for he feared that his poor
sister would throw herself down into the court-yard, which is paved
with stone, and where she would certainly have been killed. She was
very bad some days, poor dear. I was most glad when they took her
away: for the thought of her made me nervous. I will in the morning
open the windows, and air the room well for you."

"That will do nicely," I assented, as carelessly as I could. I knew
that I had chanced upon a new development, though I could not in the
least guess its bearing. "What do you ask for the apartment?"

"Ten dollars the week, monsieur," she answered, eying me narrowly.

I knew it was not worth so much, and, remembering my character,
repressed my first inclination to close the bargain.

"That is a good deal," I said hesitatingly. "Haven't you a cheaper
room, Madame Jourdain?"

"This is the only one we have now vacant, monsieur," she assured me.

I turned back toward the door with a little sigh.

"I fear I can't take it," I said.

"Monsieur does not understand," she protested. "That price, of course,
includes breakfast."

"And dinner?"

She hesitated, eying me again.

"For one dollar additional it shall include dinner."

"Done, madame!" I cried. "I pay you for a week in advance," and I
suited the action to the word. "Only," I added, "be sure to air the
room well to-morrow--it seems very close. Still, Bethune was right to
make sure that his sister could not harm herself."

"Yes," she nodded, placing the money carefully in an old purse, with
the true miserly light in her eyes. "Yes--she broke down most
sudden--it was the departure of her mother, you know, monsieur."

I nodded thoughtfully.

"When they first came, six weeks ago, she was quite well. Then her
mother a position of some sort secured and went away; she never left
her room after that, just sat there and cried, or rattled at the doors
and windows. Her brother was heartbroken about her--no one else would
he permit to attend her. But I hope that she is well now, poor child,
for she is again with her mother."

"Her mother came after her?" I asked.

"Oh, yes; ten days ago, and together they drove away. By this time,
they are again in the good France."

I pretended to be inspecting a wardrobe, for I felt sure my face would
betray me. At a flash, I saw the whole story. There was nothing more
Madame Jourdain could tell me.

"Yes," I repeated, steadying my voice, "the good France."

"Monsieur Bethune has him