Hugh Craig was buried in the beautiful English cemetery out beyond the Magnan, what time the girl whom he had tried to kill was lying between life and death in the hospital. Lydon was obliged to defer his departure for a few days in consequence of these tragic happenings. Before he left he called upon Mrs. Makris, who was now sufficiently recovered to receive him. She was a stoutly-built, rather over-dressed woman, with a face which still showed traces of good looks. He had been told by the police she was an Englishwoman, and her thoroughly British accent confirmed the fact. But he had a shrewd suspicion that Jewish blood ran in her veins. While he was waiting in the pretty _salon_ of the Villa des Cyclamens for the unhappy mother, he noticed upon a writing table a gorgeous carved sapphire made into a pendant, the stone worn upon the breastplate of the High Priest of the Hebrews as the sign of Issachar. He rather marvelled that such a valuable article was allowed to lie there. In the distraction occasioned by the tragedy, it was of course possible that neither Madame Makris nor any other member of the household had heeded it. The Jewish-looking woman bore upon her still good-looking face the deep traces of her grief. When Lydon murmured a few words of sympathy, the ready tears fell immediately. “My darling Elise was all the world to me; we were devoted to each other,” she said in a broken voice. “And this state of suspense is awful. Two whole days have passed, and still they are not certain whether she will live or die.” Lydon again expressed his deep sympathy. “I have been very terribly shocked too, although I cannot for a moment pretend to compare my feelings with yours. Hugh Craig and I have been friends from boyhood, and I should have judged him the last man in the world to have given way to such an awful impulse. Have you no inkling of the cause which led to such an unexpected catastrophe?” Madame Makris shook her head, a head covered with thick dark hair in which there was not a trace of grey, in spite of her years, which might have been anything from forty-five to fifty. “Not the slightest, Mr. Lydon. There had been some disagreement between them a little time previously, for I discovered my poor girl in tears after he had left. I pressed her to tell me the reason of her agitation, but she parried all my efforts to extract the truth from her. She assured me it was quite a trifling matter, and that she would not have been affected by it, except for the fact that she was in low spirits.” “May I ask, madame, if they had known each other for long?”