to see her turn pale and her fingers flutter at the knitting-needles she
held. She made an excuse to leave the room for a moment. He saw a
little book lying near the chair from which she had risen. Perhaps it
had dropped from her pocket. He picked it up. It was a book of French
songs--Beranger's and others less notable. On the fly-leaf was written:
"From Victor to Lulie, September 13th, 18-." Presently she came back to
him quite recovered and calm, inquired how the Avocat was cared for, and
hoped he would have every comfort and care. Medallion grew on the
instant bold. He was now certain that Victor was the Avocat, and Lulie
was Madame Lecyr. He said abruptly to her: "Why not come and cheer him
up--such old friends as you are?"

At that she rose with a little cry, and stared anxiously at him. He
pointed to the book of songs. "Don't be angry--I looked," he said.

She breathed quick and hard, and said nothing, but her fingers laced and
interlaced nervously in her lap. "If you were friends why don't you go
to him?" he said.

She shook her head mournfully. "We were more than friends, and that is
different."

"You were his wife?" said Medallion gently.

"It was different," she replied, flushing. "France is not the same as
here. We were to be married, but on the eve of our wedding-day there was
an end to it all. Only five years ago I found out he was here."

Then she became silent, and would, or could, speak no more; only, she
said at last before he went: "You will not tell him, or any one?"