t is that you are Mrs.
Falchion, for that's mighty queer."

"You shall hear all that and more." She held out her hand to him and
smiled. He took it, and she knew that now she was gathering up the
strings of destiny.

They parted.

The two passed on, looking, in their cool elegance, as if life were the
most pleasant thing; as though the very perfume of their garments would
preserve them from that plague called trouble.

"Justine," said Mrs. Falchion, "there is one law stranger than all; the
law of coincidence. Perhaps the convenience of modern travel assists
it, but fate is in it also. Events run in circles. People connected with
them travel that way also. We pass and re-pass each other many times,
but on different paths, until we come close and see each other face to
face."

She was speaking almost the very words which Roscoe had spoken to me.
But perhaps there was nothing strange in that.

"Yes, madame," replied Justine; "it is so, but there is a law greater
than coincidence."

"What, Justine?"

"The law of love, which is just and merciful, and would give peace
instead of trouble."

Mrs. Falchion looked closely at Justine, and, after a moment, evidently
satisfied, said: "What do you know of love?"

Justine tried hard for composure, and answered gently: "I loved my
brother Hector."

"And did it make you just and merciful and--an angel?"

"Madame, you could answer that better. But it has not made me be at war;
it has made me patient."

"Your love--for your brother--has made you that?" Again she looked
keenly, but Justine now showed nothing but earnestness.

"Yes, madame."

Mrs. Falchion paused for a moment, and seemed intent on the beauty of
the pine-belted hills, capped by snowy peaks, and wrapped in a most
hearty yet delicate colour. The red of her parasol threw a warm soft
ness upon her face. She spoke now without looking at Justine.

"Justine, did you ever love any one besides your brother?--I mean
another man."

Justine was silent for a moment, and then she said: "Yes, once." She was
looking at the hills now, and Mrs. Falchion at her.

"And you were happy?" Here Mrs. Falchion abstractedly toyed with a piece
of lace on Justine's arm. Such acts were unusual with her.

"I was happy--in loving."

"Why did you not marry?"

"Madame--it was impossible--quite." This, with hesitation and the
slightest accent of pain.

"Why impossible? You have good looks, you were born a lady; you have a
fooli