ed his sense, he wandered out, limped up the staircase and
delivered up his soul at the foot of the pedestal of the Winged Victory.
He did not go to the paintings; the feast had been tremendous--he could
bear no more.

On his way out of the Louvre he passed through the Egyptian room. Ever
since the Abydos Sphinx had been brought to America, from the Nile,
Egypt had charmed him. He had read of Egypt, its treasures, in the
Albany library now and then on Sunday afternoons. It had a tremendous
attraction for him, and he entered the room where its relics were with
worship of the antique in his soul.

He turned to go, when his foot touched something on the floor and he
stooped to pick it up--a fine chain purse heavy with pieces of gold. He
balanced it in his hand and looked around for the possible owner, but he
was the only sightseer. He went, however, quickly from the museum, not
knowing in just what manner to restore this property, and in front of
him, passing out on to the gallery above the grand staircase, he saw a
lady leisurely making her exit. She was beautifully dressed and had such
an air of riches about her that he thought to himself, with every
reason, why should she not be the possessor of a gold purse? He went up
to her.

"I beg pardon," he began, and as she turned he recognized her in a
moment as the woman by whose carriage he had stood in the crowd on the
day of the unveiling of his statue--he recognized her as the woman who
had drawn the veil of the Sphinx. She was Cedersholm's fiancee. "Have
you lost anything, Madame?"

She exclaimed: "My purse! Oh, thank you very much." Then looked at him,
smiling, and said, "But I think I have seen you before. Whom must I
thank?"

He had his hat in his hand. His fine, clear brow over which the hair
grew heavily, his beautiful face, his strength and figure, once seen and
remembered as she had remembered them in that brief instant in New York,
were not to be forgotten. Still the resemblance puzzled her.

"My name is Rainsford," he said quietly, "Thomas Rainsford. I am one of
Mr Cedersholm's pupils."

"If that is so," she said, "you are welcome at my house at any time. I
am home Sundays. Won't you give me the pleasure of calling, Mr.
Rainsford?"

He bowed, thanked her, and they walked down the stairs together, and she
was unable to recall where she had seen this handsome young man.

CHAPTER IV

In his little hotel that night he lighted a candle in a tall n