“As the days of October grew shorter and cooler I began to be impatient to leave the place, and for this reason eager for the return of Saviola. At length I grew really despondent. It was about this time—the middle of October—that I saw in the little Geneva paper an item that startled and delighted me. It was under the head of ‘Arrivals.’ It was but a line: “‘The Hon. Angus Anglesea, England—Hotel des Bergues.’ “Without an instant’s delay I sat down and wrote a note, asking him to call on me at the Beau Rivage. “The thought of meeting one home face—and that the face of my brother’s dear friend, Saviola’s good friend, my own true friend, who had traveled with us to Scotland to see that I should be regularly married before he left me under the protection of Saviola—filled my soul with delightful anticipations. “He came promptly in response to my summons. It was only noon when the waiter opened the door of the little drawing room where I sat, and announced: “‘The Hon. Mr. Anglesea.’ “I sprang up and held out both my hands to welcome him. “He raised one to his lips, bowed over it, and said: “‘I hope I find you well, madame.’ “‘Oh! I am so glad—so glad to see you!’ I exclaimed, at random. “He took a seat. “I sank into my easy chair, my heart beating with excitement, with tumult, only to see the face of a friend. “‘I am very happy to come to you,’ he said. ‘I hope Saviola is well,’ he added—dubiously, as I thought. “‘He is always well,’ I replied. ‘He is in Paris.’ “‘You hear from him daily, of course?’ “‘No. He is a poor correspondent. I shall not hear from him until I see him, I fear.’ “He looked very grave, but made no comment. “I hastened to ask him if he knew where my father then was. “His reply confirmed the bankers news—the truth of which, by the way, I had never doubted. “He said that my father was wintering in the Canaries for the sake of the countess’ health, and that Viscount Glennon, my brother, was with them. “This was the reason, then, why I had never heard from my brother. “Mr. Anglesea appeared preoccupied while he spoke. Then, after a short silence, he said: “‘Ah, madame, pray do not consider me impertinent. Believe me, I speak only in your own interests——’ “‘As you acted when you went to Scotland with us,’ I added. “‘Precisely, Madame la Princesse.’ “‘Then speak freely, Mr. Anglesea. I shall not take offense.’ “‘Then I wish to inquire when you last heard from Luigi Saviola.’ “I hated to answer that question—to confess the many days that had elapsed since I had seen or heard from my husband. Yet I answered: “‘I have not heard from him since he left here for Paris, six weeks ago.’ “‘Ah!’ he said, very gravely. “‘But I expect to see him soon,’ I added. “‘Indeed!’ he exclaimed, in surprise. “‘Yes, indeed. Of course. Why not?’ I demanded, in astonishment. “He was silent. “‘Why not?’ I again demanded, uneasily. “He looked grave. “‘What do you mean, Mr. Anglesea?’ I exclaimed, anxiously.