When Vernon had read Betty's letter--and holding it up to the light he was able to read the scratched-out words almost as easily as the others--he decided that he might as well know where she worked, and one day, after he had called on Lady St. Craye, he found himself walking along the Rue de Vaugirard. Lady St. Craye was charming. And she had been quite right when she had said that he would find a special charm in the companionship of one in whose heart his past love-making seemed to have planted no thorns. Yet her charm, by its very nature--its finished elegance, its conscious authority--made him think with the more interest of the unformed, immature grace of the other woman--Betty, in whose heart he had not had the chance to plant either thorns or roses. How could he find out? Concierges are venal, but Vernon disliked base instruments. He would act boldly. It was always the best way. He would ask to see this Madame Gautier--if Betty were present he must take his chance. It would be interesting to see whether she would commit herself to his plot by not recognizing him. If she did that--Yet he hoped she wouldn't. If she did recognize him he would say that it was through Miss Desmond's relatives that he had heard of Madame Gautier. Betty could not contradict him. He would invent a niece whose parents wished to place her with Madame. Then he could ask as many questions as he liked, about hours and studios, and all the details of the life Betty led. It was a simple straight-forward design, and one that carried success in its pocket. No one could suspect anything. Yet at the very first step suspicion, or what looked like it, stared at him from the eyes of the concierge when he asked for Madame Gautier. "Monsieur is not of the friends of Madame?" she asked curiously. He knew better than to resent the curiosity. He explained that he desired to see Madame on business. "You will see her never," the woman said dramatically; "she sees no one any more." "Is it that she is ill?" "It is that she is dead,--and the dead do not receive, Monsieur." She laughed, and told the tale of death circumstantially, with grim relish of detail. "And the young ladies--they have returned to their parents?" "Ah, it is in the young ladies that Monsieur interests himself? But yes. Madame's brother, who is in the Commerce of Nantes, he restored instantly the young ladies to their friends. One was already with her aunt." Vernon had money ready in his hand. "What was her name, Madame--the young lady with the aunt?" "But I know not, Monsieur. She was a new young lady, who had been with Madame at her Villa--I have not seen her. At the time of the regrettable accident she was with her aunt, and doubtless remains there. Thank you, Monsieur. That is all I know." "Thank you, Madame. I am desolated to have disturbed you. Good day." And Vernon was in the street again.