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st　of　the　season；　the　femme　de　chambre；　who　seemed　a　very　intelligent　person；　begged　to　remind　him　that　the　season　was　drawing　to　a　close；　that　Madame　had　taken　the　chalet　but　for　five　weeks；　only　ten　days　of　which　period　were　yet　to　expire；　that　ces　dames；　as　Monsieur　perhaps　knew；　were　great　travellers；　who　had　been　half　over　the　world　and　thought　nothing　of　breaking　camp　at　an　hour's　notice；　and　that；　in　fine；　Madame　might　very　well　have　received　a　telegram　summoning　her　to　another　part　of　the　country。

〃And　where　have　the　ladies　gone？〃　asked　Bernard。

〃For　the　moment；　to　Paris。〃

〃And　in　Paris　where　have　they　gone？〃

〃Dame；　chez　ellesto　their　house；〃　said　the　femme　de　chambre；　who　appeared　to　think　that　Bernard　asked　too　many　questions。

But　Bernard　persisted。

〃Where　is　their　house？〃

The　waiting…maid　looked　at　him　from　head　to　foot。

〃If　Monsieur　wishes　to　write；　many　of　Madame's　letters　come　to　her　banker；〃　she　said；　inscrutably。

〃And　who　is　her　banker？〃

〃He　lives　in　the　Rue　de　Provence。〃

〃Very　goodI　will　find　him　out；〃　said　our　hero；　turning　away。

The　discriminating　reader　who　has　been　so　good　as　to　interest　himself　in　this　little　narrative　will　perhaps　at　this　point　exclaim　with　a　pardonable　consciousness　of　shrewdness：　〃Of　course　he　went　the　next　day　to　the　Rue　de　Provence！〃　Of　course；　yes；　only　as　it　happens　Bernard　did　nothing　of　the　kind。　He　did　one　of　the　most　singular　things　he　ever　did　in　his　life　a　thing　that　puzzled　him　even　at　the　time；　and　with　regard　to　which　he　often　afterward　wondered　whence　he　had　drawn　the　ability　for　so　remarkable　a　feathe　simply　spent　a　fortnight　at　Blanquais…les…Galets。　It　was　a　very　quiet　fortnight；　he　spoke　to　no　one；　he　formed　no　relations；　he　was　company　to　himself。　　It　may　be　added　that　he　had　never　found　his　own　company　half　so　good。　　He　struck　himself　as　a　reasonable；　delicate　fellow；　who　looked　at　things　in　such　a　way　as　to　make　him　refrainrefrain　successfully；　that　was　the　point　from　concerning　himself　practically　about　Angela　Vivian。　His　saying　that　he　would　find　out　the　banker　in　the　Rue　de　Provence　had　been　for　the　benefit　of　the　femme　de　chambre；　whom　he　thought　rather　impertinent；　he　had　really　no　intention　whatever　of　entering　that　classic　thoroughfare。　He　took　long　walks；　rambled　on　the　beach；　along　the　base　of　the　cliffs　and　among　the　brown　sea…caves；　and　he　thought　a　good　deal　of　certain　incidents　which　have　figured　at　an　earlier　stage　of　this　narrative。　　He　had　forbidden　himself　the　future；　as　an　object　of　contemplation；　and　it　was　therefore　a　matter　of　necessity　that　his　imagination　should　take　refuge　among　the　warm　and　familiar　episodes　of　the　past。　　He　wondered　why　Mrs。　Vivian　should　have　left　the　place　so　suddenly；　and　was　of　course　struck　with　the　analogy　between　this　incident　and　her　abrupt　departure　from　Baden。　　It　annoyed　him；　it　troubled　him；　but　it　by　no　means　rekindled　the　alarm　he　had　felt　on　first　perceiving　the　injured　Angela　on　the　beach。　