Strange to say, although courted and run after by nearly all the eligible young ladies, the Count became so fond of Mrs. Clarkson’s society that scarcely a day passed but he was found at her house. At the fair lady’s “Thursday Evenings,” of course, he was one of the principal attractions, added to which he dined and lunched frequently at her house, and escorted her to balls and parties: her husband not caring for the everlasting round of excitement, and, far from feeling jealous of the Count, he was proud to think that his choice of a companion should be endorsed by one who presumably was a competent judge. It was not long till the lady was at her old tricks again, and what Randolph Thompson had been to her before, Von Alba soon became, the simple husband encouraging these visits, and allowing his wife to squander his money lavishly on her paramour. Mrs. Grundy in the meanwhile began to be suspicious, and rumors, at first vague and indefinite, became almost pointed accusations against Mrs. Clarkson. The poor husband, although not altogether crediting the fact that there was a foundation for these reports, saw the necessity, in the equivocal position in which both he and his wife stood, of putting a stop to all suspicious intercourse with the Count; and, being resolute enough when so disposed, he forbade his wife to meet Von Alba any more in private, or to invite him to her house. This, as may be supposed, brought matters to a crisis and brought on a terrible quarrel between the abandoned woman and her husband. She saw that the game was up as far as Detroit was concerned, and so, managing to forge her husband’s name to a cheque for several thousand dollars, she went the next day with great boldness to the bank where he kept his money and presented it; it was cashed by the clerk without hesitation, and that evening, abandoning both Clarkson and her children, she went, accompanied by her paramour, to the depot and took the train for Montreal, where they went to an hotel, registering their names as Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, of New York. Notwithstanding their false names and altered attire they were traced to the St. Lawrence Hall, Mrs. Clarkson being surprised, on coming from breakfast one morning, to observe her husband busily scanning the register at the office counter. The Count had not seen him, but Mrs. Clarkson hurried him upstairs and told him that their whereabouts was discovered, and that they must take refuge in flight before Clarkson had time to take steps for their apprehension. Ringing the bell, Von Alba bade the boy to have their bill made out and receipted, and to have their luggage sent to the station in time for the next train for New York. “There is no New York train till 3.15,” said the boy. “When is there one for Toronto?” asked the Count. “Not till eight this evening, but the Lachine train, which meets the mail boat, leaves at 11.30.”