‘Pray, hear me out. ’Tis some weeks now since I discovered whither my seemingly virtuous English girl had flown. I have seen you driving in the crowded thoroughfares of Paris, smiling and bowing to the miserable wretches whom your smiles have brought to ruin. I saw you, and said nothing. Had you been discreet, I should have spared you. But since you seem to have no discretion, since you have thought it pastime to delude and cause the ruin of a friend of mine, I give you due notice I shall spare you no more. Here are the letters which from time to time you have written to my friend, and which your trusty servant has delivered for you. I give you two days to leave Paris with your protector; if, at the end of that time, you still linger here, I shall speak to the police, and let the law take its course.’ Without another word he walked away. Madeline did not move; she stood like one turned to stone. In her hand she held a packet of letters, while the words ‘decoy of a gambling hell’ rang with strange echoes in her brain. How long she stood there she did not know; the sharp breath of the night air brushing her cheek, as she tottered from the hotel, recalled her to herself. She shiveringly drew her cloak around her and walked--home. The smart French maid was amazed to see her mistress back so early. With a wave of the hand Madeline stopped all questioning and dismissed the girl for the night. Then she sat down to think. How her head ached! How cold and shivering and wretched she felt! Days and nights seemed to have gone by since she started off on her strange errand that evening. In reality _only_ a few hours had passed. How those few hours had changed her! Presently she remembered the packet which the Englishman had given her. She took it from her pocket, burst the band which held it, and the letters were scattered on her dressing-table. She took up one, opened it, and read, in what appeared to be her own handwriting-- _Be not so hasty, my dear friend. I must break the news gently to my beloved mother, who cannot bear the thought of parting with me. Our behaviour in public must not alter, but be sure I adore you. A thousand greetings from Madeline._ Again-- _Be cautious in your behaviour, and above all try to please the Vicomte, my cousin. Do anything he wishes you--it will come all right in the end. He has a stupid love of play--indulge him; if he wins from you he shall be made afterwards to restore._ Madeline read the letters over and over again. She picked up several others, and found them all to be in the same tone--protestations of love for the Marquis and prayers to him not to offend Monsieur Belleisle, of whom, she avowed, she stood in the greatest fear--and the forgeries were so good as almost to deceive herself. The past was all clear to her now--she knew what she had done and what she was; she recognised the true worth of the man she had married, and of the woman who called herself her friend.