mon ami," she said. "For one sees no signs in
your face of what you have gone through."

But it was not of myself that I had come to talk. The tale had to be
told to Madame de Clericy, and being a plain-spoken Englishman and no
hero of a book, I purposed telling it briefly without allegory or
symbol.

"Madame," I said, "it was not Miste who took the money. It was not the
Baron Giraud that we buried from the Rue des Palmiers. It was not the
Vicomte de Clericy that we found in the Seine near Passy and laid to
earth in the churchyard at Senneville."

And I saw that the Vicomtesse thought me mad.

"My poor friend," she said, with the deepest pity in her voice,
"why do you talk like that, and what do you mean?"

[Illustration: THE VICOMTESSE TURNED A LITTLE IN HER CHAIR, AND,
LEANING HER ELBOW ON THE TABLE, SHOWED ME ONLY HER PROFILE AS SHE SAT,
WITH HER CHIN IN THE PALM OF HER HAND, LOOKING DOWN INTO THE VALLEY.]

"I only mean, Madame, that no man is safe in temptation, and that
money is the greatest of all. I would not trust myself with ten
million francs. I would not now trust any man on earth."

"Why?"

And I thought that in Madame's eyes there was already the light of
understanding. For a moment I paused, and she said quickly:

"Is my husband alive?"

"No, Madame."

The Vicomtesse turned a little in her chair, and, leaning her elbow on
the table, showed me only her profile as she sat, with her chin in the
palm of her hand, looking down into the valley.

"Tell me all you know," she said. "I will not interrupt you; but do
not pity me."

"The Baron Giraud did my old patron a great wrong when, in his selfish
fear, he placed that great fortune in his care. For it appears that no
man may trust himself where money is concerned, and no other has a
right to tempt him. So far as we can judge, the Vicomte had all that
he could want. I know he had more money than he cared to spend. You
are aware, Madame, that I had the greatest respect and admiration for
your husband. During the months that we were in daily intercourse he
endeared himself to me by a hundred kindnesses, a thousand tokens of
what I hope was affection."

Madame nodded briefly, and I hastened on with my narrative, for
suspense is the keenest arrow in the quiver of human suffering.

"What I have learnt has been gathered with the greatest care from many
sources, and what I now tell you is neither known nor suspected by any
other on earth. If you so de