f
she had left the metropolis, the fact could easily be ascertained by
examining the list of passports. Maurice walked on and on, until
gradually the clamorous city grew silent, and the streets were deserted.
Besides the vigilant police, only a few, late revellers, with uncertain
steps, and faces hardly more haggard than his own, passed him, from time
to time. Still he walked, carrying his hat in his hand, that the
night-breeze might cool his fevered brow.

There was a stir of wheels again, a waking-up movement around him;
shop-windows lifting their shutter-lids, and opening their closed eyes;
men and women bustling forward, with busy, refreshed morning faces.
Another day had dawned and brought its weight of anguish for endurance.
Maurice had paced the streets all night. The light that struck sharply
upon his bloodshot eyes first made him aware of the new morning. The
season for action then had arrived; the night had flown as a hideous
dream. He did not know into what part of London he had wandered, but
hailed a cab, sprang in, and gave the order to be driven to Morley's.
The distance seemed insupportably long. He was now tormented by the fear
that he should not reach his destination in time to take the first train
for Dover. When he alighted at the hotel, he learned that in less than
an hour the train would start. He dashed off a few, incoherent,
sorrowful lines to Bertha, hastily crammed his clothes into his trunk,
paid his bill, drove to the station, and secured a seat one moment
before the railway carriages were in motion.

After he had crossed the channel, and entered a railway coach at Calais,
utter exhaustion succeeded to his state of turbulent wretchedness.
Nature asserted her soothing rights, and poured over his bruised spirit
the balm of sleep. With reviving strength came renewed hope, and when he
awoke at the terminus, in Paris, he was inspired with the conviction
that he should find Madeleine in that vast metropolis,--a conviction as
firm as the belief he had entertained that he would behold her in
Scotland, and afterwards that he would discover her in London. He
hastened to the _bureau des passeports_, and examined the list. No
passport had been _vised_ to which her name was attached. It was then
certain that she was still in Paris. But what method could he devise for
a systematic search? He thought of the argus-eyed, keen-scented police,
who, with the faintest clew, can trace out any footprint once made