nd now a footstep sounded on the stairs behind her.
She went on again along the hall, feeling her way; and reaching the
short, ladder-like steps to the garret, she began to mount them. Who
was it there behind her? One of the unknown lodgers on the lower floor,
or--? She could not see, of course. It was pitch black. But she could
hear. And as she knelt now on the narrow landing, and felt with her
fingers along the floor for the aperture, where, imitating the custom
of Gypsy Nan, she had left her key when she went out, she heard the
footsteps coming steadily on, passing the doors below her, and making
toward the garret ladder. And then, stifling a startled little cry, her
hand closed on the key, and closed, as it had closed on that first night
when she had returned here in the role of Gypsy Nan, on a piece of
paper wrapped around the key. The days of isolation were ended with
climacteric effect; the pendulum had swung full the other way--to-night
there was both a visitor and a message!

The paper detached from the key and thrust into her bodice, she stood up
quickly. A form, looming up even in the darkness, showed on the garret
stairs. "Who's dere?" she croaked.

"It's all right," a voice answered in low tones. "You were just ahead of
me on the street. I saw you come in. It's Pierre."

Pierre! So that was his name! It was only the voice she recognized.
Pierre--Danglar! She fumbled for the keyhole, found it, and inserted the
key. "Well, how's Bertha to-night?"

There seemed to be a strange exhilaration in the man's voice. He was
standing beside her now, close beside her, and now his hand played with
a curiously caressing motion on her shoulder. The touch seemed to scorch
and burn her. Who was this Danglar, who was Pierre to her, and to whom
she was Bertha? Her breath came quickly in spite of herself; there came,
too, a frenzy of aversion, and impulsively she flung his hand away, and
with the door unlocked now, stepped from him into the garret.

"Feeling a bit off color, eh?" he said with a short laugh, as he
followed her, and shut the door behind him. "Well, I don't know as I
blame you. But, look here, old girl, have a heart! It's not my fault.
I know what you're grouching about--it's because I haven't been around
much lately. But you ought to know well enough that I couldn't help it.
Our game has been crimped lately at every turn by that she-devil, the
White Moll, and that dude pal of hers." He laughed out again--in