she
herself never, I was aware, touched upon; and she had no reason to
suspect that I was in the slightest degree informed of this melancholy
passage in her life. She, why, I know not, changed her name from that of
Duquesne to the one she now bore--Jaubert; and for the last two or three
years had supported a precarious existence by plausible begging-letters
addressed to persons of credulous benevolence; for which offense she had
frequently visited the police courts at the instance of the secretary of
the Mendicity Society, and it was there I had consequently made her
acquaintance.

"Madame Jaubert!" I exclaimed, with unfeigned surprise, "why, what on
earth can you be waiting here for on such a night as this?"

"To see you!" was her curt reply.

"To see me! Depend upon it, then, you are knocking at the wrong door for
not the first time in your life. The very little faith I ever had in
professional widows, with twelve small children, all down in the
measles, has long since vanished, and--"

"Nay," she interrupted--she spoke English, by the way, like a
native--"I'm not such a fool as to be trying the whimpering dodge upon
you. It is a matter of business. You want to find Jem Martin?"

"Ay, truly; but what can _you_ know of him? Surely you are not _yet_
fallen so low as to be the associate or accomplice of burglars?"

"Neither yet, nor likely to be so," replied the woman; "still I could
tell you where to place your hands on James Martin, if I were but sure
of the reward."

"There can be no doubt about that," I answered.

"Then follow me, and before ten minutes are past, you will have secured
your man."

I did so--cautiously, suspiciously; for my adventure three evenings
before, had rendered me unusually circumspect and watchful. She led the
way to the most crowded quarter of St. Giles's, and when she had reached
the entrance of a dark blind alley, called Hine's-court, turned into it,
and beckoned me to follow.

"Nay, nay, Madame Jaubert," I exclaimed, "that won't do. You mean
fairly, I dare say; but I don't enter that respectable alley alone at
this time of night."

She stopped, silent and embarrassed. Presently she said, with a sneer,
"You are afraid, I suppose?"

"Yes, I am."

"What is to be done, then?" she added, after a few moments'
consideration. "He is alone, I assure you."

"That is possible; still I do not enter that _cul-de-sac_ to-night
unaccompanied save by you."

"You suspect me of some ev