ever been.

On the morning after my unsatisfactory conversation with his man
Hopper, I was astonished to receive the following note, written on a
dainty correspondence card:--

'3 and 4 Vellum Buildings,
'Inner Temple, E.C.

'Mr. Lionel Dacre presents his compliments to Monsieur Eugene
Valmont, and would be obliged if Monsieur Valmont could make
it convenient to call upon him in his chambers tomorrow
morning at eleven.'

* * * * *

Had the young man become aware that he was being shadowed, or had the
surly servant informed him of the inquiries made? I was soon to know.
I called punctually at eleven next morning, and was received with
charming urbanity by Mr. Dacre himself. The taciturn Hopper had
evidently been sent away for the occasion.

'My dear Monsieur Valmont, I am delighted to meet you,' began the
young man with more of effusiveness than I had ever noticed in an
Englishman before, although his very next words supplied an
explanation that did not occur to me until afterwards as somewhat
far-fetched. 'I believe we are by way of being countrymen, and,
therefore, although the hour is early, I hope you will allow me to
offer you some of this bottled sunshine of the year '78 from _la belle
France_, to whose prosperity and honour we shall drink together. For
such a toast any hour is propitious,'and to my amazement he brought
forth from the case I had seen arrive two days before, a bottle of
that superb Camelot Freres '78.

'Now,' said I to myself, 'it is going to be difficult to keep a clear
head if the aroma of this nectar rises to the brain. But tempting as
is the cup, I shall drink sparingly, and hope he may not be so
judicious.'

Sensitive, I already experienced the charm of his personality, and
well understood the friendship Mr. Bentham Gibbes felt for him. But I
saw the trap spread before me. He expected, under the influence of
champagne and courtesy, to extract a promise from me which I must find
myself unable to give.

'Sir, you interest me by claiming kinship with France. I had
understood that you belonged to one of the oldest families of
England.'

'Ah, England!' he cried, with an expressive gesture of outspreading
hands truly Parisian in its significance. 'The trunk belongs to
England, of course, but the root--ah! the root--Monsieur Valmont,
penetrated the soil fro