“Well, you see, his hair was brown; but just above the forehead he had got one lock that was like your own--gold itself.” While he said this, the Klosking's face underwent the most rapid and striking changes, and at last she sat looking at him wildly. It was some time before he noticed her, and then he was quite alarmed at her strange expression. “What is the matter?” said he. “Are you ill?” “No, no, no. Only a little--astonished. Such a thing as that is very rare.” “That it is. I never saw a case before.” “Not one, in all your life?” asked she, eagerly. “Well, no; not that I remember.” “Excuse me a minute,” said Ina Klosking, and went hurriedly from the room. Ashmead thought her manner very strange, but concluded she was a little unhinged by yesterday's excitement. Moreover, there faced him an omelet of enormous size, and savory. He thought this worthy to divide a man's attention even with the great creature's tantrums. He devoted himself to it, and it occupied him so agreeably that he did not observe the conduct of Mademoiselle Klosking on her return. She placed three photographs softly on the table, not very far from him, and then resumed her seat; but her eye never left him: and she gave monosyllabic and almost impatient replies to everything he mumbled with his mouth full of omelet. When he had done his omelet, he noticed the photographs. They were all colored. He took one up. It was an elderly woman, sweet, venerable, and fair-haired. He looked at Ina, and at the photograph, and said, “This is your mother.” “It is.” “It is angelic--as might be expected.” He took up another. “This is your brother, I suppose. Stop. Haloo!--what is this? Are my eyes making a fool of me?” He held out the photograph at arm's length, and stared from it to her. “Why, madam,” said he, in an awestruck voice, “this is the gentleman--the player--I'd swear to him.” Ina started from her seat while he spoke. “Ah!” she cried, “I thought so--my Edward!” and sat down, trembling violently. Ashmead ran to her, and sprinkled water in her face, for she seemed ready to faint: but she murmured, “No, no!” and soon the color rushed into her face, and she clasped her hands together, and cried, “I have found him!” and soon the storm of varying emotions ended in tears that gave her relief. It was a long time before she spoke; but when she did, her spirit and her natural strength of character took the upper hand. “Where is he?” said she, firmly. “He told me he was at the 'Russie.'” “We will go there at once. When is the next train?” Ashmead looked at his watch. “In ten minutes. We can hardly do it.” “Yes, we can. Order a carriage this instant. I will be ready in one minute.” They caught the train, and started. As they glided along, Ashmead begged her not to act too hurriedly, and expose herself to insult. “Who will dare insult me?”