The preparations for the great event were all but completed. _The preparations!_ I feel nearly as ill, now that I am writing it, as I felt then; and some years have gone by. The large salon, next to the room in which she died, was laid out for the visitors, part of the furniture removed, and a barrier placed down the middle--a space being left clear at either end. It was a very long, large room, and so far suitable. She--Adeline--was placed against the wall at the far end, upright, standing, facing the company who were to come in, as if waiting to receive them and give them welcome. I cannot tell you how they fixed and supported her: I never asked then; I would as little ask now; I knew none of the details; the broad facts were enough. As Mary Carr went creeping upstairs to put on her bonnet, she heard voices in the death-chamber, and looked in. They were dressing Adeline. The French nurse was standing before the upright corpse, supporting it on her shoulder, her own face turned aside from it; and the hairdresser stood behind, dressing the hair. Louise seemed to be helping to hold the dead weight; Susanne handed hair-pins to the man. If ever there was a revolting task on earth, that seemed one; and Mary Carr turned sick as she hastily closed the door again, and leaned against the wall to recover, if that might be, from her faintness. "What hotel do you mean to try?" she inquired, when she went out with Rose into the broad daylight, a welcome relief from the darkened house and what was being transacted in it. "I shall try them all in succession, until I find him," returned Rose. "I think he must use the Hôtel des Bains. I know Frank does." Rose bent her steps towards that renowned hostelry, and turned boldly into the yard. A man came forward with a cloth on his arm, waiter fashion. "Monsieur de Saint John," she began, "est-il descendu ici?" The man stammered something in wretched French, "comprenais pas," and Rose found he was a very native Englishman. Mr. St. John was staying there, but was going on to Paris in the evening. He was out just then. "Out!" cried Rose, not expecting this check to her impatience. "Where's he gone?" Of course the waiter could not say where. Rose intimated that her business was of importance; that she must see him. The group stood looking at each other in indecision. "If you would like to go to his room and wait, ladies, I have the key," suggested the man. "It is only on the first floor." "What is to be done, Mary Carr?" cried Rose, tapping her foot in pettish annoyance. "Don't ask me. It is your expedition, not mine." What Rose would have done, is uncertain. She was looking at the man in hesitation, perhaps thinking of the room and the key, when who should turn into the yard with a light quick step but Mr. St. John himself. Not changed--not a whit changed. The same high bearing, the same distinguished form and face, the same frank manners, possessing for all so irresistible a fascination.