Each time it struck our heroine as strange, but she soon forgot it in thoughts of Espy or the lost parent of whom she was still in quest. Now that she had not Frisky to take her attention, the Madame took to poring over the miniature again, often weeping bitterly the while; sometimes Mary overheard such murmured words as these: “Pansy, Pansy, my little Pansy! Oh, I can never forgive myself! My darling, my darling!” One morning Madame Le Conte awoke with a sudden resolution, and surprised her maid with an unusual order. “Mary,” she said, “I shall call upon my solicitor to-day. Tell Rory to have the carriage at the door at eleven o’clock. Then bring me my breakfast and dress me at once for the street.” “What’s up now?” inquired Mary of herself as she hastened downstairs in obedience to the order; “is she going to make a will and leave a lot of money to that pretty Miss Kemper? And all because she looks like that picture in the locket? Well, well, if it had only happened to be me now, how lucky ’twould have been!” Having come to her resolve, Madame Le Conte was in feverish haste to carry it out, scolded because her breakfast was not ready on the instant, and fretted and fumed over her toilet, accusing Mary of being intentionally and exasperatingly slow. But the maid bore it with unruffled equanimity, perhaps looking to the possibility of a fat legacy. The Madame entered her carriage in a tremor of excitement and haste, which, however, calmed down somewhat during the drive. Arrived at their destination, Mary assisted her to alight and ascend the three or four steps leading into the hall of the building. “Stop! it is this first door,” said the Madame, panting and wheezing, slight as the exertion had been. “Wait a minute till I recover breath. I want a private interview, and you will stay outside. Rap now.” Mary obeyed, and hearing a loud “Come in!” opened the door and stepped back to let her mistress enter. “Ah! Madame Le Conte! how d’ye do?” said the lawyer, rising and offering a hand to his rich client; then, with a sudden recollection, dropping it at his side and contenting himself with pushing forward an arm-chair. “Sit down, Madame,” he said. “You are quite a stranger here, but I have been out of town, and may have missed a call from you.” “No,” she panted, “I’ve--not--been here since I saw you last.” “Ah? Well, my dear Madame, what can I do for you to-day?” “You have heard nothing--learned nothing yet?” “Nothing whatever, as I am sorry to say.” She sighed deeply. “I think I should give it up,” he said. “No, no, no!” she cried with vehemence. “I would have you renew and redouble your efforts.” “What can I do that has not already been done?” “I don’t know, but you must try to think of something. Write a new advertisement; send it to every paper in the land.” “It will be putting you to very great expense, and uselessly, I am almost sure.”