ence with other countries. As I have an interest in the
paper, you may consider it settled. No, don't thank me. Your thanks
are due to--a woman. She is unknown to me, but perhaps that is the
reason I--I also owe you something, Monsieur Vardri. Your example has
made me feel young again."

A week later Vardri went swinging quickly down the Calle San Antonio,
on his way to Emile's rooms. He was in exuberant spirits, and whistled
as he walked keeping step to the dancing gaiety of '_La petite
Tonquinoise_.' His headgear, which vied in picturesque disorder with
Emile's historical sombrero, was pushed to the back of his head,
exposing his thick, unruly hair, and over one ear, Spanish fashion, he
had stuck a carnation.

There was more money in his pocket than he had possessed since his days
of luxury in the Austrian chateau, and for him the sun was shining in a
metaphorical as well as a literal sense. During the last few days he
had been happier than he could have believed possible. He felt in
better health, for he had been able to go to bed at a reasonable time,
and though he missed the horses and the free life of the Hippodrome,
and found the work of a newspaper office somewhat trying, there were
shorter hours and other advantages.

He had also the joy of knowing that Arithelli was almost well again.
She had not been out yet, but Michael Furness had declared her to be
practically recovered.

One day Vardri hoped to take her along the sea-front towards the old
quarter of the town, where the fishermen and sailors lived, and where
she could sit on the stone parapet and look across the harbour, and let
the sea-air blow strength and vitality into her.

After all he told himself, life was good even if one were a vagabond.
Life with adventure, a little money, and love.

He burst open the door of Emile's sitting-room, and entered headlong.
The sun-blinds were all drawn, making everything appear pitch dark
after the blinding glare of the streets.

"I want some matches, Poleski! By luck, I've got some cigarettes. One
never has both matches and cigarettes at the same time." He had come
to a dead stop and stood staring.

"Fatalite! Fatalite! The gods are kind for once! If only I had known
you were here sooner."

The half-full box of cigarettes descended to the floor, and its
contents went in all directions, and he was kneeling beside her chair
and holding both her hands. It was Arithelli not "Fatalite" who smil