Not a word yet to the fair girl, who goes singing now around the house. A few questions prove to Fran‡ois Ribaut that the girl has no settled memory of her past. He speaks, in her presence, the language of the Spaniard. No sign of understanding. He describes his old home in the hills of Mariposa. The placid child never raises her head from her sewing. Is he mistaken? No; on her pretty arm, the crucial star still lingers. "How did you get that mark, my child?" he asks placidly. "I know not, mon pŠre; it has been there since I can remember." The girl drops her eyes. She knows there is a break in her history. The earliest thing she can remember of her childhood is sailing--sailing on sapphire seas, past sculptured hills. Long days spent, gazing on the lonely sea-bird's flight. The priest realizes there is a well-guarded secret. The regular visitor does not speak TO the child, but OF her. PŠre Fran‡ois has given Josephine his orders, but there is no tripping in the cold business-like actions of the woman who pays. PŠre Fran‡ois is determined to take both the young men into his confidence. He will prevent any removal of this child, without the legal responsibility of some one. If they should take the alarm? How could he stop them? The law! But how and why? Raoul Dauvray is in high spirits. After his regiment is disbanded, he is not slow to call at the splendid residence on the Champs Elys‚es. In truth, he goes frequently. The splendors of that lovely home, "Madame de Santos'" gracious reception, and a royal offer for his artistic skill, cause him to feel that she is indeed a good fairy. A modelling room in the splendid residence is assigned him. Count Villa Rocca, who has all an Italian's love of the arts, lingers near Natalie de Santos, with ill-concealed jealousy of the young sculptor. To be handsome, smooth, talented, jealous--all this is Villa Rocca's "m‚tier." He is a true Italian. CHAPTER XVI. NEARING EACH OTHER.--THE VALOIS HEIRS. Paris is a human hive. Thousands labor to restore its beauty. The stream of life ebbs and flows once more on the boulevards. The galleries reopen. Armand labors in the Louvre. He finished the velvet-eyed Madonna, copied after Murillo's magic hand. He chafes under Raoul's laurels. The boy would be a man. Every day the sculptor tells of the home of the wealthy Spaniard. The girl is at her convent again. Raoul meets Madame Natalie "en ami de maison." He tells of Count Villa Rocca's wooing. Marriage may crown the devotion of the courtly lover. The bust in marble is a success. Raoul is in the flush of glory. His patroness directs him to idealize for her "Helen of Troy." Armand selects as his next copy, a grand inspiration of womanly beauty. He, too, must pluck a laurel wreath. Under the stress of emulation, his fingers tremble in nervous ardor. He has chosen a subject which has myriad worshippers. Day by day, admirers recognize the true spirit of the masterpiece.