olitest possible
manner.

"Ze madame eez seeck zis morning, monsieur, mais ze Mademoiselle Celeste
eez in ze boudoir."

As she said this she pointed to a partition with windows of ground
glass, which extended across the farther end of the store, evidently
forming a private department for trying on hats and bonnets. Quincy said
nothing, but taking out his cardcase passed one to the attendant.

The girl walked towards the boudoir, opened the door and entered. Quincy
followed her, and was but a few feet from the door when it was closed.
He heard a woman's voice say, "What is it, Hortense?" And the girl's
reply was distinctly audible. This is what she said, "A veezitor,
mademoiselle."

An instant's silence, followed by a smothered cry of astonishment,
evidently from mademoiselle. Then ensued a short conversation, carried
on in whispers. Then Hortense emerged from the boudoir, and facing
Quincy said, "Ze mademoiselle weel not zee you. She has no desire to
continue ze acquaintance."

As she said this she stepped behind the counter, evidently thinking that
Quincy would accept the rebuff and depart. Instead of doing this he took
a step forward, which brought him between Hortense and the door of the
boudoir. Turning to the girl he said in a low tone, "There must be some
mistake. I have never met Mademoiselle Archimbault. I will go in and
explain the purpose of my visit." And before Hortense could prevent him,
Quincy had entered the boudoir and closed the door behind him.

In the centre of the room stood a beautifully carved and inlaid table.
Before it sat an elegantly-dressed woman, whose hair, artistically
arranged, was of the darkest shade of brown--almost black. Her arms were
crossed upon the table, her face was buried in them, and from her came a
succession of convulsive sobs, that indicated she was in great physical
or mental distress.

Quincy felt that she knew he was there, but he did not speak.

Finally she said, and there was a tone of deep suffering in her voice:
"Oh! Algernon, why have you followed me? I can never, never marry you.
If it had been possible I would have met you that evening, as I
promised."

The thought flashed across Quincy's mind, "This is the girl that ran
away from Lord Hastings. But why did she call me Algernon?" Then he
spoke for the first time. "Mademoiselle, there is some misunderstanding;
my name is not Algernon. I am not Lord Hastings."

As he spoke he looked at the woman seated a