There was the sound of Kathleen’s step in the hall, the opening of the door, a man’s voice speaking, then the girl came quickly up the stairs and appeared before her mistress. “Mr. Alden, Madame, and he wants to know may he come up here and spake till ye? Oh, don’t go for to be scared! Miss Ethel’s all right,” as the Madame turned pale and half rose from her chair. “Bring him up then,” she gasped, falling back again and panting for breath. She put no faith in Kathleen’s assurance, and was terribly alarmed. To lose Ethel would be almost like losing her own life. But one glance at Espy’s face reassured her. “Ah, Madame,” he said cheerily, declining by a wave of the hand the seat she pointed to, “I met a gentleman out at the Centennial who says he is a very old friend of yours, and would like much to see and speak with you. I have brought him to the house, feeling pretty sure you would be pleased to see him, but thought best to give you a little warning and an opportunity to decline doing so if you wished.” “Who is he?” “He requested me not to give his name, as he is anxious to see if you will recognize him.” The lady’s curiosity was aroused. “Very well, I will see him,” she said. “You may bring him up here at once; I am quite ready for the interview.” The stranger, apparently troubled with no doubt that he would be received, had crept noiselessly up the stairs and was already almost at the door of the boudoir. Espy had only to turn and give him a nod, and instantly he stepped forward and stood before Madame Le Conte--a tall, handsome, middle-aged man. But he started with amazement as his eye fell upon her face and figure. “Do I--do I see before me my old acquaintance, Nannette Gramont?” “That was my maiden name,” she said, gazing earnestly into his face as she half rose and held out her left hand, “but I am greatly altered, as I think you must be also, for your looks are utterly strange to me.” “Rolfe Heywood,” he said, taking the offered hand while still keenly scanning her face. “Rolfe Heywood! is it possible? can it be? Ah, yes, I know you now; I remember your smile. But--oh, can you tell me anything of my sister--my lost Ethel--my darling Pansy?” The words came pantingly, sobbingly, while great tears chased each other down the bloated, swarthy cheeks. “Yes, Nannette, she has been my wife--my beloved wife--for many years,” he said with emotion, thinking of the shock her sister’s changed appearance would give to the gentle, loving heart. “Oh, thank God! thank God! Then she has not perished with want! I have not the darling’s blood on my hands!” cried the Madame, sinking back into her chair and weeping as if in bitterest grief. “No, Nannette, though she was once very near it,” he said, bending over her and speaking in a very low tone. “Do not reproach me!” she cried. “I too have suffered! God only knows how much!”