ed
along toward that granite tomb near which Rovere slept. He recalled the
curious crowd which had accompanied his dead friend to its last resting
place: the flowers; the under current of excitement; the cortege.
Silence now filled the place! Dark shadows could be seen here and there
between the tombs at the end of paths. It was not a visiting day nor an
hour usual for funerals. This solitude pleased Jacques. He felt near to
him whom he loved.

Louis-Pierre Rovere. That name, which Moniche had had engraved, evoked
many remembrances for this man who had for a time been suspected of
assassinating him. All his childhood, all his youth, all the past! How
quickly the years had fled, such ruined years. So much of fever, of
agitation--so many ambitions, deceptions, in order to end here.

"He is at rest at least," thought Dantin, remembering his own life,
without aim, without happiness. And he also would rest soon, having not
even a friend in this great city of Paris whom he could depend upon to
pay him a last visit. A ruined, wicked, useless life!

He again bade Rovere good-bye speaking to him, calling him thee and thou
as of old. Then he went slowly away. But at the end of a walk he turned
around to look once more at the place where his friend lay. He saw,
coming that way, between the tombs, as if by some cross alley, a woman
in black, who was walking directly toward the place he had left. He
stopped, waiting--yes, it was to Rovere's tomb that she was going. Tall,
svelte, and as far as Jacques Dantin could see, she was young. He said
to himself:

"It is his daughter!"

The memory of their last interview came to him. He saw his unhappy
friend, haggard, standing in front of his open safe, searching through
his papers for those which represented his child's fortune. If this was
his friend's daughter, it was to him that Rovere had looked to assure
her future.

He walked slowly back to the tomb. The woman in black was now kneeling
near the gray stone. Bent over, arranging a bouquet of chrysanthemums
which she had brought. Dantin could see only her kneeling form and black
draperies.

She was praying now!

Dantin stood looking at her, and when at last she arose he saw that she
was tall and elegant in her mourning robes. He advanced toward her. The
noise of his footsteps on the gravel caused her to turn her head, and
Dantin saw a beautiful face, young and sad. She had blonde hair and
large eyes, which opened wide in surpri