"We had a photograph of her by Nadar," he said--"a portrait that was the rage. It was soon after her first appearance at the Porte Saint-Martin, and it was the costume in which she made her _début_. She was the Genius of Evil, in a black satin bodice and a black tulle skirt starred with gold. The close-fitting black bodice set off her graceful figure, and her superb shoulders, and her hair, which was positively magnificent, fell down her back in a horse's tail. It was like a stream of molten gold. I saw her in that character half a dozen times. All Paris rushed to see her, though she was never much of an actress. Her beauty made her famous all over Europe. We used to send her photographs to St. Petersburg. But there is a fashion in these things; and I daresay almost every one of those photographs has found its way to the rubbish-heap. If you call to-morrow I may be able to supply you with what you want; but I shall have to hunt over a good deal of our old stock to get at it." "I shall be greatly obliged if you will do so," answered Heathcote. "I suppose Mademoiselle Prévol had the weakness of our lovely ladies in England, and was fond of being photographed." "In the first year or so, when she began to be celebrated for her beauty, there were a good many different photographs of her--in this costume and in that; and, you know, in those fairy spectacles every handsome actress wears at least half a dozen costumes. But after that first year there were no more of Mademoiselle Prévol's photographs to be had for love or money. Our firm applied to her, offered her a liberal royalty--five sous upon every photograph--if she would sit to Nadar, in all her costumes, and give us the sole privilege of selling her portraits. But she declined. She was never going to sit again. She did not want herself vulgarised by having her portrait sold for a franc to every _calicot_ in France. Our firm felt insulted by her reply, which was given to one of our principals, through an impertinent sempstress, who worked by the day for Mademoiselle Prévol, and who almost shut the door in our principal's nose. Our firm took the trouble to find out why Mademoiselle objected to the fame which photography can alone bestow upon beauty; and we discovered that there was a lover in the case--a mysterious lover; a man who kept himself curiously dark--" "Stay!" exclaimed Heathcote. "I will give you a thousand francs for a photograph of that lover." The shopman shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "A liberal offer, Monsieur, and a very safe one. Except that the man's name was Georges, I know nothing about him. The police would have given me twice as much as you offer, for his photograph, if I could have furnished them with one ten years ago, immediately after the murder of Marie Prévol."