at her youth had been. Lucille and I
watched her in silence.

"There," she said, and gave me the letter to pass to Lucille, who
received it from my hand without taking her eyes from her mother's
face. Then I quitted the room, leaving the two women alone. Madame
followed me presently to the study, and there gave me the Vicomte's
last letter to read. It was short and breathed of affection.

"Do not seek for me," it ran. "I cannot bear my great misfortunes, and
the world will, perhaps, be less cruel to two women who have no
protector."

Madame handed me the envelope, which bore the Passy postmark, and I
read her thoughts easily enough.

I saw John Turner again that evening, also Alphonse Giraud, who had
called at the Hotel Clericy during the day. With these gentlemen I set
off the next morning for Passy, taking passage in one of those little
river steamers which we had all seen a thousand times, without
thinking of a nearer acquaintance.

"This is gay," cried Alphonse, on whom the sunshine had always an
enlivening effect, as we sped along. "This is what you call
sport--_n'est ce pas_? For you are a maritime race, is it not so,
Howard?"

"Yes," answered I, "we are a maritime race."

"And figure to yourself this is the first time that I am afloat on
anything larger than a ferry-boat."

During our short trip Alphonse fully decided that if his fortune
should be recovered he would buy a yacht.

"Do you think you can recover it?" he asked quite wistfully, his mind
full of this new scheme, and oblivious to the mournful object of our
journey.

At Passy we were received with shrugging shoulders and outspread
hands.

No, such an old gentleman had not been seen--but the river was large
and deep. If one wanted--mon Dieu!--one could do such a thing easily
enough. To drag the river--yes--but that cost money. Ten francs a day
for each man. It was hard work out there in the stream. And if one
found something--name of a dog--it turned on the stomach.

We arranged that two men should drag the river, and, after a weary
day, went back to Paris no wiser than we came.

In this suspense a week passed, while I, unwilling to touch my
patron's papers until we had certain news of his death, could render
little assistance to Madame de Clericy and Lucille. That the latter
resented anything in the nature of advice or suggestion was soon made
clear enough to me. Nay! she left no doubt of her distrust, and showed
this feeling whenever