task is great."

"Too great for cowards," she answered. "Yet look at me. Do I despair?
I am seventy-one years old. I have no fear of death. I have learnt
enough at least to help me into the grave. That will do, Bertrand. Go
on with your breakfast, and burn that letter."

He tore it in half, and went to the sideboard to help himself from one
of the dishes. When he returned, Madame was drumming thoughtfully upon
the tablecloth with her long fingers.

"Bertrand," she said.

He looked toward her curiously. There was a new note, a new expression
in the way she had pronounced his name.

"The girl, the little fair fool of a girl with money--Lois Champneyes
you called her--where is she?"

"She is in London," he answered.

"With the Rochesters?"

"Yes!"

Rachael frowned.

"You find it difficult to see her, then?" she remarked, thoughtfully.

"I can see her whenever I choose to," he answered.

"You must marry her," Rachael said. "The girl will serve your purpose
as well as another. She is rich, and she is a fool."

"She is not of age," Saton said drily, "and Mr. Rochester is her
guardian."

"She will be of age very soon," Rachael answered, "and the money is
sure."

"Do we need it?" he asked, a little impatiently. "We are making now
far more than we can spend."

"We need money all the time," she answered. "At present, things
prosper. Yet a change might come--a change in the laws, a campaign in
the press--anything. Even the tru