of red velvet; her back hair was rolled in an immense coil,
and held by a beautiful gold comb.

She was ravishing. Her beauty was so startling that the dazzled
detective was speechless with admiration.

"Well," he said to himself, as he remembered the noble, severe beauty of
Madeleine, whom he had seen a few hours previous, "our young gentleman
certainly has good taste--very good taste--two perfect beauties!"

While he thus reflected, perfectly bewildered, and wondering how
he could begin the conversation, Mme. Gypsy eyed him with the most
disdainful surprise; she was waiting for this shabby little man in a
threadbare coat and greasy hat to explain his presence in her dainty
parlor.

She had many creditors, and was recalling them, and wondering which one
had dared send this man to wipe his dusty boots on her velvet carpets.

After scrutinizing him from head to foot with undisguised contempt, she
said, haughtily:

"What do you want?"

Anyone but Fanferlot would have been offended at her insolent manner;
but he only noticed it to gain some notion of the young woman's
disposition.

"She is bad-tempered," he thought, "and is uneducated."

While he was speculating upon her merits, Mme. Nina impatiently tapped
her little foot, and waited for an answer; finally she said:

"Why don't you speak? What do you want here?"

"I am charged, my dear madame," he answered in his softest tone, "by M.
Bertomy, to give you this note."

"From Prosper! You know him, then?"

"I have that honor, madame; indeed, I may be so bold as to claim him as
a friend."

"Monsieur! _You_ a friend of Prosper!" exclaimed Mme. Gypsy in a
scornful tone, as if her pride were wounded.

Fanferlot did not condescend to notice this offensive exclamation. He
was ambitious, and contempt failed to irritate him.

"I said a friend of his, madame, and there are few people who would have
the courage to claim friendship for him now."

Mme. Gypsy was struck by the words and manner of Fanferlot.

"I never could guess riddles," she said, tartly: "will you be kind
enough to explain what you mean?"

The detective slowly drew Prosper's note from his pocket, and, with a
bow, presented it to Mme. Gypsy.

"Read, madame," he said.

She certainly anticipated no misfortune; although her sight was
excellent, she stopped to fasten a tiny gold eyeglass on her nose, then
carelessly opened the note.

At a glance she read its contents.

She turned very red, the