ting all her proceedings on that magnificent afternoon. She was
determined to save Musa not merely from himself, but from Miss Thompkins
and everybody. It was not that she was specially interested in Musa. No!
She was interested in a clean, neat job--that was all. She had begun to
take charge of Musa, and she intended to carry the affair through. He had
the ability to succeed, and he should succeed. It would be ridiculous for
him not to succeed. From certain hints, and from a deeply sagacious
instinct, she had divined that money and management were the only
ingredients lacking to Musa's triumph. She could supply both these
elements; and she would. And her reward would be the pride of the workman
in his job.

Now her firmness hesitated. She retraced the boulevard to the Place de
l'Opera, and then took the Rue de la Paix. In the first shop on the
left-hand side, next to her bankers, she saw amid a dazzling collection of
jewelled articles for travellers and letter-writers and diary-keepers, a
sublime gold handbag, or, as the French say, hand-sack. Its clasp was set
with a sapphire. Impulse sent her gliding right into the shop, with the
words already on her lips: "How much is that gold hand-sack in the window?"
But when she reached the hushed and shadowed interior, which was furnished
like a drawing-room with soft carpets and tapestried chairs, she beheld
dozens of gold hand-sacks glinting like secret treasure in a cave; and she
was embarrassed by the number and variety of them. A well-dressed and
affable lady and gentleman, with a quite remarkable similarity of prominent
noses, welcomed her in general terms, and seemed surprised, and even a
little pained, when she talked about buying and selling. She came out of
the shop with a gold hand-sack which had cost twelve hundred francs, and
all her money was in it.

Fortified by the impressive bauble, she walked along the street to the
Place Vendome, where she descried in the distance the glittering signs and
arms of the Hotel du Danube. Then she walked up the opposite pavement of
the Rue de la Paix, and down again and up again until she had grasped its
significance.

It was a street of jewellery, perfumes, antiques, gloves, hats, frocks, and
furs. It was a street wherein the lily was painted and gold was gilded.
Every window was a miracle of taste, refinement, and costliness. Every
article in every window was so dear that no article was ticketed with its
price, save a few wafe