e valley of the Seine.

Suddenly the chauffeur turned to Vanderlyn, and spoke for the first
time: "Would you like to slow down a bit, sir? Mrs. Pargeter generally
stops the car here to have a look at the view."

"No," said Vanderlyn hoarsely, "we haven't time to-day; we've got to get
back to Paris in time for Mr. and Mrs. Pargeter to catch, if possible,
the twelve-twenty o'clock train."

He leant back--a feeling of horror and self-contempt possessed him. His
life was now one long lie; even when speaking to a servant, he was
compelled to imply what he knew to be untrue.

They ran down into the quaint little town which has scarcely altered
since the days when Madame du Barry was dragged hence, screaming and
wringing her hands, to Paris, to prison, and to the guillotine.
Vanderlyn's distraught imagination saw something sinister in the
profound quietude of the place; it was full of shuttered villas, for
through the winter each village in the neighbourhood of Paris
hibernates, those whom the peasants style les bourgeois still regarding
country life as essentially a summer pastime.

They now came to a high blank wall, broken by an iron gate. "This is the
house, sir," said the chauffeur abruptly.

Vanderlyn jumped out, and rang a primitive bell; he waited some minutes
and then rang again. At last he heard the sound of steps hurrying along
a gravel path; and the gate was opened by an old woman.

"You have come to the wrong house," she said curtly, "this is Madame de
Lera's villa." Then, as she caught sight of the Pargeters' chauffeur, a
more amiable look stole over her wizened face,--"Pardon, perhaps
Monsieur has brought a letter from Madame Pargeter?" She wiped her hand
on her apron and held it out.

Vanderlyn remained silent a moment; he knew that now had come the moment
for him to utter an exclamation of surprise, to explain that he had
thought to find Mrs. Pargeter here,--but his soul revolted from the lie.

"Yes, I have come to see Madame de Lera," he said in a low voice.
"Kindly give her my card, and ask her if she will be good enough to
receive me?"

The old woman turned on her heel; she led Vanderlyn into the silent
house, and showed him into a large sitting-room where the furniture was
still swathed in the rough sheeting with which the careful French
housewife drapes her household goods when leaving them for the winter.

"I will light the fire," said the servant, apologetically; "Madame does
not use this r