In the midst of all this furniture, which science had, as it were, taken by assault and alienated from its original destiny, amid the many seats which wore an air of astonishment at having been coverted into book-shelves, one tiny chair alone remained unoccupied, doubtless reserved for the particular use of the master or mistress of the abode. As the clock struck eight, a lady made her appearance in the room. She might be from three and twenty to twenty-five years of age, and her figure, albeit considerably above the average height, was admirably proportioned. Her small, shapely head was gracefully poised on a well-turned neck, and her drooping shoulders and full, though not too full, bust prepared the beholder for the tiny foot which peeped beneath a dress of some dark material—a foot though, small, yet firm and evidently accustomed to being used. She is fair, decidedly fair, and still there is plenty of decision in the features. There is self-will and determination in the wide and somewhat square forehead, and in the straight nose, with its clear-cut nostrils; there is energy in the bluish-grey eyes, and the mouth, with its resolute outline and the upper lip slightly shaded with down, might well give utterance to soft nothings, but would be equally at home with a word of command. The whole countenance is a strange mixture of good-nature and firmness, of amiability and resolution, of gaiety and sadness. She is a woman who has lived and suffered—that is evident, and yet, now and then, the innocent simplicity of her look, her child-like smile, and her movements would almost lead to the idea that she is but on the threshold of life. She might well be a widow who had not long been a wife. She had scarcely entered her boudoir, when a servant brought her the _Times_. She tore off the cover without a moment's delay, looked carelessly over a column or two, and then, coming to a sudden stop, she went quickly over to a lamp which stood upon a round table, and ran her eye with great interest over the following lines, which she read to herself in English, without the necessity of even a mental translation into French:— "The New York papers to hand to-day bring us lengthy details of the meeting between the great traveller, Livingstone, and the American, Henry Stanley. It is a well-known fact that whereas our Foreign Office contented itself with requesting its Consular Agents to furnish information as to the fate of our distinguished fellow countryman, reported to have died on the way from Zanzibar to Lake Tanganyika, the 'New York Herald' commissioned one of its correspondents to proceed to Southern Africa for the purpose of prosecuting an organised search after the missing explorer.