omestic arrangements being on a thoroughly liberal scale.' Here is also
a photographic view of the place: a charming villa, you see, in the best
French style. The lady's husband is an _avocat_; and every thing is
taught by professors--cosmography and pedagogy, and other studies of
which we never heard when I was a girl. Olivia is to stay there twelve
months, and in return for her services will take lessons from any
professors attending the establishment. Your mind may be quite at ease
now."

"But where is the place?" I inquired.

"Oh! it is in Normandy--Noireau," she said--"quite out of the range of
railways and tourists. There will be no danger of any one finding her
out there; and you know she has changed her name altogether this time."

"Did you discover that Olivia and Ellen Martineau are the same persons?"
I asked.

An expression of bewilderment and consternation came across her
contented face.

"No, I did not," she answered; "I thought you were sure of that."

But I was not sure of it; neither could Jack be sure. He puzzled himself
in trying to give a satisfactory description of his Ellen Martineau; but
every answer he gave to my eager questions plunged us into greater
uncertainty. He was not sure of the color either of her hair or eyes,
and made blundering guesses at her height. The chief proof we had of
Olivia's identity was the drunken claim made upon Ellen Martineau by
Foster, a month after he had received convincing proof that she was
dead. What was I to believe?

It was running too great a risk to make any further inquiries at No. 19
Bellringer Street. Mrs. Wilkinson was the landlady of the lodging-house,
and she had told Johanna that Madame Perrier boarded with her when she
was in London. But she might begin to talk to her other lodgers, if her
own curiosity were excited; and once more my desire to fathom the
mystery hanging about Olivia might plunge her into fresh difficulties,
should they reach the ears of Foster or his wife.

"I must satisfy myself about her safety now," I said. "Only put yourself
in my place, Jack. How can I rest till I know more about Olivia?"

"I do put myself in your place," he answered. "What do you say to having
a run down to this place in Basse-Normandie, and seeing for yourself
whether Miss Ellen Martineau is your Olivia?"

"How can I?" I asked, attempting to hang back from the suggestion. It
was a busy time with us. The season was in full roll, and our most
aristocra