ange in the Count's conduct or
health, save that his brow was a little darker, and he was heard
occasionally muttering to himself.

On the morning of the third, a four-wheeled cab deposited at the door of
the hotel a young lady, who demanded somewhat haughtily to see the
manager. She was shown into the waiting-room, and in a few minutes he
appeared.

He had been expecting a visit from an applicant for the post of
assistant bookkeeper, and he entered the room with a little less than
his usual ceremony, under the impression that this was she. He found
himself confronted with a tall, slim girl, elegantly but simply dressed
in plain black clothes. She carried herself with the dignity of a queen,
and before the quick glance of her flashing black eyes he felt himself
abashed into making a low bow. There was something foreign in her
appearance, but something eminently aristocratic.

"Good-morning, madam."

She disdained to notice the salutation, and, holding out a paper toward
him, pointed with her long slim finger to the advertisement column.

"I have come about this paragraph. Take me to him!"

"With the greatest pleasure, madam," he answered, bowing. "May I be
permitted to ask, are you a relation of the Count's?"

"Certainly, I am his niece," she answered, frowning. "Take me to him at
once. I don't choose to be kept waiting," she added impetuously.

The manager bit his lip, and bowed again to hide a smile. It seemed to
him that if this young lady failed to rouse his eccentric visitor the
task was hopeless indeed.

"Will you pardon me, madam, if I detain you one moment," he said
deferentially. "I should like, before you see the Count, to explain to
you the reasons which induced me to insert that notice in the _Times_."

She tapped the floor impatiently with her foot.

"Be quick, then!"

"The Count arrived here on the first of the month, almost a fortnight
ago. Immediately on his arrival he went out in a cab, and returned
somewhat late at night, looking dazed and ill. From that moment he has
not left his room, and we fear, madam, to be candid, that he is losing
his reason. He declines to go out to see a physician; to write to his
friends. It is pitiable to see him, especially when one considers his
long and painful imprisonment, from which he has only just been
released. He would not listen to any suggestions or advice from us, so
it occurred to me to put that advertisement in the paper unknown to him.
May I be