The puzzling incident had crushed all gayety from our hearts. I suggested that we should leave and go on to Mentone, but Ulrica declared that it was our duty to remain where we were and give the police what assistance we could in aiding them to solve the inscrutable mystery. Thus, the days which followed were days of sadness and melancholy. We ate in our own room to avoid the gaze of the curious, for all in Nice now knew the tragic story, and as we passed in and out of the hotel we overheard many whisperings. As for myself, I had a double burden of sorrow. In those hours of deep thought and sadness I reflected that poor Reggie was a man who might perhaps have become my husband. I did not love him in the sense that the average woman understands love. He was a sociable companion, clever, smart in dress and gait, and altogether one of those easy men of the world who appeal strongly to a woman of my own temperament. When I placed him in comparison with Ernest, however, I saw that I could never have actually entertained a real affection for him. I loved Ernest with a wild, passionate love, and all others were now, and would ever be, as naught to me. I cared not that he had forsaken me in favor of that ugly, tow-haired witch. I was his. I felt that I must at all hazards see him again. I was sitting at the open window one afternoon, gazing moodily out upon the Square Massena, when Ulrica suddenly said: “Curious that we’ve seen nothing further of Ernest. I suppose, however, you’ve forgotten him.” “Forgotten him!” I cried, starting up. “I shall never forget him--never!” In that instant I seemed to see his dark, handsome face before me, as of old. It was in the golden blaze of a summer sunset. I heard his rich voice in my ears. I saw him pluck a sprig of jasmine, emblem of purity, and give it to me, at the same time whispering words of love and devotion. Ah, yes, he loved me then--he loved me. I put up my hand to shut out the vision. I rose and staggered. Then I felt Ulrica’s soft hand upon my waist. “Carmela! Carmela!” she cried. “What’s the matter? Tell me, dear!” “You know,” I answered hoarsely, “you know, Ulrica, that I love him!” My voice was choked within me, so deep was my distress. “And he is to marry--to marry that woman!” “My dear, take my advice and forget him,” she said lightly. “There are lots of other men whom you could love quite as well. Poor Reggie, for instance, might have filled his place in your heart. He was charming, poor fellow. Your Ernest treated you as he has done all women. Why make yourself miserable and wear out your heart regarding a past which it is quite unnecessary to recall? Live as I do, for the future, without mourning over what must ever be by-gones.” “Ah! that’s all very well,” I said sadly. “But I can’t help it. That woman loves him--every woman loves him. You yourself admired him long ago.” “Certainly. I admire lots of men, but I have never committed the folly of loving a single one.”