u see, the vocabulary of the pastime is so confoundedly
limited. One has to say to B what one has said to A; to C exactly
what one has said to A and B; and when it comes to repeating to F
the formularies one has uttered to A, B, C, D and E one grows almost
hysterical with the boredom of it. That was the delightful charm of
Eleanor Faversham; she demanded no formularies or re-enactment of
raptures.

The _Annuaire Officiel de l'Armee Francaise_ has arrived. It is a volume
of nearly eighteen hundred pages, and being uncut both at top and bottom
and at the side it is peculiarly serviceable as a work of reference.
I attacked it bravely, however, hacking my way into it, paperknife
in hand. But to my dismay, the more I hacked the less could I find
of Captain Vauvenarde. I sought him in the Alphabetical Repertory of
Colonial Troops, in the list of officers _hors cadre_, in the lists
of seniority, in the list of his regiment, wherever he was likely or
unlikely to be. There is no person in the French army by the name of
Vauvenarde.

I went straight to Lola Brandt with the hideous volume and the unwelcome
news. Together we searched the pages.

"He _must_ be here," she said, with feminine disregard of fact.

"Are you quite certain you have got the name right?" I asked.

"Why, it is my own name!"

"So it is," said I; "I was forgetting. But how do you know he was in the
army at all?"

He might have been an adventurer, a Captain of Kopenick of the day, who
had poured a gallant but mendacious tale into her ears.

"I hardly ever saw him out of uniform. He was quartered at Marseilles on
special duty. I knew some of his brother officers."

"Then," said I, "there are only two alternatives. Either he has left the
army or he is----"

"Dead?" she whispered.

"Let us hope," said I, "that he has left the army."

"You must find out, Mr. de Gex," she said in a low voice. "I took it for
granted that my husband was alive. It's horrible to think that he may be
dead. It alters everything, somehow. Until I know, I shall be in a state
of awful suspense. You'll make inquiries at once, won't you?"

"Did you love your husband, Madame Brandt?" I asked.

She looked at the fire for some time without replying. She stood with
one foot on the fender.

"I thought I did when I married him," she said at last. "I thought I did
when he left me."

"And now?"

She turned her golden eyes full on me. It is a disconcerting trick of
hers at any time