me, it came unbidden and stayed
unrecognised.

And now Milbanke was dead. And life--not the mythical life of memories,
of dreams, even of ideals, but the life of hope and warm human
possibilities--was hers, as it had been long ago, before her husband's
name had ever been spoken in her presence.

Her mind was at peace, as she drove through the narrow streets of
Paris, with their cheerful characteristic chorus of shouting
newsvendors, and cracking whips.

The hotel she had chosen was a small one, close to the Place Vendome;
and when her fiacre stopped and she entered the vestibule, her sense of
pleasure and contentment increased. The quiet air of the place
contrasted agreeably with her previous experience of hotel life.

Still conscious of this impression of security, she turned away from
the bureau where she had registered her name, and crossed the vestibule
to the lift. Taking her place on the velvet-covered seat, she watched
the attendant close the iron doors and turn to set the lift in motion.
But at the moment that he laid his hand upon the button, she saw the
swinging doors of the hotel open, to admit a lady.

The new-comer, seeing that the lift was about to ascend, hurried
towards it; and Clodagh, idly interested by the sound of rustling silk,
leaned forward in her seat. But the light in the vestibule was dim, and
she caught nothing beyond the outline of a large hat and the suggestion
of a pale green dress. Then, suddenly, the stranger spoke, and her
heart gave a tremendous leap.

"Wait!" she called in French--"wait! I am coming!"

It needed but the five words, spoken in a clear, dictatorial voice, to
assure Clodagh that the speaker was known to her; and as the attendant
paused in his task, and, turning promptly, opened the grilled door, her
mind was prepared for the vision of Lady Frances Hope.

But if she was prepared for the encounter, the new-comer was taken
completely by surprise. Entering the lift, she glanced casually at its
other occupant; then her whole face changed.

"It is---- It can't be! It _is_ Mrs. Milbanke!" Her glance passed
rapidly over Clodagh's deep mourning and her expression altered in
accordance. "My dear Mrs. Milbanke," she said softly, "how thoughtless
of me not to realise at once! I heard through Mr. Barnard. How are
you?--how are you?"

She pressed the hand Clodagh had offered her, and looked
sympathetically into her face. Then, as the lift, gliding upwards,
stopped at the fi