greet her, and to tie up the broken threads of the old dream. The hours were like tortoises, and lumbered slowly and heavily along the path of time, while the days were interminable, and nothing served to relieve their monotony. There was but one thing diverting; that was, to take out the violin and play some of the nocturnes and other tone poems which had sweetened the air of the tenement in the old days, and crept like the music of the Angel Israfil from heart to heart. They comforted her, and seemed to bring her

lover closer.

Having found his way to the cottage, Holmes caught the sound of the violin as the dreamy music rose and fell, and, pausing, stood entranced, his head bowed, and the moisture creeping into his eyes. Mrs. Randolph, catching sight of his transfigured face, would have given the alarm and brought Estelle to the door; but he made a hasty gesture and placed a finger warningly upon his lips.

At such a time, the beginning of a new era in his life, even Mam'selle's music could not stop him, and he entered the house on tiptoe, thinking to steal up to her as she stood there with her back to him, and take her by surprise. It would be so delicious, he thought, to put his arms about her ere she knew that he was nigh. But he reckoned without his host. Hers was a sensitive nature, and she felt the influence of a presence which is evident to those who are en rapport. The fingers wandered from the key and the uncertain bow registered a false note. The dark head drooped above the silent instrument and remained there for a time. Then Mam'selle turned, obeying the law of subtile attraction, and, raising her eves, beheld her lover.

The Cremona fell to the floor unheeded; the bow was flung aside. Estelle, tottering forward, fell into the arms of the man whose coming meant so much to her.

"Edward!" she murmured. "Mam'selle!" he said, brokenly, the old name speeding instinctively to his lips. "This is the happiest moment of my life."

"And of mine," she whispered, tightening her embrace a little, as if fearful that all was a mere dream, and he would be spirited away by some unseen agency. "But it has taken it so long to come,' she added.

"I know it, dear; but now that it is here, there shall be no more unhappiness."

Why did you not come to me before?" she asked, after awhile.

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His head drooped, and shame crept into his face. She did not reproach him; she did not ask him why he had accepted the story of her unfaith; she asked, simply: Why did you not come to me before?" but in that question she epitomized everything. Holmes felt the situation keenly, and stood abashed, not knowing what to say.

"Forgive me," he pleaded, dropping upon one knee before her. "I doubted you, Estelle, but it was in the excess of my devotion. I hungered after you, and imagined that the world had taken you from me."

"The world!" she echoed, her slim hand stroking the bowed head. "What is the world to me? what has it to offer? what can it give one in exchange for the love of a single person? Nothing. I tired of the world long ago, and asked only to have you by me. I am young, Edward, but I have learned that

to each woman there is one beside whom the world is as nothing at all. I have nothing to pardon, dear; but it wounded me to think that you, of all others, should doubt."

Bending, she kissed him tenderly.
III.

to sit there and talk until doomsday, for a lover never likes to go; but Mam'selle's pale face indicated what she had suffered in the past, and impelled him to have some consideration for her health.

He spent the remainder of the night at a hotel in town, but he did not court sleep, lest he should forget his happiness and lose that much of its pleasure, and therefore listened to the voices of the night as the time went by. When morning came he went out into the world, and wandered about like a man without a mission or a home, spending a part of the time on the river, and the remainder in contemplation of Mam'selle's photograph.

At noon he repaired to the cottage again, and met with a welcome which, after his treatment of Estelle, was a second instalment of coals of fire heaped upon his devoted head by the demure little woman. Then there was a drive after luncheon, although he spent so much of his time in gazing fondly upon her charming face that only the instinct of the horses saved them from harm, as the animals were practically left to guide themselves. Later, as they were returning, they encountered Harley, who was trudging toward the cottage.

"Aha!" he exclaimed, anticipating them; "you have kissed and made up, I see, like any other children. So much the better. There is nothing serious in a quarrel between children, and the reconciliation is a pretty sight. When is it to be?"

"To-morrow," Holmes returned, promptly.

"What is that?" she inquired, somewhat bewildered.

"Our marriage."

Mam'selle's cheeks glowed and her long lashes fell. Then she laughed

merrily.

