Heathcote and Dora parted sorrowfully outside the sick-room. "Is it not good of him to wish to see Bothwell's happiness secured?" she said. "It is very good of him to think of any one except himself at such a moment," answered Heathcote. "I am so glad he has won your consent to an early marriage. And now that you have given that consent--now that we are all assured of the folly of any suspicion pointing at Bothwell--I conclude that you will trouble yourself no more about the mystery of that poor girl's death." "There you are mistaken. I shall go on with my investigation, in the cause of justice. Besides, Bothwell's character can never be thoroughly rehabilitated till the real criminal is found; and, for a third reason, I am interested in this strange story as a work of art. Good-bye, Mrs. Wyllard; if I can be of any use to you to-morrow in helping to move your invalid, pray send for me. If not, I suppose we shall not meet till I call on you at Penmorval. I leave the business of Hilda's marriage to your discretion. She cannot have a better adviser than you, and whatever plans you make I shall sanction." He left the hotel and strolled slowly towards the Madeleine, hardly knowing what he should do with the rest of his day. He had an appointment with Sigismond Trottier in the evening. That gentleman and he were to meet at the Gymnase at the first performance of a new play, and they were to sup at Vachette's afterwards, when Heathcote was to hear any fresh facts that the paragraphist might have gathered for him relating to the mysterious Georges and the once celebrated Mdlle. Prévol. Trottier had promised to hunt up the few men who had been intimate with Georges, and to get all the information he could from them. In front of the Madeleine Heathcote was overtaken by that good-natured merchant, Gustav Blümenlein, who had felt so much pleasure in showing his apartments to Mrs. Wyllard. They walked on together for a short distance, in the direction of the Blümenlein establishment, and Heathcote told the merchant of his predecessor's sudden illness. Monsieur Blümenlein was interested and sympathetic, and as they were now in front of his office, he insisted upon Mr. Heathcote going in to smoke a cigarette, or share a bottle of Lafitte with him. Heathcote refused the Lafitte, but accepted the cigarette, not sorry to find an excuse for revisiting his rival's old abode. He blamed himself for this curiosity about Julian Wyllard's youth, as an unworthy and petty feeling: yet, he could not resist the temptation to gratify that curiosity which chance had thrown in his way. They went through the offices, where clerks were working at their ledgers, and warehousemen hurrying in and out, and passed into the library--that handsome and somewhat luxurious apartment, which remained in all things, save the books upon the shelves, exactly as Julian Wyllard had left it.