“Well, what I have heard,” he said, “came from two sources, and was to the effect that Preston and Mrs. Hartsilver were together trying to conceal some secret of a rather scandalous nature. But, as I say, I don’t believe a word of it.” “From whom did you hear it?” “From two fellows in the office--two of our reporters. As you know, or perhaps you don’t know, reporters never give away their source of information, and I told them both to their faces that I knew Mrs. Hartsilver personally, and was convinced the story was a lie.” “What did they say to that?” “Oh, they laughed. One of them said that naturally in the circumstances my opinion must be biased, and that subsequent events would show if the report were true or not.” “They won’t publish anything in the newspaper, will they?” Johnson asked; and Hopford was again struck by the anxiety in his voice and face. “Set your mind at rest on that point,” he replied. “They dare not. Even if the tale were true, to publish it might be libelous. Certainly I will tell you at once, Johnson, if I hear anything more.” It was nearly closing time at the Pomme d’Or, and they rose to go. CHAPTER XXV. THE CITY OF SMILES. Paris has greatly changed since the war. The _bonhomie_ of the boulevards, so marked a feature before the year 1914, has subsided a good deal. The inhabitants, considered collectively, are more serious. Hopford and Johnson’s friend, Idris Llanvar, with whom Hopford was now staying, were discussing these and other matters one morning in Paris, when they were joined by Hopford’s friend who worked for _Le Matin_. Tall, slim, good-looking, and with the charming manner peculiar to descendants of the old French noblesse, he raised his hat as he approached, then apologized in excellent English for his unpunctuality. “We had a fire at the office of _Le Matin_,” he said, “which almost prevented the paper from coming out; but thanks to the courtesy of the _Journal des Débats_, which afforded us facilities for printing, the situation was saved at the eleventh hour.” He poured himself out a glass of wine from the bottle on the table--they were sitting outside a café on the Boulevard des Italiens--and continued: