"You did only what was natural," she said, "and I have nothing to

forgive you. Farewell."
"Is it to be FAREWELL?" he asked.

"Nay, that I do not know myself," she answered. "Farewell for the
present, if you like."

And with these words she was gone.
Francis returned to his lodging in a state of considerable

commotion of mind. He made the most trifling progress with his
Euclid for that forenoon, and was more often at the window than at

his improvised writing-table. But beyond seeing the return of Miss
Vandeleur, and the meeting between her and her father, who was

smoking a Trichinopoli cigar in the verandah, there was nothing
notable in the neighbourhood of the house with the green blinds

before the time of the mid-day meal. The young man hastily allayed
his appetite in a neighbouring restaurant, and returned with the

speed of unallayed curiosity to the house in the Rue Lepic. A
mounted servant was leading a saddle-horse to and fro before the

garden wall; and the porter of Francis's lodging was smoking a pipe
against the door-post, absorbed in contemplation of the livery and

the steeds.
"Look!" he cried to the young man, "what fine cattle! what an

elegant costume! They belong to the brother of M. de Vandeleur,
who is now within upon a visit. He is a great man, a general, in

your country; and you doubtless know him well by reputation."
"I confess," returned Francis, "that I have never heard of General

Vandeleur before. We have many officers of that grade, and my
pursuits have been exclusively civil."

"It is he," replied the porter, "who lost the great diamond of the
Indies. Of that at least you must have read often in the papers."

As soon as Francis could disengage himself from the porter he ran
upstairs and hurried to the window. Immediately below the clear

space in the chestnut leaves, the two gentlemen were seated in
conversation over a cigar. The General, a red, military-looking

man, offered some traces of a family resemblance to his brother; he
had something of the same features, something, although very

little, of the same free and powerful carriage; but he was older,
smaller, and more common in air; his likeness was that of a

caricature, and he seemed altogether a poor and debile being by the
side of the Dictator.

They spoke in tones so low, leaning over the table with every
appearance of interest, that Francis could catch no more than a

word or two on an occasion. For as little as he heard, he was
convinced that the conversation turned upon himself and his own

career; several times the name of Scrymgeour reached his ear, for
it was easy to distinguish, and still more frequently he fancied he

could distinguish the name Francis.
At length the General, as if in a hot anger, broke forth into

several violent exclamations.
"Francis Vandeleur!" he cried, accentuating the last word.

"Francis Vandeleur, I tell you."
The Dictator made a movement of his whole body, half affirmative,

half contemptuous, but his answer was inaudible to the young man.
Was he the Francis Vandeleur in question? he wondered. Were they

discussing the name under which he was to be married? Or was the
whole affair a dream and a delusion of his own conceit and self-

absorption?
After another interval of inaudible talk, dissension seemed again

to arise between the couple underneath the chestnut, and again the
General raised his voice angrily so as to be audible to Francis.

"My wife?" he cried. "I have done with my wife for good. I will
not hear her name. I am sick of her very name."

And he swore aloud and beat the table with his fist.
The Dictator appeared, by his gestures, to pacify him after a

paternal fashion; and a little after he conducted him to the
garden-gate. The pair shook hands affectionately enough; but as

soon as the door had closed behind his visitor, John Vandeleur fell
into a fit of laughter which sounded unkindly and even devilish in

the ears of Francis Scrymgeour.
So another day had passed, and little more learnt. But the young

man remembered that the morrow was Tuesday, and promised himself
some curious discoveries; all might be well, or all might be ill;

he was sure, at least, to glean some curious information, and,
perhaps, by good luck, get at the heart of the mystery which

surrounded his father and his family.
As the hour of the dinner drew near many preparations were made in

the garden of the house with the green blinds. That table which
was partlyvisible to Francis through the chestnut leaves was

destined to serve as a sideboard, and carried relays of plates and
the materials for salad: the other, which was almost entirely

concealed, had been set apart for the diners, and Francis could
catch glimpses of white cloth and silver plate.

Mr. Rolles arrived, punctual to the minute; he looked like a man
upon his guard, and spoke low and sparingly. The Dictator, on the

other hand, appeared to enjoy an unusual flow of spirits; his
laugh, which was youthful and pleasant to hear, sounded frequently

from the garden; by the modulation and the changes of his voice it
was obvious that he told many droll stories and imitated the

accents of a variety of different nations; and before he and the
young clergyman had finished their vermouth all feeling of distrust

was at an end, and they were talking together like a pair of school
companions.

At length Miss Vandeleur made her appearance, carrying the soup-
tureen. Mr. Rolles ran to offer her assistance which she

laughingly refused; and there was an interchange of pleasantries
among the trio which seemed to have reference to this primitive

manner of waiting by one of the company.
"One is more at one's ease," Mr. Vandeleur was heard to declare.

Next moment they were all three in their places, and Francis could
see as little as he could hear of what passed. But the dinner

seemed to go merrily; there was a perpetualbabble of voices and
sound of knives and forks below the chestnut; and Francis, who had

no more than a roll to gnaw, was affected with envy by the comfort
and deliberation of the meal. The party lingered over one dish

after another, and then over a delicatedessert, with a bottle of
old wine carefully uncorked by the hand of the Dictator himself.

As it began to grow dark a lamp was set upon the table and a couple
of candles on the sideboard; for the night was perfectly pure,

starry, and windless. Light overflowed besides from the door and
window in the verandah, so that the garden was fairly illuminated

and the leaves twinkled in the darkness.
For perhaps the tenth time Miss Vandeleur entered the house; and on

this occasion she returned with the coffee-tray, which she placed
upon the sideboard. At the same moment her father rose from his

seat.
"The coffee is my province," Francis heard him say.

And next moment he saw his supposed father standing by the
sideboard in the light of the candles.

Talking over his shoulder all the while, Mr. Vandeleur poured out
two cups of the brown stimulant, and then, by a rapid act of

prestidigitation, emptied the contents of a tiny phial into the
smaller of the two. The thing was so swiftly done that even

Francis, who looked straight into his face, had hardly time to
perceive the movement before it was completed. And next instant,

and still laughing, Mr. Vandeleur had turned again towards the
table with a cup in either hand.

"Ere we have done with this," said he, "we may expect our famous
Hebrew."

It would be impossible to depict the confusion and distress of
Francis Scrymgeour. He saw foul play going forward before his

eyes, and he felt bound to interfere, but knew not how. It might
be a mere pleasantry, and then how should he look if he were to

offer an unnecessary warning? Or again, if it were serious, the
criminal might be his own father, and then how should he not lament