"You see, he takes me by storm. He has not returned my old violin, even, and the understanding was

"I know of but one understanding," said Holmes, stoutly; "and that is that we have set aside all misunderstanding."

"Which is wise, even in children. Permit me, Mam'selle;" and Harley

courteously assisted her to alight. "I should advise you," he added, "to take Ned at his word, for he is an utterly irresponsible young man.”

"How can I ever repay you for what you have done?" she murmured, laying her hand upon his arm. "You were so brave, so generous

"Mam'selle," he said, smilingly, "do you wish to see me hurled into another world? You must remember that Ned is a jealous fellow, as we well know, and it is not best to excite him. Can't you see his eyes glitter now? Remember his feelings toward the Count von Ulmer."

"The credit of all that Von Ulmer business belongs to you, Gil," sighed his friend, mournfully.

"And why? Simply because I managed to get ahead of you.

"But it was so unselfish-" Estelle began.

"Not at all," he interrupted. "It was very selfish. I had a deep, dark object in view."

They looked at him in mild surprise. "Fact," he said, his twinkling eyes. betraying his enjoyment of the situation. "I knew that Ned was a lucky fellow, and would sooner or later win you for all time. I am a friendless maverick, whom no woman would look at twice, and so I conceived the horrible idea of placing you under such obligations as to allow me to intrude upon your family circle now and then in my lonely moments."

"Nonsense!" Mam'selle exclaimed, taking her lover's arm, and the trio sent up a shout of laughter, in the midst of which they entered the house.

Never were hours more happily spent. Mrs. Randolph, confronted by the three, did not recognize in the handsome, welldressed stranger of the silver hair the dishevelled Bohemian artist of tenement days; but when his identity was triumphantly revealed by the lovers his reception was no less warm than Holmes's had been.

"How happy I am!" said Estelle, for the hundredth time.

"And no one is more deserving of happiness," Mrs. Randolph observed, smoothing her hair, for Mam'selle was sitting at her feet, with her dark head resting upon the elder woman's knee.

PART I.

HERE was wonderfully good weather for the approach of Christmas-tide in Paris. Not that any one minds bad weather in the French capital, where great things are done superficially to lighten the burdens of life. But December there is usually so very bitter and biting, so pervaded with a sensation of being pierced to the bone by a raw, wet cold (which is not visible to the naked eye, like the cold of a genuine white winter), that the clear, frosty atmosphere, tempered by a ray of thin sunshine, put us all in the most unreasonably exultant spirits.

Our pension was filled to overflowing with an amicable mixture of English and Americans, weighted by a German baroness with three or four preternaturally plain daughters, and a Russian countess, who was thought to be a socialist, because she never by any chance entered into a political discussion.

There was the usual desultory chitchat at table-d'hôte, and an extra amount of tolerant sociability in the salon after dinner, as the guests were tempted to discuss their Christmas purchases, even going so far, upon occasions, as to display a holiday bargain or

two.

The person who had most purchases to discuss was a Mrs. Thompson, wife of an American colonel-the handsomest woman in the house, as well as the cleverest and most entertaining. We We never found out what the husband was colonel of, nor even what was his name, as he had registered "Colonel Thompson and wife," signing himself facetiously "Ever yours, etc., the Colonel," upon

one or two occasions when courtesy demanded a social note from him. Nor did we know where the handsome couple had come from. They had a cosmopolitan air of having lived everywhere, and their not-in-the-least-reticent remarks and reminiscences savored equally of New York, Boston, and Washington. About Chicago they were also very enthusiastic, the colonel saying-but that is not a part of my story.

They seemed to be wealthy, with that carelessness of expenditure at which the Englishman stares, while the rest of the world pronounces Yankees to be "disgustingly rich." But they made no boasts and threw out no insinuations as to their income. In truth, they were exceedingly well-bred, particularly the wife, as is the way with Americans.

She was a charming woman, beautiful, sociable, good-tempered, with that spice of originality which makes the women of the United States the despair of their German and English sisters, the rivals of their more witty, if less amiable, French cousins.

