So the two women stayed, Margery busying herself with the work which her former customers persisted in bringing to her as soon as they heard she was free to do anything of that sort, and Christine devoting herself to Queenie, to whom she talked of the days when she first entered the service of Mrs. Hetherton in Paris. Reinette was never tired of hearing of her mother, and the same story had to be told many times ere she was satisfied. “It brings her so near to me to hear all this,” she said to Christine, one evening when they sat together by the firelight in Queenie’s room, and Christine had been describing a dress which her mistress wore to a grand ball at which dukes and duchesses were present. “I like to think of her in that lovely dress, and she was happy, too, I am sure, though you have sometimes talked as if she were not. I know my father loved her very much, though he might not have shown it before you. Men are different from women. Did he never pet her in your presence?” “Oh, yes, sometimes, and called her his little _Daisy_—that was his pet name for her,” Christine replied, and Reinette rejoined: “Daisy is such a sweet name. I wish it were mine, though Queenie does very well. I like pet names so much. Did you ever have one? I hardly know what could be made of Christine.” Mrs. La Rue was gazing steadily into the fire, and did not at once reply, and when at last she did, she said, “I have been called Tina.” “_Tina_,” Reinette exclaimed, starting suddenly, while like a flash of lightning there shot through her brain the memory of the long black tress she had burned and the letter whose writer had signed herself Tina. “_Who_ used to call you _Tina_?” she demanded. “Was it your husband?” Not a muscle of Christine’s face moved, nor did her voice tremble in the least, as she replied: “Yes; there was more sentiment in his nature than any one would suppose from seeing him. He was very fond of me at times.” Just then Pierre came in bringing candles and a tray with his mistress’ supper upon it, and the conversation was brought to a close, nor was it resumed again, for after tea Margery came up and sat with Reinette and her mother until the latter asked to be excused, and retired to her room. CHAPTER XXXIX. TINA. Reinette kept saying the name over to herself after Margery left her, and when at last she was in bed it repeated itself again and again in her brain, while a horrible suspicion, the exact nature of which she could not define, was forcing itself into her mind. To sleep was impossible, and with all her old wakefulness upon her, she tossed restlessly from side to side until she heard the clock strike one.