er within the hour."

At this there was a general titter from the young gentlemen at the
table.

"All of which is neither here nor there, Monsieur," I answered sharply.
"The question is purely a commercial one, and has nothing to do with the
lady's character or position."

"It is well said, Monsieur," Madame Bouvet put in.

Monsieur Auguste de Saint-Gre shrugged his slim shoulders and laid down
the portrait on the walnut table.

"Four hundred livres, Monsieur," he said.

I counted out the money, scrutinized by the curious eyes of his
companions, and pushed it over to him. He bowed carelessly, sat him
down, and began to shuffle the cards, while I picked up the miniature
and walked out of the room. Before I had gone twenty paces I heard them
laughing at their game and shouting out the stakes. Suddenly I bethought
myself of Nick. What if he should come in and discover the party at the
table? I stopped short in the hallway, and there Madame Bouvet overtook
me.

"How can I thank you, Monsieur?" she said. And then, "You will return
the portrait to Monsieur de Saint-Gre?"

"I have a letter from Monsieur Gratiot to that gentleman, which I shall
deliver in the morning," I answered. "And now, Madame, I have a favor to
ask of you."

"I am at Monsieur's service," she answered simply.

"When Mr. Temple comes in, he is not to go into that room," I said,
pointing to the door of the saloon; "I have my reasons for requesting
it."

For answer Madame went to the door, closed it, and turned the key. Then
she sat down beside a little table with a candlestick and took up her
knitting.

"It will be as Monsieur says," she answered.

I smiled.

"And when Mr. Temple comes in will you kindly say that I am waiting for
him in his room?" I asked.

"As Monsieur says," she answered. "I wish Monsieur a good-night and
pleasant dreams."

She took a candlestick from the table, lighted the candle, and handed it
me with a courtesy. I bowed, and made my way along the gallery above the
deserted court-yard. Entering my room and closing the door after me, I
drew the miniature from my pocket and stood gazing at it for I know not
how long.

CHAPTER XII. LES ILES

I stood staring at the portrait, I say, with a kind of fascination that
astonished me, seeing that it had come to me in such a way. It was no
French face of my imagination, and as I looked it seemed to me that I
knew Mademoiselle Helene de Saint-Gre. And yet I smile as I wri