r honeymoon, the future seemed full of bitterness and
despair. She shivered in the cold morning air, and the tears she could
not repress stole unheeded down her cheeks.

CHAPTER XXI

It was not until they had reached the railway station that Richard
Duvall roused himself from the stupor in which he had sat ever since he
and his wife had driven away from Dr. Hartmann's. When their baggage had
been deposited on the platform, under the care of a solicitous porter,
and the cabman had been paid and gone his way, Grace asked her husband
concerning their destination. "Shall we go to Antwerp?" she said,
listlessly. "We can get a steamer there, or cross to England." She
awaited his reply without interest. It seemed to matter very little
where they went, now.

Duvall turned to the waiting porter. "When is the next train for Paris?"
he asked. The man answered at once, glancing at the clock in the
waiting-room. "In forty minutes, monsieur. You will have time for rolls
and coffee."

"Paris!" exclaimed Grace, in much surprise. "Why should we go to Paris,
dear? I don't care about the things I left there. We can telegraph for
them. Oh, Richard, I can't go back and face Monsieur Lefevre now." She
looked eagerly at his face, but its expression told her nothing. "I must
make my report to the Prefect," he answered. "It is my duty."

Over their simple breakfast he was uncommunicative. "Don't worry, dear,"
he said, once, when she had plied him with questions, attempted to
change his decision by arguments. "I cannot afford to run away. Monsieur
Lefevre has given me a duty to perform, and I must at least tell my
story. After that, we can go to America, but not now."

She could get no more out of him, and with tears in her eyes, followed
him to the compartment in the Paris train which the porter had secured
for them. There were few people traveling at this early hour. They had
the compartment to themselves. Duvall rolled himself in his overcoat and
lay down upon one of the seats. "I am very tired, dear," he told her. "I
have suffered a frightful strain. My eyes hurt so that I can scarcely
see. I am sick for want of sleep. There is a hard task before me, when I
get to Paris. I must have a little rest." He turned his face away from
the light, and lay quiet, breathing heavily.

Grace sat huddled up in a corner of the opposite seat, watching him, a
great tenderness in her eyes. After all, she thought, he was her
husband, the man she