"Ah, if I could be sure, but I cannot help my anxiety when I see you so abstracted, so--what do you say?--so distraite and so enfeebled, after you have had one of those long séances; and I notice lately that you appear to be suffering from nervous exhaustion especially after you have foretold something more than usually startling. Please be guided by me, dear, and let me take away that mysterious ring, and lock it away from you for a month--for six months. Perhaps if you did not have it so much en évidence, you might gradually forget its fascination." "You dear anxious petite mère, to hear you talk one would imagine I was under some evil influence just because I am fond of my lovely antique ring, and like to have it always with me. As for being distraite, ma mie, it has nothing to do with my ring. I often have little times of reverie. Even when I was at the convent the sisters have often rebuked me because I was able to tell them such mysterious things that came to me in my long day-dreams in the dear old convent grounds." "But you are no longer a child at the convent," interrupted the elder lady, "and you should not encourage these ideas of clairvoyance." "Don't let us talk about it please, ma mère chérie," replied the younger of the two ladies, with a most impressive shrug of the shoulders, "let us talk of something else instead. Read this letter which I received this morning at the Poste Restante." Opening her reticule she took out a small and delicately scented envelope which she placed at the edge of the table, after having handed its contents to her mother. "Read this and tell me what you think of it." Doctor Riche, who had been a silent listener to this conversation, after consulting his watch, drained his glass of eau sucrée, and rose with the intention of departing. At this moment a garçon, carrying a tray filled with glasses high above his head, opened the door, and a sudden gust of wind lifted the little envelope off the table where Violette was sitting, and wafted it almost to the doctor's feet. Picking up the scented envelope with a dainty touch, he handed it to the elder lady with a ceremonious bow: "Pardon, madame, allow me," said Riche as he glanced in a cursory manner at the address written upon it. If the doctor expected to learn the fair unknown's private, or even perhaps her professional address, he was doomed to disappointment. The envelope which had unexpectedly fluttered to his feet merely bore the inscription, in a woman's handwriting: A Mademoiselle Violette Beaupaire, Poste Restante, Paris. "Merci, monsieur: que vous êtes bien gentil." The doctor bowed again, and in so doing his eyes rested on the middle finger of the younger of the two ladies who had been addressed as Violette.