ilated eyes in which a world of new
wonders and fears had suddenly got itself reflected. "He'll see it over
there--he has seen it now."

"Oh my dear, you'll have news of him. Don't be afraid!" broke in high
derision from Mme. de Cliche.

"Did HE send you the paper?" her young friend went on to Mr. Probert.

"It was not directed in his hand," M. de Brecourt pronounced. "There was
some stamp on the band--it came from the office."

"Mr. Flack--is that his hideous name?--must have seen to that," Mme. de
Brecourt suggested.

"Or perhaps Florine," M. de Cliche interposed. "I should like to get
hold of Florine!"

"I DID--I did tell him so!" Francie repeated with all her fevered
candour, alluding to her statement of a moment before and speaking as if
she thought the circumstance detracted from the offence.

"So did I--so did we all!" said Mme. de Cliche.

"And will he suffer--as you suffer?" Francie continued, appealing to Mr.
Probert.

"Suffer, suffer? He'll die!" cried the old man. "However, I won't answer
for him; he'll tell you himself, when he returns."

"He'll die?" echoed Francie with the eyes of a child at the pantomime
who has found the climax turning to demons or monsters or too much
gunpowder.

"He'll never return--how can he show himself?" said Mme. de Cliche.

"That's not true--he'll come back to stand by me!" the girl flashed out.

"How couldn't you feel us to be the last--the very last?" asked Mr.
Probert with great gentleness. "How couldn't you feel my poor son to be
the last--?"

"C'est un sens qui lui manque!" shrilled implacably Mme. de Cliche.

"Let her go, papa--do let her go home," Mme. de Brecourt pleaded.
"Surely. That's the only place for her to-day," the elder sister
continued.

"Yes, my child--you oughtn't to be here. It's your father--he ought to
understand," said Mr. Probert.

"For God's sake don't send for him--let it all stop!" And Mme. de Cliche
made wild gestures.

Francie looked at her as she had never looked at any one in her life,
and then said: "Good-bye, Mr. Probert--good-bye, Susan."

"Give her your arm--take her to the carriage," she heard Mme. de
Brecourt growl to her husband. She got to the door she hardly knew
how--she was only conscious that Susan held her once more long enough to
kiss her. Poor Susan wanted to comfort her; that showed how bad--feeling
as she did--she believed the whole business would yet be. It would be
bad because Gaston, Gaston--! Francie d