n memory of the hospitality shown by
the English gentry to the French emigrees, during the Revolution, this,
the most old-fashioned of Paris clubs, impales the Royal arms of France,
that is, the old fleur-de-lys, with those of England.

At all times L'Union has been in a special sense a resort of
diplomatists, and Vanderlyn spent there a great deal of his spare time.
The American was popular among his French fellow-members, to whom his
excellent French and his unobtrusive good breeding made him an agreeable
companion. There could have been no greater proof of how he was regarded
there than the fact that, thanks to his efforts, Tom Pargeter had been
elected to the club. True, the millionaire-sportsman did not often
darken the threshold of the stately old club-house, but he was none the
less exceedingly proud of his membership of L'Union, for it gave him an
added standing in the cosmopolitan world in which he had early elected
to spend his life. Perhaps it was fortunate that he had so little use
for a club where gambling games are not allowed to be played--where,
indeed, as the younger members are apt to complain, dominoes take the
place of baccarat!

The tall Irish footman whose special duty it was to wait on the foreign
members, came forward as Vanderlyn walked into the hall. "Mr. Pargeter
has been asking for you, sir; he's in the card-room."

Vanderlyn felt a curious sensation sweep over him. That which he had
thought so improbable as to be scarcely worth consideration had come to
pass. Pargeter had not gone to England that night. He was here, in
Paris, at L'Union, asking for him. In a few moments they would be face
to face.

As Vanderlyn walked up the broad staircase, he asked himself, with a
feeling of agonising uncertainty, whether it was in any way possible
that Peggy's husband had found out, even suspected, anything of their
plan. But no! Reason told him that such a thing was quite inconceivable.
No compromising word had been written by the one to the other, and every
detail had been planned and carried out in such a way as to make
discovery or betrayal impossible.

But to-night reason had very little to say to Laurence Vanderlyn, and
his strongly drawn face set in hard lines as he sauntered through now
fast thinning rooms, for the habitue of L'Union generally seeks his
quiet home across the Seine about twelve.

As he returned the various greetings which came to him from right and
left,--for a French club h