she
refused to believe it, and looked forward to her arrival in Paris to set
her doubts at rest.

No one was at the station, a lonely, cheerless little place, where no
traveller ever showed his face in winter. As Claire sat there awaiting
the train, gazing vaguely at the station-master's melancholy little
garden, and the debris of climbing plants running along the fences by
the track, she felt a moist, warm breath on her glove. It was her friend
Kiss, who had followed her and was reminding her of their happy romps
together in the old days, with little shakes of the head, short leaps,
capers of joy tempered by humility, concluding by stretching his
beautiful white coat at full length at his mistress's feet, on the cold
floor of the waiting-room. Those humble caresses which sought her out,
like a hesitating offer of devotion and sympathy, caused the sobs she
had so long restrained to break forth as last. But suddenly she felt
ashamed of her weakness. She rose and sent the dog away, sent him
away pitilessly with voice and gesture, pointing to the house in the
distance, with a stern face which poor Kiss had never seen. Then she
hastily wiped her eyes and her moist hands; for the train for Paris
was approaching and she knew that in a moment she should need all her
courage.

Claire's first thought on leaving the train was to take a cab and drive
to the jeweller in the Rue de la Paix, who had, as her grandfather
alleged, supplied Georges with a diamond necklace. If that should prove
to be true, then all the rest was true. Her dread of learning the truth
was so great that, when she reached her destination and alighted in
front of that magnificent establishment, she stopped, afraid to enter.
To give herself countenance, she pretended to be deeply interested in
the jewels displayed in velvet cases; and one who had seen her, quietly
but fashionably dressed, leaning forward to look at that gleaming and
attractive display, would have taken her for a happy wife engaged in
selecting a bracelet, rather than an anxious, sorrow-stricken soul who
had come thither to discover the secret of her life.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon. At that time of day, in winter,
the Rue de la Paix presents a truly dazzling aspect. In that luxurious
neighborhood, life moves quickly between the short morning and the
early evening. There are carriages moving swiftly in all directions, a
ceaseless rumbling, and on the sidewalks a coquettish haste,