lectual
Development of Geneva," she read Alan Hawke's letter with a thrill of
secret pride.

The smooth adventurer had written: "If I have the future pleasure of
meeting Mademoiselle Justine Delande I only hope to find a resemblance
to her charming and distinguished sister. As my movements are
necessarily secret, pray write only in the utmost confidence to
Mademoiselle Justine. I hope to soon return and enjoy once more the
hospitalities of your intellectual circle." The address given for India
was "Bombay Club." Miss Euphrosyne gazed up at the stony lineaments of
Professor Delande, her marble-browed and flinty-hearted sire, locked in
the cold chill of a steel engraving. He was as neutral as the busts
of Buffon, Cuvier, Laplace, Humboldt, and Pestalozzi, which coldly
furnished forth her sanctum. She thought of the eloquent eyed young
Major and sadly sighed. She proceeded to enshrine him in her withered
heart, and then wrote a crossed letter of many tender underlinings to
her distant sister. And thus the pathway was made very smooth for the
artful wanderer, who had already stepped upon the decks of the Sepoy.

Major Hawke had dispatched an excellent breakfast before he stepped into
the carriage to be whirled away to Montreux. His bridges were burned
behind him. There was not a vestige of Madame Berthe Louison left to
give the needy Pole a clue. "They are separated, and Anstruther and the
Swiss schoolmistress are harmless. I have only my play to make upon the
lovely Justine, and to retake up my old friendship with Hugh Fraser.
Then I am ready to bit by bit unravel the story of Valerie Delavigne's
child--the Veiled Rose of Delhi."

"Between a father with a secret to keep, and this strange woman with a
purpose, there is a pretty girl and a vast fortune at issue, besides
the prospective pickings of Madame Berthe Louison." These musings of
the Major led him up to the question of his employer's false name, as he
swept down to the nearby Montreux station. "She evidently had traced the
child to Switzerland, and was upon a still hunt to find out the home of
the growing heiress, and,--for what purpose? Ah! One day after another,"
he pleasantly exclaimed, as he saw the artist awaiting him. "Peu apeu
I'oiseau fait son nid." He had already evolved a scheme to permanently
separate Casimir Wieniawski from his own beautiful employer, who was now
dashing along well on her way toward Munich. Alan Hawke was startled
at the distinguished