grove, the music of that unseen violin. They spoke, often, in playful
mood, of the spirit that haunted the place; but they made no effort to
solve the mystery of the carefully tended rose garden. They knew that
whoever cared for the roses worked there only in the early morning hours;
and they carefully avoided going into the yard back of the house until
after breakfast. They felt that an investigation might rob them of the
peculiar humor of their fancy--a fancy that was to them, both, such a
pleasure; and gave to their home amid the orange-trees and roses such an
added charm.

But the other member of the trio of friends was not so reticent. Czar had
formed an--to his most proper dogship--unusual habit. Frequently, when the
three were sitting on the porch in the evening, he would rise suddenly
from his place beside his master's chair, and walking sedately to the side
of the porch facing that neighboring gable and chimney, would stand
listening attentively; then, without so much as a "by-your-leave," he
would leap to the ground, and vanish somewhere around the corner of the
house. Later, he would come sedately back; greeting each, in turn, with
that insistent thrust his soft muzzle against a knee; and assuring them,
in the wordless speech of his expressive, brown eyes, that his mission had
been a most proper one, and that they might trust him to make no foolish
mistakes that would mar the peace and harmony of their little household.
The men never failed to agree with him that it was all right. In fact, so
fully did they trust him that they never even stepped to the corner of the
porch to see where he went; nor would they leave their chairs until he had
returned.

Upon those days when Mrs. Taine came to the studio,--being always careful
that Louise accompanied her as far as the house,--Conrad Lagrange
vanished. The man swore by all the strange and wonderful gods he knew--and