he gave me
a look which steadied me, in spite of the thrill of surprise with which
I recognized his extreme pallor and a certain peculiar hesitation in his
manner not at all natural to it.

Meanwhile, some words uttered near us were slowly making their way
into my benumbed brain. The waiter who had raised the first alarm was
endeavoring to describe to an importunate group in advance of us what he
had come upon in that murderous alcove.

"I was carrying about a tray of ices," he was saying, "and seeing the
lady sitting there, went up. I had expected to find the place full of
gentlemen, but she was all alone, and did not move as I picked my way
over her long train. The next moment I had dropped ices, tray and all. I
bad come face to face with her and seen that she was dead. She had been
stabbed and robbed. There was no diamond on her breast, but there was
blood."

A hubbub of disordered sentences seasoned with horrified cries followed
this simple description. Then a general movement took place in the
direction of the alcove, during which Mr. Durand stooped to my ear and
whispered:

"We must get out of this. You are not strong enough to stand such
excitement. Don't you think we can escape by the window over there?"

"What, without wraps and in such a snowstorm?" I protested. "Besides,
uncle will be looking for me. He came with me, you know."

An expression of annoyance, or was it perplexity, crossed Mr. Durand's
face, and he made a movement as if to leave me.

"I must go," he began, but stopped at my glance of surprise and assumed
a different air--one which became him very much better. "Pardon me,
dear, I will take you to your uncle. This--this dreadful tragedy,
interrupting so gay a scene, has quite upset me. I was always sensitive
to the sight, the smell, even to the very mention of the word blood."

So was I, but not to the point of cowardice. But then I had not just
come from an interview with the murdered woman. Her glances, her
smiles, the lift of her eyebrows were not fresh memories to me. Some
consideration was certainly due him for the shock he must be laboring
under. Yet I did not know how to keep back the vital question.

"Who did it? You must have heard some one say."

"I have heard nothing," was his somewhat fierce rejoinder. Then, as I
made a move, "What you do not wish to follow the crowd there?"

"I wish to find my uncle, and he is in that crowd."

Mr. Durand said nothing further, and togethe