, if you knew why I ask you."

The kindliness and honest sincerity of the speaker's face were both so
apparent, that Rudolph smiled as he said--

"Suppose you tell me yours?"

"I have no cause to be ashamed of it. My name is Stephen, and men call
me `le Bulenger.'"

"Have they always called you so?"

"Are you going to catechise me?" laughed Stephen. "No--you are right
there. Fifteen years ago they called me `Esueillechien.' Now, have you
heard my name before?"

"I cannot say either `yes' or `no,' unless you choose to come home with
me to see my mother. She may know you better than I can."

"I'll come home with you fast enough," Stephen was beginning, when the
end of the sentence dashed his hopes down. "`To see your--mother!'
That won't do, young man. I have looked myself on her dead face--or
else you are not the man for whom I took you."

"I can answer you no questions till you do so," replied Rudolph firmly.

"Come, then, have with you," returned Stephen, linking his arm in that
of the younger man. "Best to make sure. I shall get to know something,
if it be only that you are not the right fellow."

"Now?" asked Rudolph, rather disconcertedly. He was not in the habit of
acting in this ready style about everything that happened, but required
a little while to make up his mind to a fresh course.

"Have you not found out yet," said Stephen, marching him into Saint
Paul's Churchyard, "that _now_ is the only time a man ever has for
anything?"

"Well, you don't let the grass grow under your feet," observed Rudolph,
laughing.

Being naturally of a rather dreamy and indolent temperament, he was not
accustomed to getting over the ground with the rapidity at which Stephen
led him.

"There's never time to waste time," was the sententious reply.

In a shorter period than Rudolph would have thought possible, they
arrived at the corner of Mark Lane.

"You live somewhere about here," said Stephen coolly, "but I don't know
where exactly. You'll have to show me your door."

"You seem to know a great deal about me," answered Rudolph in an amused
tone. "This is my door. Come in."

Stephen followed him into the jeweller's shop, where Countess sat
waiting for customers, with the big white dog lying at her feet.

"I'm thankful to see, young man, that your `mother' is no mother of
yours. Your flaxen locks were never cut from those jet tresses. But I
don't know who you are--" he turned to her--"unless Erm