Paul Frager is a young man of a tall and elegant figure, with delicate and regular features. His black hair, cut close to his head, gives energy to his sweet expression. He has beautiful black eyes, frank and sincere, that look you full in the face. His dark heavy moustache can not hide his dazzlingly white teeth. He has many friends. No one can help loving that warm and sympathetic heart, always ready for any sacrifice to love or friendship. His manly strength would lead one to doubt the almost womanly tenderness and delicacy of sentiment which seem to be the foundation of his character. Admitted to the bar when very young, he has since lived quietly on a small income, inherited from his father, collecting material for a work on comparative legislation, which he hopes to publish some of these days. Each year he travels two or three months, usually afoot, studying the manners and customs of different countries. Two years ago, he traveled in this way through Italy. Perhaps next year he may go to England. Up to the year 1872, his life was as calm as a lake in Scotland on a Summer evening. His mother's second marriage took place at this time, and ever since his friends had noticed a great change in him. He became still more absorbed in his studies; became silent and almost morose. Then another change was noticed in him; his gaiety seemed to return. But suddenly, one morning, he left Paris and established himself at Canet, a pretty little fishing village, which lies stretched out sleepily like a great lizard, basking in the sun, on the shore of the Mediterranean. When he had returned from his morning's ride with Odette, he sat down to his work by the open window. He heard from time to time the heavy waves breaking against the rocks below. He was gazing out of the window at the glorious panorama of water and clouds, when he heard a knock at the door. He called out, "Come in," without turning his head. The door opened with a creak, and some one entered. "It is I, my dear fellow! Of course, you did not expect to see me; but I wished to have a little talk with you." At the sound of this voice, Paul turned around quickly, and with evident astonishment: "You? Can it be you--here?" "Yes; here I am, returning from Italy with your mother. I did not want to pass so near you without dropping in to see you." He was a man about forty years old, very tall, broad-shouldered, and strikingly handsome. His hair, slightly gray, covered only the back and sides of his head. He was elegantly but very simply dressed--the ribbon of the Legion of Honor at his button-hole.