She had evidently made up her mind that Louis had taken me there with the object of meeting Tapilow, and for some reason the truth was interesting to her.
"It was a quarrel about a woman, of course," she murmured,--"the friend of monsieur, or perhaps a relation.

I am jealous! Tell me, then, that it was a relation." "Mademoiselle," I answered gravely, "I cannot discuss with you the cause of the quarrel between that man and myself.

Forgive me if I remind you that it is a very painful subject.

Forgive me if I remind you, too," I added, taking her other hand in mine for a moment, "that when I saw you scribble those few lines and send them across to me, and when I read what you said and came here, it was not to answer questions about any other person." She raised her eyes to mine.

They were curiously and wonderfully blue.