f his connection with the matter of securing these
elegant apartments or with making his arrival easy and pleasant.

Some silent and obsequious negro servants were at hand to do his
bidding; but he soon dismissed them; while he flung himself upon a sofa
and lit his pipe. Altogether incomprehensible to him were the
suggestions of secrecy and mystery connected with his reception;
scarcely less so was the youthful, nay, boyish appearance of Judge
Favart de Caumartin.

As if the mysterious atmosphere meant to continue growing denser, it was
while he lay along the luxuriant scarlet sofa, smoking, resting, and
meditating, that a beautiful girl came and stood for a moment in the
doorway of his chamber. She blushed sweetly at sight of him, recoiled
violently, and then slipped swiftly away, leaving behind her a rustle of
fine stuff, a sparkle of rare jewels, and a lingering bouquet of violets
and roses.

Coleman felt the delicious shock of her magnetic beauty thrill through
him. A sort of shimmering outline of her body wavered or appeared to
waver in the door after she had gone, so dazzling had been the effect of
her fresh, pure, flower-like, yet intensely human, beauty. He heard her
feet tap swiftly and lightly along the hall. Involuntarily and with
unpardonable curiosity he sprang up and, hurrying to the door, looked
out, but she was not in sight. For the first time in his life, he felt
his heart beating unnaturally.

CHAPTER II.

Evening was drawing on, sending a soft twilight into the room, when
Coleman's dinner was brought in by a shy and silent old colored woman.
He had not ordered the meal, nor had he felt the need of it. Doubtless
the stimulus afforded by the unusual character of his surroundings held
his sense of hunger in abeyance.

The old woman retired as soon as she had arranged the repast on a round
mahogany table. Coleman found the oysters, the wine, the broiled fish,
the French bread, and the black coffee excellent to such a degree that
he ate almost everything before him; then leaning far back in his chair
he began to study the silver set from which all those good things had
been taken. The platter was in the form of a flounder, the sugar bowl
was a frog, the cream pitcher a heron, the coffee-pot a pelican. These
curious pieces were exquisitely carved, and on each was cut the name
Favart de Caumartin in plain, bold letters. Even on the five-armed
silver candle-stick in which burned fragrant myrtle