That　alarm　had　been　quenched　by　Angela's　manner　during　the　hour　that　followed　and　during　their　short　talk　in　the　evening。　This　evening　was　to　be　forever　memorable；　for　it　had　brought　with　it　the　revelation　which　still；　at　moments；　suddenly　made　Bernard　tremble；　but　it　had　also　brought　him　the　assurance　that　Angela　cared　as　little　as　possible　for　anything　that　a　chance　acquaintance　might　have　said　about　her。　It　is　all　the　more　singular；　therefore；　that　one　evening；　after　he　had　been　at　Blanquais　a　fortnight；　a　train　of　thought　should　suddenly　have　been　set　in　motion　in　his　mind。　It　was　kindled　by　no　outward　occurrence；　but　by　some　wandering　spark　of　fancy　or　of　memory；　and　the　immediate　effect　of　it　was　to　startle　our　hero　very　much　as　he　had　been　startled　on　the　evening　I　have　described。　　The　circumstances　were　the　same；　he　had　wandered　down　to　the　beach　alone；　very　late；　and　he　stood　looking　at　the　duskily…tumbling　sea。　Suddenly　the　same　voice　that　had　spoken　before　murmured　another　phrase　in　the　darkness；　and　it　rang　upon　his　ear　for　the　rest　of　the　night。　　It　startled　him；　as　I　have　said；　at　first；　then；　the　next　morning；　it　led　him　to　take　his　departure　for　Paris。　　During　the　journey　it　lingered　in　his　ear；　he　sat　in　the　corner　of　the　railway…carriage　with　his　eyes　closed；　abstracted；　on　purpose　to　prolong　the　reverberation。　If　it　were　not　true　it　was　at　least；　as　the　Italians　have　it；　ben　trovato；　and　it　was　wonderful　how　well　it　bore　thinking　of。　It　bears　telling　less　well；　but　I　can　at　least　give　a　hint　of　it。　The　theory　that　Angela　hated　him　had　evaporated　in　her　presence；　and　another　of　a　very　different　sort　had　sprung　into　being。　It　fitted　a　great　many　of　the　facts；　it　explained　a　great　many　contradictions；　anomalies；　mysteries；　and　it　accounted　for　Miss　Vivian's　insisting　upon　her　mother's　leaving　Blanquais　at　a　few　hours'　notice；　even　better　than　the　theory　of　her　resentment　could　have　done。　　At　any　rate；　it　obliterated　Bernard's　scruples　very　effectually；　and　led　him　on　his　arrival　in　Paris　to　repair　instantly　to　the　Rue　de　Provence。　This　street　contains　more　than　one　banker；　but　there　is　one　with　whom　Bernard　deemed　Mrs。　Vivian　most　likely　to　have　dealings。　He　found　he　had　reckoned　rightly；　and　he　had　no　difficulty　in　procuring　her　address。　　Having　done　so；　however；　he　by　no　means　went　immediately　to　see　her；　he　waited　a　couple　of　days　perhaps　to　give　those　obliterated　scruples　I　have　spoken　of　a　chance　to　revive。　　They　kept　very　quiet；　and　it　must　be　confessed　that　Bernard　took　no　great　pains　to　recall　them　to　life。　After　he　had　been　in　Paris　three　days；　he　knocked　at　Mrs。　Vivian's　door。






CHAPTER　XXII

It　was　opened　by　the　little　waiting…maid　whom　he　had　seen　at　Blanquais；　and　who　looked　at　him　very　hard　before　she　answered　his　inquiry。

〃You　see　I　have　found　Mrs。　Vivian's　dwelling；　though　you　would　n't　give　me　the　address；〃　Bernard　said　to　her；　smiling。

〃Monsieur　has　put　some　time　to　it！〃　the　young　woman　answered　dryly。　And　she　informed　him　that　Madame　was　at　home；　though　Mademoiselle；　for　whom　he　had　not　asked；　was　not。

