Day by day for many days we went over to Monte Carlo, why, I can scarcely tell. All visitors to Nice drift there as if by the natural law of gravitation, and we were no exception. Even though our memories of the Sign of the Seven Sins were painful on account of poor Reggie’s mysterious death, we nevertheless found distraction in the Rooms, the crowds, and the music. Sometimes Gerald would act as escort, and at other times we went alone after luncheon and risked a few louis on the tables with varying success. We met quite a host of people we knew, for the season was proceeding apace, and the nearness of the Carnival attracted our compatriots from all over Europe. And as the days passed my eyes were ever watchful. Truth to tell, Monte Carlo had an attraction for me, not because of its picturesqueness or its play, but because I knew that in that gay, fevered little world there lived and moved the one man who held my future in his hands. In the Rooms, in the “Paris,” in the Place, and in the Gardens I searched for sight of him, but, alas! always in vain. I bought the various visitors’ lists, but failed to discover his name as staying at any of the villas or hotels. Yet I knew he was there, for had I not seen him smile upon that woman who was my rival? The papers continued to comment upon the mystery surrounding poor Reggie’s tragic death, yet beyond a visit from the United States Consul, who obtained a statement from us regarding his friends in Philadelphia and took possession of certain effects found in his room, absolutely nothing fresh transpired. It was early in February, that month when Nice puts on its annual air of gayety in preparation for the reign of the King of Folly; when the streets are bright with colored decorations, great stands are erected in the Place Massena, and the shops of the Avenue de la Gare are ablaze with carnival costumes in the two colors previously decided upon by the fêtes committee. Though Nice may be defective from a sanitary point of view and her authorities churlish towards foreign visitors, nevertheless, in early February it is certainly the gayest and most charming spot on the whole Riviera. The very streets are full of life and movement, sweet with the perfume of roses and violets and mimosa, and at a time when the rest of Europe is held frost-bound summer costumes and sunshades are the mode, while men wear their straw hats and flannels upon that finest of all sea-walks, the palm-planted Promenade des Anglais. Poor Reggie’s brother, a doctor in Chicago, had arrived to obtain a personal account of the mystery, which, of course, we gave. Gerald also conducted him to the grave in the English Cemetery, whereon he laid a beautiful wreath and gave orders for a handsome monument. Then, after remaining three days, he returned to Genoa and thence by the North German Lloyd to America.