arming as she was, was neither
as beautiful, rich, or clever as a hundred women he had met. And yet
she was the one in the world he desired for his wife.

So concerned was he about her that, when they reached Dover, his first
thought was to examine the sea in order to convince himself that she
had had a good crossing. He boarded the steamer, the lines were cast
off, and presently the vessel's head was pointing for the Continent.
Little by little the English coast dropped behind them and the shores
of France loomed larger. Never before had the coast struck him as
being so beautiful. He entered the train at Calais with a fresh
satisfaction as he remembered that every revolution of the wheels was
bringing him closer to the woman he loved. The lights were lit in the
cafes and upon the boulevards, when he reached Paris, and as he drove
through the crowded streets in the direction of the hotel he usually
affected the city seemed all glitter, gaiety, and life.

Familiar as he was with the city, it seemed altogether different to him
to-night. The loungers in the courtyard of the hotel, the bustling
waiters, the very chambermaids, served to remind him that, while in the
flesh he was still the same John Grantham Browne, in the spirit he was
an altogether separate and distinct individual from the man they had
previously known. On reaching his own room he opened the window, leant
out, and looked upon Paris by night. The voice of the great city spoke
to him, and greeted him as with the sweetest music. Once more he was
sharing the same city with Katherine Petrovitch, breathing the same
air, and hearing the same language.

Shutting the window at last, he washed off the stains of travel,
changed his attire, and descended to the dining-hall.

Having no desire to lose time, he resolved to institute inquiries at
once about the Rue Jacquarie, and to seek, and if possible to obtain,
an interview with Katherine before she could possibly depart from Paris
again. How was he to know that Madame Bernstein's plans might not
necessitate another removal to Rome, Berlin, or St. Petersburg?--in
which case he might very easily lose sight of her altogether. He had
never trusted madame, and since her departure from England he was even
less disposed to do so than before. There was something about her that
he did not altogether appreciate. He had told himself that he did not
like her the first day he had met her at Merok, and he was even m