A waiter appeared; and Miss Beaufort, in a tolerably collected voice, inquired whether Mr. Constantine lived there? "No, ma'am." A cold dew stood on her forehead; but taking courage from a latent and last hope, she added, "I know he has had letters directed to this place." "Oh! I beg your pardon, ma'am!" returned the man recollecting himself; "I remember a person of that name has received letters from hence, but they were always fetched away by a little girl." "And do you not know where he lives?" "No, ma'am," answered he; "yet some one else in the house may: I will inquire." Miss Beaufort bowed her head in token of acknowledgment, and sat shivering with suspense until he returned, followed by another man. "This person, ma'am," resumed he, "says he can tell you." "Thank you, thank you!" cried Mary; then, blushing at her eagerness, she stopped and drew back into the carriage. "I cannot for certain," said the man, "but I know the girl very well by sight who comes for the letters; and I have often seen her standing at the door of a chandler's shop a good way down the lane. I think it is No. 5, or 6. I sent a person there who came after the same gentleman about a fortnight ago. I dare say he lives there." Miss Beaufort's expectations sunk again, when she found that she had nothing but a dare say to depend on; and giving half-a-crown to each of her informers, she desired the coachman to drive as they would direct him. While the carriage drove down the lane, with a heart full of fears she looked from side to side, almost believing she should know by intuition the house which had contained Constantine. When the man checked his horses, and her eyes fell on the little mean dwelling of Mrs. Robson, she smothered a deep sigh. "Can this be the house in which Constantine has lived? How comfortless! And should it not," thought she, as the man got off the box to inquire, "whither shall I go for information?" The appearance of Mrs. Robson, and her immediate affirmative to the question, "Are these Mr. Constantine's lodgings?" at once dispelled this last anxiety. Encouraged by the motherly expression of the good woman's manner, Mary begged leave to alight. Mrs. Robson readily offered her arm, and with many apologies for the disordered state of the house, led her up stairs to the room which had been the count's house. Mary trembled; but seeing that everything depended on self-command, with apparent tranquillity she received the chair that was presented to her, and turning her eyes from the books and drawings which told her so truly in whose apartment she was, she desired Mrs. Robson, who continued standing, to be seated. The good woman obeyed. After some trepidation, Mary asked where Mr. Constantine was? Mrs. Robson colored, and looking at her questioner for some time, as if doubting what to say, burst into tears.