Then she brings home, at two o'clock in the morning, a young girl with a fresh, pretty face, from a Montmartre restaurant, and in a week I am nothing at all--oh, but nothing--and mademoiselle is queen." "Yes, it is quite natural," said Hanaud sympathetically.

"You would not have been human, mademoiselle, if you had not felt some anger.

But tell us frankly about these seances.

How did they begin ?" "Oh, monsieur," Vauquier answered, "it was not difficult to begin them.
Mme.

Dauvray had a passion for fortune-tellers and rogues of that kind.
Any one with a pack of cards and some nonsense about a dangerous woman with black hair or a man with a limp--Monsieur knows the stories they string together in dimly lighted rooms to deceive the credulous--any one could make a harvest out of madame's superstitions.