‘O, madame!’ cried Adèle, ‘I am afraid she is very ill.’ ‘Hush!’ said Sister Ursula. ‘Go down, and leave us alone together.’ The girls, accustomed to obey, left the room in a body, and Sister Ursula sat down by the bedside. Jane Peartree lay moaning, and it was soon evident that her mind was wandering. She made no more attempts to rise, but murmured wildly to herself. Presently, when Sister Ursula bent over to speak to her again, she remained with half-closed eyes and made no articulate reply. ‘Poor child,’ thought the lady. ‘How pretty she looks, and different to most of those who come to this roof for shelter. And she has a secret, which weighs upon her mind.’ She added, still to herself-- ‘“Jane Peartree.” That was the name she gave me. Yet the initials upon her linen are “M. F.” Who can she be?’ CHAPTER XLII.--EXIT GAVROLLES. Several weeks after the wandering woman, who called herself ‘Jane Peartree,’ became an inmate of Mount Eden, that cosmic creature, Auguste de Gavrolles, author of the immortal ‘Parfums de la Chair,’ was entertained at a little supper in the house of Ponto, the art-critic. The occasion was an interesting one, originating in the fact that London was about to lose, for a time at least, the light of the French poet’s presence. Urgent private affairs, no less than the home-sickness of a great man for the scene of his struggles and his triumphs, were the reason of his departure. Frankly, as he confessed to his admirers, London was insufferably _bête_ after the true centre of the universe, Paris. It contained many choice spirits, notably those who had nourished their sublime youth with the fiery fleshliness of the Impeccable Master, but even these could not compensate for the fine atmosphere of Parisian _salons_, the soul-satisfying sunlight of Parisian streets. In a word, both duty and pleasure beckoned the cosmic creature back to his Cosmos, and he was compelled, though with a certain reluctance, to say farewell.