you?"--rang in her ears. She entreated Madame Marillac to break

the unendurable interval of silence. The widow's calm voice had a
soothing influence which she was eager to feel. "Go on!" she

repeated. "Pray go on!"
"I ought not to lay all the blame of my boy's affliction on the

duel," said Madame Marillac. "In childhood, his mind never grew
with his bodily growth. His brother's death may have only hurried

the result which was sooner or later but too sure to come. You
need feel no fear of him. He is never violent--and he is the most

beautiful of my children. Would you like to see him?"
"No! I would rather hear you speak of him. Is he not conscious of

his own misfortune?"
"For weeks together, Stella--I am sure I may call you Stella?--he

is quite calm; you would see no difference outwardly between him
and other boys. Unhappily, it is just at those times that a

spirit of impatience seems to possess him. He watches his
opportunity, and, however careful we may be, he is cunning enough

to escape our vigilance."
"Do you mean that he leaves you and his sisters?"

"Yes, that is what I mean. For nearly two months past he has been
away from us. Yesterday only, his return relieved us from a state

of suspense which I cannot attempt to describe. We don't know
where he has been, or in the company of what persons he has

passed the time of his absense. No persuasion will induce him to
spe ak to us on the subject. This morning we listened while he

was talking to himself."
"Was it part of the boy's madness to repeat the words which still

tormented Romayne?" Stella asked if he ever spoke of the duel.
"Never! He seems to have lost all memory of it. We only heard,

this morning, one or two unconnected words--something about a
woman, and then more that appeared to allude to some person's

death. Last night I was with him when he went to bed, and I found
that he had something to conceal from me. He let me fold all his

clothes, as usual, except his waistcoat--and that he snatched
away from me, and put it under his pillow. We have no hope of

being able to examine the waistcoat without his knowledge. His
sleep is like the sleep of a dog; if you only approach him, he

wakes instantly. Forgive me for troubling you with these trifling
details, only interesting to ourselves. You will at least

understand the constantanxiety that we suffer."
"In your unhappy position," said Stella, "I should try to resign

myself to parting with him--I mean to placing him under medical
care."

The mother's face saddened. "I have inquired about it," she
answered. "He must pass a night in the workhouse before he can be

received as a pauper lunatic in a public asylum. Oh, my dear, I
am afraid there is some pride still left in me! He is my only son

now; his father was a General in the French army; I was brought
up among people of good blood and breeding--I can't take my own

boy to the workhouse!"
Stella understood her. "I feel for you with all my heart," she

said. "Place him privately, dear Madame Marillac, under skillful
and kind control--and let me, do let me, open the pocketbook

again."
The widow steadily refused even to look at the pocketbook.

"Perhaps," Stella persisted, "you don't know of a private asylum
that would satisfy you?"

"My dear, I do know of such a place! The good doctor who attended
my husband in his last illness told me of it. A friend of his

receives a certain number of poor people into his house, and
charges no more than the cost of maintaining them. An

unattainable sum to _me!_ There is the temptation that I spoke
of. The help of a few pounds I might accept, if I fell ill,

because I might afterward pay it back. But a larger sum--never!"
She rose, as if to end the interview. Stella tried every means of

persuasion that she could think of, and tried in vain. The
friendly dispute between them might have been prolonged, if they

had not both been silenced by another interruption from the next
room.

This time, it was not only endurable, it was even welcome. The
poor boy was playing the air of a French vaudeville on a pipe or

flageolet. "Now he is happy!" said the mother. "He is a born
musician; do come and see him!" An idea struck Stella. She

overcame the inveterate reluctance in her to see the boy so
fatally associated with the misery of Romayne's life. As Madame

Marillac led the way to the door of communication between the
rooms, she quickly took from her pocketbook the bank-notes with

which she had provided herself, and folded them so that they
could be easily concealed in her hand.

She followed the widow into the little room.
The boy was sitting on his bed. He laid down his flageolet and

bowed to Stella. His long silky hair flowed to his shoulders. But
one betrayal of a deranged mind presented itself in his delicate

face--his large soft eyes had the glassy, vacant look which it is
impossible to mistake. "Do you like music, mademoiselle?" he

asked, gently. Stella asked him to play his little vaudeville air
again. He proudly complied with the request. His sister seemed to

resent the presence of a stranger. "The work is at a standstill,"
she said--and passed into the front room. Her mother followed her

as far as the door, to give her some necessary directions. Stella
seized her opportunity. She put the bank-notes into the pocket of

the boy's jacket, and whispered to him: "Give them to your mother
when I have gone away." Under those circumstances, she felt sure

that Madame Marillac would yield to the temptation. She could
resist much--but she could not resist her son.

The boy nodded, to show that he understood her. The moment after.
he laid down his flageolet with an expression of surprise.

"You are trembling!" he said. "Are you frightened?"
She _was_ frightened. The mere sense of touching him had made her

shudder. Did she feel a vague presentiment of some evil to come
from that momentary association with him?

Madame Marillac, turning away again from her daughter, noticed
Stella's agitation. "Surely, my poor boy doesn't alarm you?" she

said. Before Stella could answer, some one outside knocked at the
door. Lady Loring's servant appeared, charged with a

carefully-worded message. "If you please, miss, a friend is
waiting for you below." Any excuse for departure was welcome to

Stella at that moment. She promised to call at the house again in
a few days. Madame Marillac kissed her on the forehead as she

took leave. Her nerves were still shaken by that momentary
contact with the boy. Descending the stairs, she trembled so that

she was obliged to hold by the servant's arm. She was not
naturally timid. What did it mean?

Lady Loring's carriage was waiting at the entrance of the street,
with all the children in the neighborhood assembled to admire it.

She impulsively forestalled the servant in opening the carriage
door. "Come in!" she cried. "Oh, Stella, you don't know how you

have frightened me! Good heavens, you look frightened yourself!
From what wretches have I rescued you? Take my smelling bottle,

and tell me all about it."
The fresh air, and the reassuring presence of her old friend,

revived Stella. She was able to describe her interview with the
General's family, and to answer the inevitable inquiries which

the narrative called forth. Lady Loring's last question was the
most important of the series: "What are you going to do about

Romayne?"
"I am going to write to him the moment we get home."

The answer seemed to alarm Lady Loring. "You won't betray me?"