Mrs。　Vivian　occupied　a　diminutive　apartment　at　the　summit　of　one　of　the　tall　white　houses　which　ornament　the　neighborhood　of　the　Arc　de　Triomphe。　　The　early　days　of　September　had　arrived；　but　Paris　was　still　a　city　of　absentees。　　The　weather　was　warm　and　charming；　and　a　certain　savour　of　early　autumn　in　the　air　was　in　accord　with　the　somewhat　melancholy　aspect　of　the　empty　streets　and　closed　shutters　of　this　honorable　quarter；　where　the　end　of　the　monumental　vistas　seemed　to　be　curtained　with　a　hazy　emanation　from　the　Seine。　It　was　late　in　the　afternoon　when　Bernard　was　ushered　into　Mrs。　Vivian's　little　high…nestling　drawing…room；　and　a　patch　of　sunset　tints；　faintly　red；　rested　softly　upon　the　gilded　wall。　Bernard　had　seen　these　ladies　only　in　borrowed　and　provisional　abodes；　but　here　was　a　place　where　they　were　really　living　and　which　was　stamped　with　their　tastes；　their　habits；　their　charm。　　The　little　salon　was　very　elegant；　it　contained　a　multitude　of　pretty　things；　and　it　appeared　to　Bernard　to　be　arranged　in　perfection。　The　long　windowsthe　ceiling　being　low；　they　were　really　very　short　opened　upon　one　of　those　solid　balconies；　occupying　the　width　of　the　apartment；　which　are　often　in　Paris　a　compensation　for　living　up　five　flights　of　stairs；　and　this　balcony　was　filled　with　flowers　and　cushions。　　Bernard　stepped　out　upon　it　to　await　the　coming　of　Mrs。　Vivian；　and；　as　she　was　not　quick　to　appear；　he　had　time　to　see　that　his　friends　enjoyed　a　magnificent　view。　They　looked　up　at　the　triumphal　Arch；　which　presented　itself　at　a　picturesque　angle；　and　near　the　green　tree…tops　of　the　Champs　Elysees；　beyond　which　they　caught　a　broad　gleam　of　the　Seine　and　a　glimpse；　blue　in　the　distance；　of　the　great　towers　of　Notre　Dame。　The　whole　vast　city　lay　before　them　and　beneath　them；　with　its　ordered　brilliancy　and　its　mingled　aspect　of　compression　and　expansion；　and　yet　the　huge　Parisian　murmur　died　away　before　it　reached　Mrs。　Vivian's　sky…parlor；　which　seemed　to　Bernard　the　brightest　and　quietest　little　habitation　he　had　ever　known。

His　hostess　came　rustling　in　at　last；　she　seemed　agitated；　she　knocked　over　with　the　skirt　of　her　dress　a　little　gilded　chair　which　was　reflected　in　the　polished　parquet　as　in　a　sheet　of　looking…glass。　Mrs。　Vivian　had　a　fixed　smileshe　hardly　knew　what　to　say。

〃I　found　your　address　at　the　banker's；〃　said　Bernard。　　〃Your　maid；　at　Blanquais；　refused　to　give　it　to　me。〃

Mrs。　Vivian　gave　him　a　little　lookthere　was　always　more　or　less　of　it　in　her　facewhich　seemed　equivalent　to　an　entreaty　that　her　interlocutor　should　spare　her。

〃Maids　are　so　strange；〃　she　murmured；　〃especially　the　French！〃

It　pleased　Bernard　for　the　moment　not　to　spare　her；　though　he　felt　a　sort　of　delight　of　kindness　for　her。

〃Your　going　off　from　Blanquais　so　suddenly；　without　leaving　me　any　explanation；　any　clue；　any　message　of　any　sortmade　me　feel　at　first　as　if　you　did　n't　wish　that　I　should　look　you　up。　It　reminded　me　of　the　way　you　left　Badendo　you　remember？　three　years　ago。〃

〃Baden　was　so　charmingbut　one　could　n't　stay　forever；〃　said　Mrs。　Vivian。

〃I　had　a　sort　of　theory　one　could。　　Our　life　was　so　pleasant　that　it　seemed　a　shame　to　br