is she?"

"Her health is very good," replied M. Bocardon, shortly. He rang a bell.

A dilapidated man in a green baize apron emerged from the dining-room
and took Aristide's valise.

"No. 24," said M. Bocardon. Then, swinging his massive form halfway
through the narrow bureau door, he called down the passage, "Euphemie!"

A woman's voice responded, and in a moment the woman herself appeared, a
pallid, haggard, though more youthful, replica of Zette, with the dark
rings of sleeplessness or illness beneath her eyes which looked
furtively at the world.

"Tell your sister," said M. Bocardon, "that a relation of yours has
come to stay in the hotel."

He swung himself back into the bureau and took no further notice of the
guest.

"A relation?" echoed Euphemie, staring at the smiling, lustrous-eyed
Aristide, whose busy brain was wondering how he could mystify this
unwelcome and unexpected sister.

"Why, yes. Aristide, cousin to your good Aunt Leonie at Raphele. Ah--but
you are too young to remember me."

"I will tell Zette," she said, disappearing down the narrow passage.

Aristide went to the doorway, and stood there looking out into the not
too savoury street. On the opposite side, which was in the shade, the
tenants of the modest little shops sat by their doors or on chairs on
the pavement. There was considerable whispering among them and various
glances were cast at him. Presently footsteps behind caused him to turn.
There was Zette. She had evidently been weeping since they had parted,
for her eyelids were red. She started on beholding him.

"You?"

He laughed and shook her hesitating hands.

"It is I, Aristide. But you have grown! _Pecaire!_ How you have grown!"
He swung her hands apart and laughed merrily in her bewildered eyes.
"To think that the little Zette in pigtails and short check skirt
should have grown into this beautiful woman! I compliment you on your
wife, M. Bocardon."

M. Bocardon did not reply, but Aristide's swift glance noticed a spasm
of pain shoot across his broad face.

"And the good Aunt Leonie? Is she well? And does she still make her
_matelotes_ of eels? Ah, they were good, those _matelotes_."

"Aunt Leonie died two years ago," said Zette.

"The poor woman! And I who never knew. Tell me about her."

The _salle a manger_ door stood open. He drew her thither by his curious
fascination. They entered, and he shut the door behind them.

"_Voila!_" said he. "Didn't I tell you I