ittle girl that the prisoner, who was a gentleman, had fondled
the dog, because he said it was like a dog at home which he loved. It
was brought out at once that this prisoner was one of a number on
their way to Bohemia. His description tallied perfectly with Gaston
Cheverny, and the absolute certainty was reached by the innkeeper's
wife producing a fine handkerchief which had been left behind, with
Gaston Cheverny's initials embroidered on it by Francezka's own hand!

When Francezka heard this she was like one ready to die with joy. It
proved at once that nothing concerning Gaston's disappearance could be
taken as final. Francezka, by her own wit, had found out what all the
machinery of two great commanders had failed to discover. Was it
strange that after this she should trust to no one's efforts but her
own? All this I gathered in hurried but ecstatic letters written me in
the first flush of her delight. At once all her hopes bloomed
afresh--nor could any one, in reason, discourage her.

But this joy was the joy of Tantalus--for in spite of months of time
and great sums of money spent on the spot by Francezka, not one
scintilla of light more was thrown upon this tragic mystery of her
life.

At last, having spent a whole year in her pursuit, Francezka was
forced to turn her steps homeward. This did not mean that she gave up
either hope or work, that was impossible to her; but that she would
rest and wait a while. She told over to herself, so she wrote me, all
the stories she had ever heard, including those of Count Saxe, of
persons who, having been sought diligently, at last returned when all
hope was abandoned. Francezka apparently forgot that although strange
disappearances and equally strange reappearances take place often in
troublous times, but few persons in the world had been searched for
as thoroughly, as patiently, and with such lavish expenditure of time
and money as had Gaston Cheverny. To his honor be it said that at no
time was there the smallest suspicion in any mind that he had made way
with himself, or had voluntarily abandoned Francezka.

It was in September of 1735 that Francezka again saw the chateau of
Capello. She entered her own house with sadness and disappointment,
but not in despair. Hope could not die within her. As she wrote me,
"My heart can not--will not--break."

It is not to be wondered at, however, that the rest of Francezka's
world reckoned Gaston Cheverny a dead man. Father Benar