The beautiful lady leaned back in her chair.

Her lips were parted in a slight but very curious smile, her fingers supported her cheek, her eyelids were contracted as she looked into his face.

Tavernake felt that their recognition was mutual.

Once more he was back again in the tragic atmosphere of that chemist's shop, with Beatrice, half fainting, in his arms, the beautiful lady turned to stone.

It was an odd tableau, that, so vividly imprinted upon his memory that it was there before him at this very moment.