Eight or ten years before, the fair Julie--at least, she was fairer then than now!--had come to New York to enter the employ of a family whose mistress had decided that life without a French maid was unendurable. Rogers had met her, had been fascinated by her black eyes and red lips, had, in the end, proposed honourable marriage --quite unnecessarily, no doubt!--had been accepted, and for some months had led an eventful existence as the husband of the siren. Then, one morning, he awakened to find her gone. He had, of course, entrusted his savings to her--that had been one condition of the marriage!--and the savings were gone, also. Julie, it seems, had been overcome with longing for the Paris asphalt; no doubt, too, she had found herself ennuied by the lack of romance in married life with Rogers; and she had flown back to France. Rogers had thought of following; but, appalled at the difficulty of finding her in Paris, not knowing what he should do if he did find her, he had finally given it up, and had settled gloomily down to live upon his memories. Some sort of affection for her had kept alive within him, and when he opened the door of Vantine's house and found her standing on the steps, he was as wax in her hands. Julie had listened to all this indifferently, even disdainfully, without denying anything, nor seeking to excuse herself. Perhaps the idea that she needed excuse did not occur to her. And when the story was finished, she was quite herself again; even a little proud, I think, of holding the centre of the stage in the rôle of siren. It was almost a rejuvenescence, and there was gratitude in the gaze she turned on Rogers. "This is all true, I suppose?" asked the veiled lady. "All quite true, madame," answered Julie, with a shrug. "I was younger then and the love of excitement was too strong for me. I am older now, and have more sense--besides, I am no longer sought after as I was." "And so," said madame, with irony, "you are now, no doubt, willing to return to your husband." "I have been considering it, madame," replied Julie, with astounding simplicity, "ever since I saw him here the other evening, and learned that he still cared for me. One must have a harbour in one's old age." I glanced at Rogers and was astonished to see that he was regarding the woman with affectionate admiration. Evidently the harbour was waiting, should Julie choose to anchor there. "I have hesitated," she added, "only because of madame. Where would madame get another maid such as I? No one but I can arrange her hair --no one but I can prepare her bath...." "We will discuss it," said the veiled lady, "when we are alone. And now, perhaps, you will be so good as to tell us of your previous visit here."