of that face and figure, and, by the time she
was passing under the window, I had placed
her on a certain gallery just coming forth
from the golden chamber, with the old
Yellow Tiger as background. So I stooped
over and called out softly "Fanchonette!"

She was a little startled, and looked up.
It was Fanchonette beyond all mistake. She
was not scared at being so accosted, but
stopped still a moment to know what I might
want.

"Fanchonette," I said, "don't you
remember? How gets on the old Yellow
Tiger and madame?"

She put her little finger to her forehead
thoughtfully.

"Ah! I recollect it all now!" she said,
clapping her hands. "I recollect monsieur
perfectly. Monsieur was there," she added
sorrowfully, "all that terrible night."

"Wait for a moment, Fanchonette," I said,
"I am coming down to you." For someway
I always shrank from that paternal manner
of the Reverend Mr. Sterne, when opening
up the country sentimentally; so I went
down to meet Fauchonette—ungallantly
enough—at the door. "Now, what has
brought you to these parts?" I said. "Tell
me all your little history, Fanchonette."

"O, monsieur!" she said, "I left the
Yellow Tiger long since, and I now serve
madame—the tall, dark lady, whose son was,
hélas! so miserably—"

"Ah! I remember that night well." And
the young fiancée, the golden-haired
demoiselle, where was she? I asked.

She had been with the Sœurs de la Miséricorde
since a long time back—in noviciate,
Fanchonette believed. But had I not taken
an interest in her—at least she thought so—
and in the family? I had certainly, I said,
and had often thought of them since. Ah!
she was sure of it. She had noticed it in
me that night when madame was recounting
her history—and now, if I would be so good,
so condescending, she said, putting up her
hands, and actually trembling with eagerness,
to come with her for one short quarter of
an hour to her mistress. O! I did not know
what a relief, what a raising up from désespoir,
I should bring with me.

I looked at her a little mystified. To be
sure, I said; but what could I do for her?
O, much; a great deal! I could help them
very much indeed! The Blessed Mother had
sent me to them as a guardian angel and
deliverer! Madame had been utterly crushed
past hope; but now all would go well.
Would I go now? She was stopping in the
great house yonder.

This was mysterious enough, but I said
by all means; and so Fanchonette tripped
on—a messenger of good tidings of great
joy—leading the way to the great house that
hung so into the street. Arrived under its
shadow, she lifted the latch softly, and,
leaving me below, ran up to tell madame.
She was away some five minutes, and then
called over the stairs that monsieur was to
mount, if he pleased. So I ascended a dark,
winding staircase, such as are much found in
such mansions, and was led along a low,
narrow corridor into a large handsome room,
fitted however with mullions and panes
of diamond pattern much as in my own tenement.
Here, in a great gilt chair (very
tarnished though), surrounded with cabinets
and mirrors and clocks and china of the
pattern popular in the days of King Louis the
Fifteenth, was Madame Lemoine, all in black,
who sat back stiff and stern in her chair,
regarding me closely as I came in. I knew
her at once. She was just as I had seen
her on the stairs of the Yellow Tiger, only
her features had grown sharpened and
pinched a little; her eyes, too, had now and
then a sharp, restless glare. She looked at
me hard for a few moments.

"Sit down, monsieur, sit down," she said,
nervously, "here just beside me. Do you
know that you can help us—that is, if you are
willing to do so?"

I said that anything I could do for them,
provided it fell within the next few days,
they were heartily welcome to.

"Thanks, thanks, thanks!" she said many
times over, with the same nervous manner.
"You shall hear first what is wanted of
you—not so very much after all. Rather,
first what do you know of us, or must I go
through the whole wretched story—?"

"If she alluded," I said, "to a certain
fatal night some four years since, why—"

"Ah, true! I had been there. Fanchonette
had told her all that. Well, monsieur," she
went on, rubbing her thin fingers together,
"how do you suppose my miserable life has
been spent since then? What has been my
food and nourishment all that while?
Guess!"

I shook my head. I could not pretend to
say what had been madame's occupation.

"Try! try!" she said, striking the smooth
knob of her chair, her eyes ranging from
object to object in the quick, restless way I
had noticed. "What was the fittest employment
for the poor broken-hearted mother?
Come! Make a guess, monsieur!"

It had grown a little darker now, and
there were shadows gathering round the
upholstery of King Louis' day. For nearly
a minute no one spoke, neither I, nor
Fanchonette standing behind her mistress's chair,
nor the grim lady herself waiting an answer
so solemnly. Madame had been travelling,
no doubt, I suggested.

"Right," said madame, "we have been
travelling wearily: scouring the great
continent of Europe from end to end. Poor
Fanchonette is tired, and I am tired. Does
monsieur"—here she stooped forward, peering
nervously into my face;—"does monsieur
ever recollect meeting—in any of the great
public places, for instance—a man with light