Everybody liked Mrs. Thompson, whose only claim to be distinguished from hundreds of other Mrs. Thomsons was the "p" in the middle of her name. After it all happened-the incidents of my story, I mean-we wondered why some one had not thought of questioning her or her husband about their connections-their setting, as it were, in the large world from which they had come. Had there been the least particle of brag about them, or even, on the other hand, any suspicion of reticence, doubtless the lady from Boston, who kept our social books, would have taken the pains to be informed. She was the only one who did not like the colonel and his wife. I think she inferred that they came from below Mason and Dixon's line. However, that has nothing to do with the story.

They were a very devoted couple.

"Colonel," as his wife invariably called him (as though he were a collie dog," said the English dowager), was always buying pretty things for "Hetty." He called her Hetty with a frankness which quite won the pension's heart. They went everywhere together, and we had a feeling that most of their time was spent in visiting the shops and selecting Hetty's pretty things. Often one or another of us had been invited to assist at these shopping expeditions, a choice déjeuner-à-la-fourchette being a feature of the occasion. It chanced to be my luck to accompany them one day, about two weeks before Christmas. After an exciting visit to the Grand Magasin du Louvre, where Hetty appeared to buy everything under the sun she had not already bought, we went to the Palais Royal for our déjeuner. Just as we were about to mount the steps into the choicest of those admirable restaurants à prix fixe, Mrs. Thompson stopped before the door of one of the wonderful jewellers' shops which seemed to display their entire stock of gems in the tiny window-gems so magnificent that one is perpetually tormented with a suspicion that they must be paste.

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"Oh, do wait a minute, colonel!" she cried, in her bright, girlish way: "this is the place where we saw the exquisite diamond necklace. Miss Harper must see that necklace! Do come in for a moment, both of you."

In her pretty frank fashion she bustled towards the solitary counter behind which stood the solitary Frenchman (who does not know the solitary salesmen of the Palais Royal jewel shops?) who never seems to sell anything, and yet whose stock is always so surprisingly new and well-selected. A Parisian jeweller would rather retire from the trade than show you an old-fashioned brooch unless he were certain you would not find it out to be old-fashioned.

Monsieur Vigot bowed his perfect French bow, and grinned his plausible French grin. He had just the precise amount of suavity and "complaisance -that ultimatum of the Parisian code of good morals-and he handed Mrs. Thompson the diamond necklace even before she had breathed rapturously, "Ah, here it is!"

"Le voilà, madame. Is it not magnifique?" It certainly was magnificent; more fit for a duchess than for the wife of an American colonel. And I will do Mrs. Thompson the justice to say that she did not in the least appear to covet it for herself.

"Isn't it superb?" she cried, turning eagerly first to me, then to her husband, who stood contemplating her rather than the necklace, I thought. Certainly, she made a charming picture. Her eyes were as bright as the diamonds which she held up naïvely to her white throat with both hands. In her soft, round cheeks the color came and went with the excitement of her genuine admiration, and the curves of her laughing mouth were bewitching. The colonel seemed to think so, too. He took a quick step towards her and laid his hand over hers, diamonds and all. "Would you like them very much?" I heard him say.

The color ebbed altogether from her cheeks and then came back in a wave of vivid carnation; she was a sensitive creature, and the sudden question evidently startled her very much.

"I? Oh, I never thought of such a thing-never!"

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But this is the third time you have been in here to look at them, Hetty."

"To look at them-oh, yes-because they are so beautiful! But to buy such diamonds-we could never afford it."

"But if we could," he persisted, his hand still covering hers, his eyes looking adoringly into her own.

"Oh, Jack!"

It was the first and last time I ever heard her use the name, and I could see that she was sincerely moved. Then her good sense and better judgment asserted themselves, and after the murmured "Oh, Jack," she added, quite practically:

"But we cannot, and must not think of it. Why, M. Vigot wants eighty thousand francs for this necklace.

I had stood silently by while this rapid little drama was being enacted, the Frenchman having figured as pantomime chorus with his bows, his grins, his gesticulations, and an occasional word just in the right place. At the mention of eighty thousand francs he made a significant gesture which intimated that