that all traces of art
disappeared at once. She had instinctively appreciated the immense
advantage she would derive from personifying a young American girl,
and the irresistible effect she might easily produce by her freedom of
movement and her bold ingenuousness. Finally, at the end of eighteen
months' residence in America, M. Elgin declared that the moment had come
when Sarah might appear on the stage.

"It was, therefore, twenty-eight months after their parting in Homburg,
that M. de Brevan received, one morning, the following note:--

"'Come to-night, at nine o'clock, to M. Thomas Elgin's house in Circus
Street, and be prepared for a surprise.'

"He went there. A tall man opened the door of the sitting-room; and,
at the sight of a young lady who sat before the fire, he could not help
exclaiming, 'Ernestine, is that you?'

"But she interrupted him at once, saying, 'You are mistaken: Ernestine
Bergot is dead, and buried by the side of Justin Chevassat, my dear
M. de Brevan. Come, lay aside that amazed air, and kiss Miss Sarah
Brandon's hand.'

"It was heaven opening for Maxime. She had at last come back to
him,--this woman, who had come across his life like a tempest, and whose
memory he had retained in his heart, as a dagger remains in the wound it
has made. She had come back, more beautiful than ever, irresistible in
her matchless charms; and he fancied it was love which had brought her
back.

"His vanity led him astray. Sarah Brandon had long since ceased to
admire him. Familiar as she was with the life of adventurers in high
life, she had soon learned to appreciate M. de Brevan at his just value.
She saw him now as he really was,--timid, overcautious, petty, incapable
of conceiving bold combinations, scarcely good enough for the smallest
of plots, ridiculous, in fine, as all needy scamps are.

"Nevertheless, Sarah wanted him, although she despised him. On the point
of entering upon a most dangerous game, she felt the necessity of having
one accomplice, at least, in whom she could trust blindly. She had, to
be sure, Mrs. Brian and Sir Thorn, as he began to be called now; but
she mistrusted them. They held her, and she had no hold on them. On
the other hand, Maxime de Brevan was entirely hers, dependent on her
pleasure, as the lump of clay in the hands of the sculptor.

"It is true that Maxime appeared almost distressed when he heard that
that immense fortune which he coveted with all his might was still