with
the simple-hearted old father. At half-past twelve, with a rush and
a flutter, the two young falcons sailed into the main hallway and
effusively bade adieu to their limp cavaliers, who slunk away, in
different directions, when they observed the disgruntled parent and the
heartily amused Briton.

"So they brought you home safely?" calmly remarked Hawke, as he watched
the happy father gathering his chickens unto his wing.

"We brought them home safe," cutely remarked Miss Phenie. "Those fellows
are heavenly dancers, but they are not worth shucks in a boat. I wish
we had had you out with us. I like Englishmen!" with which frank
declaration Miss Phenie and Miss Genie whisked themselves away to bed,
Miss Genie leaning over the banister to jovially cry out:

"Don't you go away till we fix up that Chillon trip." Major Hawke and
Phineas Forbes, Esq., drank a last libation to the friendly god Neptune,
the old man huskily remarking:

"Say, Major, those are two fine girls, and they will have a million
apiece. I want 'em to be sensible and marry Chicago men, but, they both
go in for coronets and all that humbug." The laughing Major extricated
himself from the social tentacles of the honest old boy, mentally
deciding to play off Miss Genie against Mad-ame Berthe Louison.

"I will give these strange girls 'a day out.' It may reduce the nez
retrousseeoi my mysterious employer." And so he dreamed that night that
he was an assistant presiding genius of the great pig Golgotha, where
Phineas Forbes was the monarch of the meat ax. "Right smart girls, and
you bet they can take care of themselves," was the last encomium of
their self-denying parent which rang in Alan Hawke's ears as he wandered
away into the Land of Nod.

"They are a queer lot," laughed the happy schemer, as he woke next
day to his closing labors at Geneva. "Now, for my check cashing, then,
Monsieur Francois, a farewell visit to Miss Euphrosyne, and a secret
council with the fair Genie," He merrily breakfasted, and was more than
rewarded for his Mephistophelian entertainment of Francois. The sly
Figaro "parted freely," and when he slunk back to the "Institute" he was
the richer by fifty francs. Major Hawke was the happy possessor of
the coveted photographs, and a private address of Francois, artfully
informing that person that he was going to London, and on his return,
in a few months, desired a cicerone in the hypocritically placid town.
Francois's eyes gleamed