In my last interview with her, two days since, she had referred to Julian Bordier in the same pitying tone. I had not then asked for an explanation, and I had not time now. The moments were too precious to waste in questions which did not bear immediately upon the matter in hand. I read the second telegram: "We may be absent a day or two. Meanwhile send no letters or telegrams to any person whatsoever. I particularly desire to avoid publicity of any kind. To Mr. Agnold, who has so generously and kindly befriended you, I will give a full explanation when we meet. Our united love." For a moment or two I was nettled, but I very soon got over the small feeling. Had I been present when M. Bordier surprised Bob Tucker in the inn and found the document in the secret drawer of the desk, he would doubtless have taken me into his confidence. It was natural that he should look upon Bob in a different light, for the probable reason that he supposed him to be a professional detective. "M. Bordier," said Emilia, "repeats the injunction in his letter. I could not but obey him." She read from the letter words to the same effect as the second telegram. "You infer," I said, "from these communications that M. Bordier places no obstacles in the way of your daughter's union with his son." "Yes," she replied; "it is my happy belief. My heart is lighter than it has been for months. I have endured what seemed to me an eternity of sorrow, but that has passed, and Heaven's light is shining upon my life." She was transfigured. There was indeed a heavenly light in her eyes, and her manner was as that of one who had been raised from deepest woe to supreme happiness. "I rejoice with you," I said, cordially. "Is it a breach of confidence for me to ask from what part of the country M. Bordier has written to you?" "His letter bears no address," she said. "Does he give you no information of what he has done and is about to do?" "None." "Nor of any discovery that has been made?" "No." She looked at me wistfully; I took her hand. As to certain matters there was on my part no motive for secrecy. Why should I withhold from her even for an hour that which would strengthen the new-born hopes which animated her? To a heart so sorely bruised as hers had been, to one who had borne suffering so sweetly and patiently, it would be cruel to keep back the least word of comfort, and I narrated to her all that had taken place between M. Bordier and Bob. She was greatly excited when I told her of the recovery of the desk, of M. Bordier's search for the secret drawer, and of his subsequent discovery of the hidden document. "It is the copy of the marriage certificate," she cried. "That is my impression, and now I can relieve your mind of another discovery. It is our firm belief that the man who assumed the name of M. Felix lives."