ot turn, but continued his way,
disappearing in the gloom of the large entrance hall. I gathered a
quick impression of litheness and a noiseless footfall, of a sleek,
black head, and something stirring within me, which was stronger than
curiosity. I wondered why he was quitting the Vicomte's service. Such
was my first sight of Charles Miste, and my first knowledge of his
existence.

The Vicomte had returned to his room, closing the door behind him,
upon which mademoiselle now tapped lightly.

"Father," I heard her say as she entered, "a gentleman wishes to see
you."

As I passed her, I caught the scent of some violets she wore in her
dress, and the spring-like freshness of the odour seemed a part of
herself.

The Vicomte received me so graciously that he and not I might have
been the applicant for a situation. Bowing, he peered at me with
short-sighted eyes.

"The English gentleman of yesterday," he said, indicating a chair.

"I took you at your word, Monsieur," I replied, "and now apply for the
post of secretary."

Taking the chair he placed at my disposal, I awaited his further
pleasure. He had seated himself at the writing-table, and was
fingering a pen with thoughtfulness or perhaps hesitation. The table,
I noticed, was bare of the litter which usually cumbers the desk of a
busy man. The calendar lying at his elbow was an ornamental cardboard
trifle, embellished with cupids and simpering shepherdesses--such as
girls send to each other at the New Year. The surroundings, in fact,
were indicative rather of a trifling leisure than of important
affairs. The study and writing-table seemed to me to suggest a
pleasant fiction of labours, to which the Vicomte retired when he
desired solitude and a cigarette. I wondered what my duties might be.

After a pause, the old gentleman raised his eyes--the kindest eyes in
the world--to my face, and I perceived beneath his white lashes a
great benevolence, in company with a twinkling sense of humour.

"Does Monsieur know anything of the politics of this unfortunate
country?" he asked, and he leant forward, his elbows on the bare
writing-table, his attitude suggesting the kind encouragement which a
great doctor will vouchsafe to a timid patient. The old Frenchman's
manner, indeed, aroused in me that which I must be allowed to call my
conscience--a cumbrous machine, I admit, hard to set going and soon
running down. The sport of this adventure, entered into in a spirit of
de