h the laughing throng.

"It will be bad news for Dick," he said, "for his father has left him
penniless."

"I understood," observed Lucille, looking attentively at her bouquet,
"that he was wealthy."

"No. He quarrelled with his father, who left him without a sou. But
Howard knew it before he quitted England."

Lucille did not speak again until they had joined her mother, to whom
she said something so hurriedly that Gayerson did not catch the import
of her words.

At this moment I entered the room, and made my way towards them,
feeling more fit for my bed than a ball-room, for I had travelled
night and day to dance a waltz with Lucille. As I approached, Gayerson
bowed to the ladies and took his departure.

"My dance, Mademoiselle," I said, "if you have been so kind as to
remember it."

"Yes," answered Lucille, coldly as it seemed, "but I am tired, and we
are going home."

I looked towards Madame, and saw something in her face, I knew not
what.

"Your arm, mon ami," she said, lifting her hand; "we had better go
home."

Chapter VI

A Glimpse of Home

"Pour rendre la societe commode il faut que chacun conserve
sa liberte."

Those who have rattled over the cobble stones of old Paris will
understand that we had no opportunity of conversation during our drive
from the Tuileries to the Rue des Palmiers. Lucille, with her white
lace scarf half concealing her face, sat back in her corner with
closed eyes and seemed to be asleep. As we passed the street lamps
their light flashing across Madame's face showed her to be alert,
attentive and sleepless. On crossing the Pont Napoleon I saw that the
sky behind the towers of Notre Dame was already of a pearly grey. The
dawn was indeed at hand, and the great city, wrapped in a brief and
fitful slumber, would soon be rousing itself to another day of gaiety
and tears, of work and play, of life and death.

The Rue des Palmiers was yet still. A sleepy servant opened the door,
and we crept quietly upstairs, lest we should disturb the Vicomte,
who, tired from his great journey, had retired to bed while I changed
my clothes for the Imperial ball.

"Good-night," said Lucille, without looking round at the head of the
stairs. Madame followed her daughter, but I noticed that she gave me
no salutation.

I turned to my study, of which the door stood open, and where a shaded
lamp discreetly burned. I threw aside my coat and attended to the
light. My letters la