can't believe it! Ralph--my own
Ralph--a common thief! Impossible! impossible!" Then she sobbed, burying
her pale face in both her hands in blank despair.

The horrible, bitter truth had been forced upon her, and she saw it in
all its hideousness.

"He raised his hand to strike me down!" she murmured to herself. "He
would have struck me, had it not been for Adolphe. Ah! yes," she sighed.
"Adolphe knows--he knows the truth--of all I have suffered. Ralph is a
thief, and--and the police will one day arrest him. He will be tried and
punished, and I shall be left alone--alone!"

For a long time the despairing girl sat in her lonely room, bent and
utterly crushed. Her thoughts were of the man she loved, and who, in
return, had now revealed his contempt, even hatred. He had told her that
she was but an encumbrance. He had not minced matters, but spoken openly
and frankly, like the brute he was.

She was unaware that "The American" was well known in the Montmartre as
a keen, unscrupulous man, against whom were so many charges. Next to
Bonnemain himself, he had been the most daring and expert of all that
dangerous gang.

How cleverly he had deceived her, however, she now knew. Her senses
seemed benumbed, for the blow had rendered her, for the time,
insensible.

A full hour went by.

The room was silent, save that from the courtyard below rose the drunken
voice of a workman who lived in the ground-floor flat--the husband of
the slatternly _concierge_--who had just returned.

The broken clock still pointed to the hour of four, therefore she had no
idea of the time, but sat staring in front of her, like one in a dream.

Once or twice her breast slowly heaved and fell beneath her neat, black
gown. Then at last she rose and, crossing to the cupboard with firm
resolve, took out a small, ten-centime bottle of ink and an envelope.

Seating herself at the table, she took the pen in her trembling fingers,
and with tears falling upon the paper, traced uneven words in French, as
follows:

"In spite of my love for you, Ralph, I cannot suffer longer.
Certain hidden things in your life frighten me. Farewell.
Forget me.--JEAN."

Slowly she folded it, took off her wedding-ring, and placed it in the
envelope, together with the letter. Afterwards she addressed it to her
husband, and left it upon the table. Then slowly she rose with a hard,
fixed look, and passed into the adjoining room, which was a bedroom.

She to