When the boxes were unpacked, and Betty had pinned up a few prints and photographs and sketches and arranged some bright coloured Liberty scarves to cover the walls' more obvious defects--left by the removal of the last tenant's decorations--when flowers were on table and piano, the curtains drawn and the lamps lighted, the room did, indeed, look "like a home." "We'll have dinner out to-night," said Paula, "and to-morrow we'll go marketing, and find you a studio to work at." "Why not here?" "That's an idea. Have you a lace collar you can lend me? This is not fit to be seen." Betty pinned the collar on her friend. "I believe you get prettier every minute," she said. "I must just write home and give them my address." She fetched her embroidered blotting-book. "It reminds one of bazaars," said Miss Conway. * * * * * 57 Boulevard Montparnasse. My dear Father: This is our new address. Madame Gautier's tenant wanted to keep on her flat in the Rue de Vaugirard, so she has taken this one which is larger and very convenient, as it is close to many of the best studios. I think I shall like it very much. It is not decided yet where I am to study, but there is an Atelier in the House for ladies only, and I think it will be there, so that I shall not have to go out to my lessons. I will write again as soon as we are more settled. We only moved in late this afternoon, so there is a lot to do. I hope you are quite well, and that everything is going on well in the Parish. I will certainly send some sketches for the Christmas sale. Madame Gautier does not wish me to go home for Christmas; she thinks it would interrupt my work too much. There is a new girl, a Miss Conway. I like her very much. With love, Yours affectionately, E. Desmond. She was glad when that letter was written. It is harder to lie in writing than in speech, and the use of the dead woman's name made her shiver. "But I won't do things by halves," she said. "What's this?" Paula asked sharply. She had stopped in front of one of Betty's water colours. "That? Oh, I did it ages ago--before I learned anything. Don't look at it." "But _what_ is it?" "Oh, only our house at home." "I wonder," said Paula, "why all English Vicarages are exactly alike." "It's a Rectory," said Betty absently. "That ought to make a difference, but it doesn't. I haven't seen an English garden for four years." "Four years is a long time," said Betty. "You don't know how long," said the other. "And the garden's been going on just the same all the time. It seems odd, doesn't it? Those hollyhocks--the ones at the Vicarage at home are just like them. Come, let's go to dinner!" CHAPTER XII. THE RESCUE.