“I met Yvonne in the Louvre last week. I’m glad you are all over that affair, for she’s going to be married, she told me. She looked prettier than ever, and as happy as she was pretty. She was with old Bordier of the Fauvette, and his wife, and—think of this! she’s coming out in Belle Hélène! Well! I’m glad she’s all right, for she was too nice to go the usual way. “Poor little Bulfinch shot himself in the Bois last June. He had delirium tremens. Poor little chap! “There’s a Miss Dene here, who knows you. Braith has met her. She’s a beauty, he says, and she’s also a stunning girl, possessing manners, and morals, and dignity, and character, and religion and all that you and I have not, my son. Braith says she isn’t too good for you when you are at your best; but we know better, Reggy; any good girl is too good for the likes of us. “Hasten to my arms, Reginald! You will find them at No. 640 Rue Notre Dame des Champs, chez, “Foxhall Clifford, Esq.” Leaving Clifford’s letter and the newspapers on the table, Rex took his hat, put out the light, and went down to the street. As he stood in the door, looking off at the dark lake, he folded Yvonne’s letter and placed it in his breast. He held Braith’s a moment more and then laid it beside hers. The air was brisk; he buttoned his coat about him. Here and there a moonbeam touched the lapping edge of the water, or flashed out in the open stretch beyond the point of pines. High over the pines hung a cliff, blackening the water all around with fathomless shadow. A waiter came lounging by, his hands tucked beneath his coattails. “What point is that? The one which overhangs the pines there?” asked Rex. “Gracious sir!” said the waiter, “that is the Schicksalfels.” “Why ‘Schicksal-fels’?” “Has the gracious gentleman never heard the legend of the ‘Rock of Fate’?” “No, and on second thoughts, I don’t care to hear it now. Another time. Good night!” “Ah! the gentleman is too good! Thousand thanks! Gute Nacht, gnädiger Herr!” Gethryn remained looking at the crags. “They cannot be half a mile from here,” he thought. “I suppose the path is good enough; if not, I can turn back. The lake will look well from there by moonlight.” And he found himself moving up a little footpath which branched below the hotel.