We had bread-and-butter and shrimps for supper that night—I shall always remember it; and we prolonged it as much as we could, drinking three cups of tea each, and eating as many shrimps as we could get. Emily Chandos did not appear, and Mademoiselle Caroline—who had viewed the scandal, touching Alfred de Mellissie, with shocked displeasure—would not allow her to be called, saying she was 'sulking.' But the supper, spin it out as we would, could not last all night, and Miss Johnstone, as good as her word, called us up with our English books. "Go and find Miss Chandos," she said to me. "She has chosen to go without her supper, but she shall not escape her lesson." Emily was not to be found. Amidst a search of commotion, the like of which I had never seen, it was discovered that she had quitted the house. The De Mellissies, the next inquired for, had quitted the town. A telegraphic message went to Chandos, and Mademoiselle Barlieu took to her bed with chagrin. The despatch brought back Mr. Chandos, Emily's brother. About the same hour that he arrived, a letter was received from London from M. Alfred de Mellissie, saying that he and Miss Chandos had just been married by special licence, and also by the rites of the Romish Church. That his English mother had aided and abetted the step, although she did not accompany them in their flight to England, there was no question of. Miss Barlieu saw Mr. Chandos in her chamber; the affair had made her really ill. Afterwards, as I was passing down the stairs, he came forth from the drawing-room from an interview with Miss Annette. She was talking very fast, her eyes streaming with grief, and Mr. Chandos strove to soothe her. "It all comes of that indiscriminate visiting, sir, that was allowed to Mademoiselle Chandos," she said, with bitter tears. "I told my sister ten times that Miladi Chandos was wrong to permit it. Ah! sir, we shall not ever get over the blow. Nothing of the kind has ever happened to us." "Do not distress yourself," Mr. Chandos answered. "I can see that no shadow of blame rests with you. That lies with Emily and the De Mellissies: my sister's fortune is a great prize to a Frenchman." What made me gather myself into a nook of the wall, and gaze upon Mr. Chandos, as he passed out in the dusk of the evening? Not the deep, mellow tones—not the sweet accent of voice in which his words were spoken. That they were all that, my ear told me; but something else had struck upon me—his face and form. Where had I seen him? Somewhere, I felt certain. The contour of the pale face, with its fine and delicate features; something in the tall, slim figure, even in the manner of turning his head as he spoke: all seemed to touch on a chord of my memory. Where, where could I have seen Mr. Chandos? The question was not solved, and time went steadily on again. CHAPTER X. AT MRS. PALER'S.