ad been one of the most respected
persons in Brussels, with a large income derived from safe
investments. Now all she had for certain was something over three
thousand pounds in bank notes that might turn out next month to be
worthless paper. And was she certain even of them? Had Vivie before
they left the hotel remembered to put some, at least, of this
precious sum on her person? Suppose, whilst they were out, looking
for a fresh dwelling place, the hotel servants or the police raided
her bedroom and found the little hoard of notes? This imagined
danger made her want to cry. They were so friendless now, she in
particular felt so completely deserted. Had she deserved this
punishment by Fate? Was there after all a God who minded much about
the sex foolishnesses and punished you for irregularities--for
having lovers in your youth, for selling your virtue and inducing
other women to sell theirs? Was she going to die soon and was there
a hereafter?' She burst out crying in an abandonment of grief.

An elderly gardener who had been snipping and sweeping in the next
house came up and vaguely recognized her as a well-known
Bruxelloise, a good-natured lady, a foreigner who, strange to say,
spoke Flemish. "Ach," he said, looking out where he thought lay the
source of her tears, at the dim view of beautiful Brussels through
the steamy glass, "Onze arme, oude Bruessel." Mrs. Warren wept
unrestrainedly. "Madame is ill?" he enquired. Mrs. Warren
nodded--she felt indeed very ill and giddy. He left her and returned
shortly with a small glass of Schnapps. "If Madame is faint--?" She
sipped the cordial and presently felt better. Then they talked of
old times. Madame had kept the Hotel Leopold II in the Rue
Royale? Ah, _now_ he placed her. A _superb_ establishment, always
well-spoken of. Her self-respect returned a little. "Yes," she said,
"never a complaint! I looked after those girls like a mother, indeed
I did. Many a one married well from there." The gardener
corroborated her statement, and added that her _clientele_ had been
of the most chic. He had a private florist's business of his own and
he had been privileged often to send bouquets to the pensionnaires
of Madame. But Madame was not alone surely in these sad times. Had
he not seen her come here with a handsome English lady who was said
to have been--to have been--fortunately--_au mieux_ with one of the
German officials?

"_That_ was my daughter," Mrs. Warren informed him wit