ed from the girl's
white fingers, she withdrew her hand, and slowly--very slowly--her head
sank down, pillowed upon her arms.

For some five minutes she cried silently; the sparrows, unheeded, bade
her good night, and flew to their nests in the trees of the Square.
Then, very resolutely, as if inspired by a settled purpose, she stood up
and recrossed the corridor to her bedroom.

She turned on the lamp above the dressing-table and rapidly removed the
traces of her tears, contemplating in dismay a redness of her pretty
nose which did not prove entirely amenable to treatment with the
powder-puff. Finally, however, she switched off the light, and, going
out on to the landing, descended to the door of Henry Leroux's flat.

In reply to her ring, the maid, Ferris, opened the door. She wore her
hat and coat, and beside her on the floor stood a tin trunk.

"Why, Ferris!" cried Helen--"are you leaving?"

"I am indeed, miss!" said the girl, independently.

"But why? whatever will Mr. Leroux do?"

"He'll have to do the best he can. Cook's goin' too!"

"What! cook is going?"

"I am!" announced a deep, female voice.

And the cook appeared beside the maid.

"But whatever--" began Helen; then, realizing that she could achieve
no good end by such an attitude: "Tell Mr. Leroux," she instructed the
maid, quietly, "that I wish to see him."

Ferris glanced rapidly at her companion, as a man appeared on the
landing, to inquire in an abysmal tone, if "them boxes was ready to be
took?" Helen Cumberly forestalled an insolent refusal which the cook, by
furtive wink, counseled to the housemaid.

"Don't trouble," she said, with an easy dignity reminiscent of her
father. "I will announce myself."

She passed the servants, crossed the lobby, and rapped upon the study
door.

"Come in," said the voice of Henry Leroux.

Helen opened the door. The place was in semidarkness, objects being but
dimly discernible. Leroux sat in his usual seat at the writing-table.
The room was in the utmost disorder, evidently having received no
attention since its overhauling by the police. Helen pressed the switch,
lighting the two lamps.

Leroux, at last, seemed in his proper element: he exhibited an unhealthy
pallor, and it was obvious that no razor had touched his chin for at
least three days. His dark blue eyes the eyes of a dreamer--were heavy
and dull, with shadows pooled below them. A biscuit-jar, a decanter and
a syphon stood half buried in