o through
the street of that name in the afternoon; but, when the time came, he
forgot about it, and it was not till next morning that he carried out
his intention. There was, however, nothing to be learned; number twelve
was a gunsmith's shop, and at his hesitating inquiry, if anything were
known there of a music-student called Krafft, the owner of the shop
looked at him as if he were a lunatic, and answered rudely: was the
Herr under the impression that the shop was an information BUREAU?

Louise was dressed to go out. Pressed as to her destination, she said
that she was going to see the body. Maurice sought in vain to dissuade
her.

"It's a perverse thing to do," he cried. "You didn't care a fig for the
girl when she was alive. But now she can't forbid it, you go and stare
at her, out of nothing but curiosity."

"How do you know whether I cared for her or not?" Louise threw at him:
she was tying on her' veil before the glass. "Do you think I tell you
everything?--And as for your 'perverse,' it's the same with all I ever
do. You have made it your business always to find my wishes absurd."
She took up her gloves and, holding them together, hit her muff with
them. "In this case, it doesn't concern you in the least. I don't ask
you to come. I want to go alone."

The more shattered and unsure he grew, the more self-assertive was she.
There was an air of bravado in all she did, at this time--as in the
matter of her determination to go to the dead-house--and she hurt him,
with reckless cruelty, whenever a chance offered. Her pale mouth seemed
only to open to say unkind things, and her eyes weighed him with an
ironic contempt. To his jarred ears, her very laugh sounded less fine.
At moments, she began almost to look ugly to him; but it was a
dangerous ugliness, more seductive than her beauty had ever been. Then,
he knew that she was not too good for him, nor he for her, nor either
of them for the world they lived in.

They walked side by side to the mortuary. It was a very cold day, and
Louise wore heavy furs, from which her face rose enticingly. The
attention she attracted was to Maurice like gall to a wound.

There was not much difficulty in gaining admittance to the dead. A
small coin changed hands, and a man in uniform opened the door.

The post-mortem examination had been held that day, and the body was
swathed from head to foot in a white sheet. It lay on a long,
projecting shelf, and a ticket was pinned on the