hey say, and had nothing to
put to her back. When she got any money she spent it on a parcel
of hussies instead of buying clothes."

"And where is she living?"

"Right by, in a house in the Rue Vintimille."

"If that is so," replied M. Lecoq, severely, "I am astonished that
she is not here."

"It's not my fault, dear Monsieur Lecoq; I know where the nest is,
but not where the bird is. She was away this morning when I sent
for her."

"The deuce! But then--it's very annoying; I must hunt her up at
once."

"You needn't disturb yourself. Jenny ought to return before four
o'clock, and one of my girls is waiting for her with orders to
bring her here as soon as she comes in, without even letting her go
up to her room."

"We'll wait for her then."

M. Lecoq and his friend waited about a quarter of an hour, when Mme.
Charman suddenly got up.

"I hear my girl's step on the stairs," said she.

"Listen to me," answered M. Lecoq, "if it is she, manage to make
Jenny think that it was you who sent for her; we will seem to have
come in by the merest chance."

Mme. Charman responded by a gesture of assent. She was going
towards the door when the detective detained her by the arm.

"One word more. When you see me fairly engaged in conversation with
her, please be so good as to go and overlook your work-people in
the shops. What I have to say will not interest you in the least."

"I understand."

"But no trickery, you know. I know where the closet of your bedroom
is, well enough to be sure that everything that is said here may be
overheard in it."

Mme. Charman's emissary opened the door; there was a loud rustling
of silks along the corridor; and Jenny appeared in all her glory.
She was no longer the fresh and pretty minx whom Hector had known
--the provoking large-eyed Parisian demoiselle, with haughty head
and petulant grace. A single year had withered her, as a too hot
summer does the roses, and had destroyed her fragile beauty beyond
recall. She was not twenty, and still it was hard to discern that
she had been charming, and was yet young. For she had grown old
like vice; her worn features and hollow cheeks betrayed the
dissipations of her life; her eyes had lost their long, languishing
lids; her mouth had a pitiful expression of stupefaction; and
absinthe had broken the clear tone of her voice. She was richly
dressed in a new robe, with a great deal of lace and a jaunty hat;
yet she had a wretched expression; s