o win
your election, it would be worth while--eh?"

The beating of Barouche's heart was hard, but nothing showed in his
face. There he had control.

"I like people who know their own minds," he said, "but I don't believe
anything till I study what I hear. Is it something to injure Mr. Grier?"

"If a married man went about as a single man and stood up for Parliament
against you, don't you think you could spoil him?"

For a moment Barouche was silent. Here was an impeachment of his own
son, but this son was out to bring his own father to the ground. There
were two ways to look at it. There was the son's point of view, and
there was his own. If he loved his son he ought to know the thing
that threatened him; if he hated his son he ought to know. So, after
a moment's study of the face with the fiery eyes and a complexion like
roses touched with frost, he said slowly:

"Well, have I the honour of addressing Carnac Grier's wife?"

Barouche had had many rewards in his life, but the sweetest reward of
all was now his own. As events proved, he had taken a course which, if
he cared for his son, was for that son's well-being, and if he cared for
himself most, was essential to his own well-being.

Relief crossed the woman's face. "I'll tell you everything," she said.

Then Luzanne told her story, avoiding the fact that Carnac had been
tricked into the marriage. At last she said: "Now I've come here to make
him acknowledge me. He's ruined my life, broken my hopes, and--"

"Broken your hopes!" interrupted Barode Barouche. "How is that?"

"I might have married some one else. I could have married some one
else."

"Well, why don't you? There's the Divorce Court. What's to prevent it?"

"You ask me that--you a Frenchman and a Roman Catholic! I'm French. I
was born in Paris."

"When will you let me see your papers?"

"When do you want to see them?"

"To-day-if possible to-day," he answered. Then he held her eyes. "To
whom else here have you told this story?"

"No one--no one. I only came last night, and when I took up the paper
this morning, I saw. Then I found out where you lived, and here I am,
bien sur. I'm here under my maiden name, Ma'm'selle Luzanne Larue."

"That's right. That's right. Now, until we meet again, don't speak of
this to anyone. Will you give me your word?"

"Absolutely," she said, and there was revenge and passion in her eyes.
Suddenly a strange expression crept over her face. She was puzzled.