hile I made ready to
burst in upon the mystery that lay behind that closed door.

I took a run, and brought my shoulder to bear just above the lock,
wrenching the four screws out of the wood by the force of the blow. I
staggered into the dark passage beyond, with a sore shoulder and my
heart in my mouth. Madame and Lucille followed. I tried the handle of
the door leading from the passage to the Vicomte's study. The key had
not been turned.

"I will go in alone," I said, laying a hand on Madame's arm, who gave
me a candle and made no attempt to follow me.

[Illustration: MADAME EXPLAINED, AND THE TWO STOOD HAND IN HAND WHILE
I MADE READY TO BURST IN UPON THE MYSTERY THAT LAY BEHIND THAT CLOSED
DOOR.]

After all, the precaution was unnecessary, for the room was empty.

"You may come," I said; and the ladies stood in the dimly lighted
chamber. None of us had entered there since the Baron Giraud had come
to occupy it in his coffin. The dust was thick on the writing-table.
Some flowers, broken from the complimentary wreaths, lay on the floor.
The air was heavy. I kicked the withered lilies towards the fireplace,
and looked carefully round the room. The furniture was all in order.
Madame went to the window and threw it open. A river steamer, moving
cautiously in the dawning light, cast its booming note over the
housetops towards us. The frog in the fountain--a family friend--was
croaking comfortably in the courtyard below us.

"Lucille, my child," said Madame, quietly, "go back to bed. Your
father is not in the house. It will explain itself to-morrow."

But the face that Madame turned towards me, when her daughter had
reluctantly left us, was not one that looked for a pleasant solution
to the mystery. It is said that wherever a man may be cast he makes a
little world around him. But it seemed rather that for me a world of
hope and fear and interest and suspense was forming itself, despite
me, encompassing me about so that I could not escape it.

"I will go out," I said to Madame, and left her abruptly. I had no
plan or intention--for where could I seek the Vicomte at that
hour--but a great desire came over me to get away from this gloomy
house, where trouble seemed to move and live.

The streets were empty. I walked slowly to the _quai_, and then,
turning to the left, approached the palace of the D'Orsays, which
stood then, though to-day, in a fine irony, the broken walls alone
remain, amid the new glory of republi