At the door, she stopped and turned back. "I must see Madame le Claire," said she. Already the rooms were filled with the disorder of packing, and Aaron was busy preparing for one of their Arab-like flittings. Madame le Claire stood looking down into the street. "Are you leaving Bellevale?" said Miss Waldron. "On the next train," answered the hypnotist. "Our tour has been a long time delayed." "I hope," said Elizabeth, "that we shall see you again some time." "It is quite probable," said Clara. "We are wanderers, and public characters. Almost everybody sees us from time to time--if they desire." "I'm not going to leave you this way," said Elizabeth, with hurried obscurity of expression. "You have done for me more--much more--than--than I can say; but you know, you know!" "I know you would do as much for me!" "No, no!" exclaimed Elizabeth. "I never would. I'm not good enough. I'm going away now, to be very, very happy, and I want you to see--to know--how I feel toward you--oh, oh, I can't say what I mean! But some time, when you get settled down from the agitations we've had, after a long time, write and tell me that you're happy, won't you?" She had put her arm around the slender waist, and faced Madame le Claire, gazing at her intently. Le Claire kissed her forehead, and looked long, with the varicolored eyes, into those of Elizabeth. She seemed to speak in that way, as an easier mode of communication at this time than by the words which would not come in any adequate form. So the two girls stood as Professor Blatherwick came in and noticed the labors of Aaron. "Packing, Clara?" said he. "Vell, vere shall ve vork te hypot'esis ant te bublic next? I shall pe glad vunce more to hit te pike. Dis gase, vile supliminally great stuff, is pretty vell vorked out: not?" "Quite worked out," said Clara, "to the end; indeed, indeed, it is completely worked out!" Elizabeth's arm tightened about her waist, and Elizabeth's breath was caught in a quick little sigh. Madame le Claire replied to these inarticulate expressions of sympathy as if they had been words. "Don't think that!" said she, looking Elizabeth again steadily in the face. "Don't let that haunt your mind in this new life of yours; for it will not be so. Let us be friends though we never meet. Yes, I will write to you; but it will not be necessary. Whenever you think of me, this is what you will think, because I command it: 'She is busy with her wandering life. New things are dimming the memory of me--and mine. She has found the love her soul covets. She is happy!'"