"She visits the convent school regularly. She seems to be a vigilant wide-awake woman of property. She goes everywhere, opera, balls, theatres, to the Tuileries. She is popular with women of the best set, especially the French. She sees very few Americans. She is supposed to be Southern in her sympathies. Her life seems to be as clear as a diamond. She has apparently no feminine weaknesses. If there is a sign of the future, it is that she may become 'Countess de Villa Rocca.' He is a very fine fellow, has all the Italian graces, and has been in the 'Guardia Nobile.' He is desperately devoted to Madame, and to do him justice, is an excellent fellow, as Italian counts go. "By the way, I met old Colonel Joe Woods here. He entertained me in his old way. He showed me the sights. He has become very rich, and operates in New York, London, and Paris. He is quite a swell here. He is liberal and jolly. Rather a change from the American River bar, to the Jockey Club at Paris. He sends you remembrances. "I shall wait your further orders, and return on telegraph. I cannot fathom the household mysteries of the Madame. When all Paris says a woman is 'dead square,' we need not probe deeper. There is no present sign of her marrying Villa Rocca, but he is the first favorite." "So," muses the veteran intriguer Hardin, as he selects a regalia, "my lady is wary, cautious, and blameless. Danger signals these. I must watch this Villa Rocca. Is he a 'cavalier servente'? Can he mean mischief? She would not marry him, I know," he murmurs. The red danger signal's flash shows to Hardin, Marie Berard standing by the side of Natalie and the two girls. Villa Rocca is only a dark shade of the background as yet. He smiles grimly. The clicking telegraph key invokes the mysterious cable. For two days Judge Philip paces his room a restless wolf. His prophetic mind projects the snares which will bring them all to his feet. He will buy this soubrette's secrets. A French maid's greed and Punic faith can be counted on always. With trembling fingers he tears open the cipher reply from his spy. He reads with flaming eyes: "Have seen girl; very knowing. Says she can tell you something worth one hundred thousand francs. Will not talk now. Money useless at present. She wants your definite instructions, and says, wait. Cable me orders." Hardin peers through the grindstone, and evolves his orders. He acts with Napoleon's rapidity. His answer reads: "Let her alone. Tell her to notify Laroyne & Co., 16 Rue Vivienne, when ready to sell her goods. Wait orders." Hardin revolves in his busy brain every turn of fortune's wheel. Has Natalie an intrigue? Is she already secretly married? Is the heiress of Lagunitas dead? The labors of his waking hours and the brandy bottle only tell him of an unfaithful woman's vagaries; a greedy lover's plots, or the curiosity of the dark-eyed maid, whose avarice is above her fidelity. Bah! she will tattle. No woman can resist it; they all talk.