We entered Isabella's drawing-room, therefore, together, and a picture of brotherly love. "Force of good example," explained Mr. Devar airily. "I saw Howard walking and walked with him." There were assembled the house-party only, Devar and I being the guests of the evening. Isabella frowned as we entered together. I wondered why. Devar attached himself to Alphonse Giraud, whom he led aside under pretext of examining a picture. "Monsieur Giraud," he then said to him in French, "as a man of affairs I cannot but deplore your heedlessness." He was a much older man than Giraud, and had besides the gift of uttering an impertinence as if under compulsion. "But, my dear sir--" exclaimed Alphonse. "Either you do not heed the loss of your fortune or you are blind." "You mean that I cannot trust my friend," said Alphonse. Mr. Devar spread out his hands in denial of any such meaning. "Monsieur Giraud," he said, "I am a man of the world, and also a lawyer. I suppose I am as charitable as my neighbours. But it is never wise to trust a single man with a large sum of money. None of us knows his own weakness. Put not thy neighbour into temptation." Which sounded like Scripture, and doubtless passed as such. Mr. Devar nodded easily, smiled like an advertisement of dentifrice, and moved back to the centre of the room. It naturally fell to him to offer his arm to the hostess, while Madame accompanied me to the dining-room. Alphonse and Lucille paired off, as it seemed to me, very naturally. As we passed down the stairs I fell into thought, and made a mental survey of all these people as they stood in respect to myself. Alphonse had progressed, as was visible on his telltale face, from suspicion to something near hostility. Isabella--always a puzzle--was more enigmatic than ever; for she showed herself keenly alive to my faults, and made no concealment of her distrust, though she threw open her house to me with a persistent and almost anxious hospitality. Here was no friend. Had I, in Isabella, an enemy? Of Devar, all that I could conclude was that he was suspicious. His interest in myself was less gratifying than the deepest indifference. In Madame de Clericy I had one who wished to be my friend, but her attitude towards me was inscrutable. She seemed to encourage Alphonse. Did she, like the rest of them, suspect me of seeking to frustrate his suit by withholding his fortune? She merely looked at me, and would say no word. And of Lucille, what could I think but that she hated me? At dinner we spoke of the siege, and of those sad affairs of France which drew all men's thoughts at this time. Mr. Devar was, I remember, well informed on the points of the campaign, and seemed to talk of them with equal facility in French and English; but I disliked the man, and determined to make my thoughts known to Isabella.