er fingers with some books that lay on the table between us.
It may have been the effect of the lamp shade, but I thought her
colour heightened when I glanced at her face.

"It is hard to believe that you are honestly seeking a fortune, which,
when found, will enable another man to marry Lucille," she said
significantly, without looking at me. And I suppose she knew that
which was in my heart.

"Some day," I retorted, "you will have to apologise for having said
that!"

"Then others will need to do the same! Lucille herself does not
believe in you."

"Yes," I answered, "others will have to do the same, and thank you for
it."

"Lucille will not," answered Isabella, with a note of triumph in her
voice, "for she had reason to distrust you in Paris."

"You seem to be on very confidential terms with Mademoiselle."

"Yes," she answered, looking at me with quiet defiance.

"Is the confidence mutual, Isabella?" asked I, rising to go; and
received no answer.

When I bade good-night to Madame de Clericy, she was standing alone at
the far end of the room.

"Ah! mon ami," she said, as she gave me her hand, "I think you are
blinder than other men. Women are not only clothes. We have feelings
of our own, which spring up without the help of any man--in despite of
any, perhaps--remember that."

Which I confess was Greek to me, and sent me on my way with the
feeling of a hunter who, in following one all-absorbing quarry through
the forest, and hearing on all sides a suppressed rustle or hushed
movement, pauses to wonder whence they come and what they mean.

"Tell me," said Alphonse, who helped me with my heavy coat, "if you
have news of Miste or propose to follow him. I will accompany you."

He said it awkwardly, after the manner of one avowing an unworthy
suspicion of which he is ashamed. So Alphonse Giraud was to follow me
and watch my every movement, treating me like a servant unworthy of
trust. I made answer, promising to advise him of any such intention;
for Giraud's company was pleasant under any circumstances, and there
would be some keen sport in running Miste to earth with him beside me.

Thus I came away from Isabella's house with the conviction that she
and no other was my most active enemy. It was Isabella who had
poisoned Giraud's mind against me. He was too simple and honest to
have conceived unaided such thoughts as he now harboured. Moreover, he
was, like many good-hearted people, at the mercy of every w