susceptible." Then as Major Alan
Hawke stepped lightly away to the sedately closed Hotel Faucon, Casimir
Wieniawski staggered back into the cafe.

His fit of passionate sorrow was brief, for in a half hour he was the
king of a mad revel, where his meaner sycophants divided Alan Hawke's
bounty. The cool Major strode along happy hearted to his rest, quietly
revolving the plan of campaign.

"There was then a sealed chapter in Valerie Troubetskoi's life. And the
key of that is in Berthe Louison's keeping. Now, my fair employer, it is
diamond cut diamond. I think that I have done a fair day's work." And
he thanked his lucky stars for the precipitate flight of his mysterious
employer. "She evidently feared the noble Casimir following upon the
trail. Strange--strange pathways! Strange footprints on the sands of
Time! It is a devilish funny world, but, after all, the best that we
have any authentic account of." And so he slept the sleep of the just,
for he was making the woes of others the cornerstones of his newer
fortunes.

Major Hawke arose with the lark, by a previous arrangement with the
Hotel Bureau. His face was eminently businesslike in its gravity, as he
summoned the porter and dispatched all his luggage to the care of the
Chef du Gare, Geneva. "Business of extreme importance awaiting upon
Madame's complete recovery had caused her to depart to consult an
eminent specialist. Thank you, there will be no letters," said the
Major, as he pocketed both receipted bills. He amused himself while
watching for the morning boat, as the mountain mists, lifting, revealed
the glittering lake, in sending a very carefully sketched letter to
Mademoiselle Euphrosyne Delande, No. 123 Rue du Rhone, Geneva. This
letter was of such moment that it went on to London, to be posted back
duly stamped with good Queen Victoria's likeness. A very careful Major!

The lofty semi-official tone, in which the writer spoke of a possible
return to India "under the auspices of the Foreign Office," was well
calculated to fill the spinster's bosom with the flattering unction that
a mighty protector had been raised up for the adventurous Justine, now
supposed to be environed with all the glittering snares of society, as
well as enveloped in the mystic jungle.

A week later, when Euphrosyne Delande laid down the pen and abandoned
her unfinished "Lecture Upon the Influence of the Allobroges, Romans,
Provencal Franks, Burgundians, and Germans Upon the Intel