te now--and be famous."

"I must go to Paris," he said quietly. "I have
friends--countrymen--there, who may want me now."

"If you mean the young singer of the Rue de Frivole, you have
compromised her already. You can do her no good."

"Madame!"

The pretty face which he had been familiar with for the past six weeks
somehow seemed to change its character. Under the mask of dazzling skin
he fancied he saw the high cheek-bones and square Tartar angle; the
brilliant eyes were even brighter than before, but they showed more of
the white than he had ever seen in them.

Nevertheless she smiled, with an equally stony revelation of her white
teeth, yet said, still gently, "Forgive me if I thought our friendship
justified me in being frank,--perhaps too frank for my own good."

She stopped as if half expecting an interruption; but as he remained
looking wonderingly at her, she bit her lip, and went on: "You have
a great career before you. Those who help you must do so without
entangling you; a chain of roses may be as impeding as lead. Until you
are independent, you--who may in time compass everything yourself--will
need to be helped. You know," she added with a smile, "you have but one
arm."

"In your kindness and appreciation you have made me forget it," he
stammered. Yet he had a swift vision of the little bench at Versailles
where he had NOT forgotten it, and as he glanced around the empty
terrace where they stood he was struck with a fateful resemblance to it.

"And I should not remind you now of it," she went on, "except to say
that money can always take its place. As in the fairy story, the prince
must have a new arm made of gold." She stopped, and then suddenly coming
closer to him said, hurriedly and almost fiercely, "Can you not see that
I am advising you against my interests,--against myself? Go, then, to
Paris, and go quickly, before I change my mind. Only if you do not find
your friends there, remember you have always ONE here." Before he could
reply, or even understand that white face, she was gone.

He left for Paris that afternoon. He went directly to the Rue de
Frivole; his old resolution to avoid Helen was blown to the winds in
the prospect of losing her utterly. But the concierge only knew that
mademoiselle had left a day or two after monsieur had accompanied her
home. And, pointedly, there was another gentleman who had inquired
eagerly--and bountifully as far as money went--for any trace of
the you