ore her, I asked, with
the same tranquil tone and manner that I should have used had I put the
question for the first time--

"Mademoiselle, will you have the goodness to give me the address of
Frances Evans Henri?"

A little surprised, but not disconcerted, she smilingly disclaimed any
knowledge of that address, adding, "Monsieur has perhaps forgotten that
I explained all about that circumstance before--a week ago?"

"Mademoiselle," I continued, "you would greatly oblige me by directing
me to that young person's abode."

She seemed somewhat puzzled; and, at last, looking up with an admirably
counterfeited air of naivete, she demanded, "Does Monsieur think I am
telling an untruth?"

Still avoiding to give her a direct answer, I said, "It is not then your
intention, mademoiselle, to oblige me in this particular?"

"But, monsieur, how can I tell you what I do not know?"

"Very well; I understand you perfectly, mademoiselle, and now I have
only two or three words to say. This is the last week in July; in
another month the vacation will commence, have the goodness to avail
yourself of the leisure it will afford you to look out for another
English master--at the close of August, I shall be under the necessity
of resigning my post in your establishment."

I did not wait for her comments on this announcement, but bowed and
immediately withdrew.

That same evening, soon after dinner, a servant brought me a small
packet; it was directed in a hand I knew, but had not hoped so soon to
see again; being in my own apartment and alone, there was nothing to
prevent my immediately opening it; it contained four five-franc pieces,
and a note in English.

"MONSIEUR,

"I came to Mdlle. Reuter's house yesterday, at the time when
I knew you would be just about finishing your lesson, and I asked if I
might go into the schoolroom and speak to you. Mdlle. Reuter came out
and said you were already gone; it had not yet struck four, so I thought
she must be mistaken, but concluded it would be vain to call another day
on the same errand. In one sense a note will do as well--it will wrap up
the 20 francs, the price of the lessons I have received from you; and if
it will not fully express the thanks I owe you in addition--if it will
not bid you good-bye as I could wish to have done--if it will not tell
you, as I long to do, how sorry I am that I shall probably never see you
more--why, spoken words would hardly be more adequate to the tas