“For me,” she said, looking away, “it is no matter. I have no beauty. Besides, I am madame’s servant,”--she blushed slightly at this,”--and she is generous with money.” “Yes, and you like money so much?” Her eyes flashed a little defiantly as she looked me in the face. “It is everything to me.” She paused as if to see the effect upon me, or to get an artificial (I knew it was artificial) strength to go on, then she added: “I love money. I work for it; I would bear all for it--all that a woman could bear. I--” But here she paused again, and, though the eyes still flashed, the lips quivered. Hers was not the face of cupidity. It was sensitive, yet firm, as with some purpose deep as her nature was by creation and experience, and always deepening that nature. I suddenly got the conviction that this girl had a sorrow of some kind in her life, and that this unreal affection for money was connected with it. Perhaps she saw my look of interest, for she hurriedly continued: “But, pardon me, I am foolish. I shall be better when the pain is gone. Madame is kind; she will let me sleep this afternoon, perhaps.” I handed her the medicine, and then asked: “How long have you known Mrs. Falchion, Miss Caron?” “Only one year.” “Where did you join her?” “In Australia.” “In Australia? You lived there?” “No, monsieur, I did not live there.” A thought came to my mind--the nearness of New Caledonia to Australia, and New Caledonia was a French colony--a French penal colony! I smiled as I said the word penal to myself. Of course the word could have no connection with a girl like her, but still she might have lived in the colony. So I added quietly: “You perhaps had come from New Caledonia?” Her look was candid, if sorrowful. “Yes, from New Caledonia.” Was she, thought I, the good wife of some convict--some political prisoner?--the relative of some refugee of misfortune? Whatever she was, I was sure that she was free from any fault. She evidently thought that I might suspect something uncomplimentary of her, for she said: “My brother was an officer at Noumea. He is dead. I am going to France, when I can.”