That was exactly the reply for which the clever woman wished. "Why not, pray?" she asked the girl in a tone of regret. "Because the man to whom I am betrothed would not allow me," was her reply. "Oh! Then you are engaged, Céline! Happy girl! I congratulate you most heartily. And who is the happy man?" "Henri Galtier." "And what is his profession?" "He is employed in the Mairie, at Chantilly," was her reply. "He is at Chantilly now?" The girl again hesitated. Then she replied: "No—he is in London." Ena held her breath. It was evidently the man to whom Céline was engaged who was in London in search of Richard Bennett. Next second she recovered from her excitement at her success in making the discovery. "In London? Is he employed there?" "Yes—temporarily," she answered. "And when are you to marry?" "In December—we hope." "Ah! Then, much as I regret it, I quite understand that you cannot return to me, Céline," exclaimed Ena. "Does Monsieur Galtier speak English?" "Yes; very well, Madame. He was born in London, and lived there until he was eighteen." "Oh, well, of course he would speak our language excellently. But though you will no doubt both be happy in the near future, I myself am not at all satisfied with my own conduct towards you. I’ve treated you badly; I feel that in some way or other I ought to put myself right with you. I never like a servant to speak badly of me." "I do not speak badly of Madame," responded the girl, wondering whether, after all, her late mistress suspected her of overhearing that startling conversation late on the night following Mr. Martin’s death. Ena hesitated a moment, and then determined to act boldly, and said: "Now Céline, let us be quite frank. I happen know that you have said some very nasty and things about me—wicked things, indeed. I heard that you have made a very serious allegation against me, and——" "But, Madame! I——!" cried the girl, interrupting. "Now you cannot deny it, Céline. You have said those things because you have sadly misjudged me. But I know it is my own fault, and the reason I am here in Melun is to put matters right—and to show you that I bear you no ill will." "I know that, Madame," she said. "Your words are sufficient proof of it." "But, on the contrary, you are antagonistic—bitterly antagonistic towards myself—and"—she added slowly, looking straight into the girl’s face—"and also towards Mr. Bennett." She started, looking sharply at the red-haired widow. "Yes, I repeat it, Céline!" Ena went on. "You see I know the truth! Yet your feeling against Mr. Bennett does not matter to him in the least, because he died a month ago—of influenza." "Mr. Bennett dead!" echoed the girl, standing aghast, for, as a matter of fact, her lover, Henri Galtier, was searching for him in London. "Yes; the poor fellow went to Birmingham on business, took influenza, and died there a week later. Is it not sad?"