ntrasson evinced a desire to
pause and draw a breath, and perhaps partake of some slight refreshment;
but M. Fortunat was impatient. The woman's husband might return at any
moment. "And, after that?" he inquired.

"After that--well--M. Raymond recovered, and in about three months'
time he was out again; but the parents, who were old folks, had received
their death-blow. They never rallied from the shock. Perhaps they felt
that it was their own hard-heartedness and obstinacy that had caused
their daughter's ruin--and remorse is hard to bear. They waned
perceptibly from day to day, and during the following year they were
borne to the cemetery within two months of each other."

From the spurious clerk's demeanor it was easy to see that he had ceased
thinking about his omnibus, and his hostess felt both reassured and
flattered. "And Mademoiselle Hermine?" he inquired, eagerly.

"Alas! monsieur, no one ever knew where she went, or what became of
her."

"Didn't they try to find her?"

"They searched for her everywhere, for I don't know how long; all the
ablest detectives in France and in foreign countries tried to find her,
but not one of them succeeded in discovering the slightest trace of her
whereabouts. M. Raymond promised an enormous sum to the man who would
find his sister's betrayer. He wished to kill him, and he sought for him
for years; but all in vain."

"And did they never receive any tidings of this unfortunate girl?"

"I was told that they heard from her twice. On the morning following
her flight her parents received a letter, in which she implored their
forgiveness. Five or six months later, she wrote again to say that she
knew her brother was not dead. She confessed that she was a wicked,
ungrateful girl--that she had been mad; but she said that her punishment
had come, and it was terrible. She added that every link was severed
between herself and her friends, and she hoped they would forget her as
completely as if she had never existed. She went so far as to say that
her children should never know who their mother was, and that never in
her life again would she utter the name which she had so disgraced."

It was the old, sad story of a ruined girl paying for a moment's madness
with her happiness and all her after life. A terrible drama, no doubt;
but one that is of such frequent occurrence that it seems as commonplace
as life itself. Thus any one who was acquainted with M. Isidore Fortunat
would have