fort, a pleasure,--for she is a rare person."

"I have never found her so, Madame," he said briefly.

"I am sure it is your misfortune rather than your fault, Mr. Temple. It
is because you do not know her now."

Again he looked at me, puzzled, uneasy, like a man who would run if he
could. But by a kind of fascination his eyes went back to this woman who
dared a subject sore to the touch--who pressed it gently, but with
determination, never doubting her powers, yet with a kindness and
sympathy of tone which few women of the world possess. The Vicomtesse
began to speak again, evenly, gently.

"Mr. Temple," said she, "I am merely going to tell you some things which
I am sure you do not know, and when I have finished I shall not appeal to
you. It would be useless for me to try to influence you, and from what
Mr. Ritchie and others have told me of your character I am sure that no
influence will be necessary. And," she added, with a smile, "it would be
much more comfortable for us both if you sat down."

He obeyed her without a word. No wonder Madame la Vicomtesse had had an
influence at court.

"There!" she said. "If any reference I am about to make gives you pain,
I am sorry." She paused briefly. "After Mr. Ritchie took your mother
from here to New Orleans, some five years ago, she rented a little house
in the Rue Bourbon with a screen of yellow and red tiles at the edge of
the roof. It is on the south side, next to the corner of the Rue St.
Philippe. There she lives absolutely alone, except for a servant. Mr.
Clark, who has charge of her affairs, was the only person she allowed to
visit her. For her pride, however misplaced, and for her spirit we must
all admire her. The friend who discovered where she was, who went to her
and implored Mrs. Temple to let her stay, she refused."

"The friend?" he repeated in a low tone. I scarcely dared to glance at
the Vicomtesse.

"Yes, it was Antoinette," she answered. He did not reply, but his eyes
fell. "Antoinette went to her, would have comforted her, would have
cared for her, but your mother sent her away. For five years she has
lived there, Mr. Temple, alone with her past, alone with her sorrow and
remorse. You must draw the picture for yourself. If the world has a
more terrible punishment, I have not heard of it. And when, some months
ago, I came, and Antoinette sent me to her--"

"Sent you to her!" he said, raising his head quickly.

"Under another name than my own," H