way--this dear woman--Donna Laura
Vercelli--my daughter, Lady Kitty Ashe!--knew of an apartment here
belonging to some relations of hers. And here we are--charmingly
<i>installees</i>!--and really <i>nothing</i> to pay!"--Madame d'Estrees
whispered, smiling, in Kitty's ear--"nothing, compared to the hotels.
I'm economizing splendidly. Laura looks after every sou. Ah! my dear
William!"

For Ashe, puzzled by the voices within, had entered the chapel, and
stood in his turn, open-mouthed.

"Why, we thought you were an invalid."

For, some three weeks before, a letter had reached him at Haggart, so
full of melancholy details as to Madame d'Estrees' health and
circumstances that even Kitty had been moved. Money had been sent;
inquiries had been made by telegraph; and but for a hasty message of a
more cheerful character, received just before they started, the Ashes,
instead of journeying by Brussels and Cologne, would have gone by Paris
that Kitty might see her mother. They had intended to stop there on
their way back. Ashe was not minded that Kitty should see more of Madame
d'Estrees than necessity demanded; but on this occasion he would have
felt it positively brutal to make difficulties.

And now here was this moribund lady, this forsaken of gods and men,
disporting herself at Venice, evidently in the pink of health and
attired in the freshest of Paris toilettes! As he coldly shook hands,
Ashe registered an inner vow that Madame d'Estrees' letters henceforward
should receive the attention they deserved.

And beside her was her somewhat mysterious friend of London days, the
Colonel Warington who had been so familiar a figure in the gatherings of
St. James's Place--grown much older, almost white-haired, and as
gentlemanly as ever. Who was the lady? Ashe was introduced, was aware of
a somewhat dark and Jewish cast of face, noticed some fine jewels, and
could only suppose that his mother-in-law had picked up some one to
finance her, and provide her with creature comforts in return for the
social talents that Madame d'Estrees still possessed in some abundance.
He had more than once noticed her skill in similar devices; but, indeed,
they were indispensable, for while he allowed Madame d'Estrees one
thousand a year, she was, it seemed, firmly determined to spend a
minimum of three.

He and Warington looked at each other with curiosity. The bronzed face
and honest eyes of the soldier betrayed nothing. "Are you going to marry