s sufficient to bury her, but no papers were in her
possession, nor any letters calculated to throw light upon her past
life.

Her lameness had been caused by paralysis, but the date of her attack
was not known.

Finding no clue in this to what I wished to learn, I went back to our
old rooms, which had not been let since our departure, and sought
for one there, and, strangely enough, I found it. I thought I knew
everything there was to be known about the apartment we had lived in
two months, but one little fact had escaped me which, under the scrutiny
that I now gave it, became apparent. This was simply that the key which
opened the hall door of the bedroom and which we had seldom if ever used
was not as old a key as that of the corresponding door in the parlor,
and this fact, small as it was, led me to make inquiries.

The result was that I learned something about the couple who had
preceded us in the use of these rooms. They were of middle age and of
great personal elegance, but uncertain pay, the husband being nothing
more nor less than a professional gambler. Their name was L'Hommedieu.

When I first heard of them, I thought that Mrs. L'Hommedieu might be the
Mrs. Helmuth in whose history I was so interested, but from all I could
learn she was a very different sort of person. Mrs. L'Hommedieu was gay,
dashing and capable of making a show out of a flimsy silk a shop-girl
would hesitate to wear. Yet she looked distinguished and wore her
cheap jewelry with more grace than many a woman her diamonds. I would,
consequently, have dropped this inquiry if some one had not remarked
upon her having had a paralytic stroke after leaving the house. This,
together with the fact that the key to the rear door, which I had found
replaced by a new one, had been taken away by her and never returned,
connected her so indubitably with my mysterious visitor that I resolved
to pursue my investigations into Mrs. L'Hommedieu's past.

For this purpose I sought out a quaint little maiden-lady living on the
top floor, who, I was told, knew more about the L'Hommedieus than any
one in the building. Miss Winterburn, whose acquaintance I had failed
to make while residing in the house, was a fluttering, eager, affable
person, whose one delight was, as I soon found, to talk about the
L'Homme-dieus. Of the story she related I give as much as I can of it in
her own words.

"I was never their equal," said she, "but Mrs. L'Hommedieu was lonely,
an