She had just returned from Germany, where she had left her daughter, Marion, in school, and Frank asked her of the country, and if she had visited Wiesbaden, and had there met or heard of anyone by the name of Marguerite Heinrich.
Mrs.Raymond had spent some months in Wiesbaden, for it was there her daughter was at school, and she was very enthusiastic in her praises of the beautiful town.

But she had never seen or heard of Marguerite Heinrich, or of anyone by the name of Heinrich.
'Marguerite Heinrich ?' Dolly repeated.

'Who in the world is she--and where did you know her ?' 'I never did know her.

I have only heard of her,' Frank replied, again lapsing into a silence from which he did not rouse again.
He was thinking of the letter hidden away with the photograph and the book--of the lies he had told since his deception began, and now sure it was that he had sinned beyond forgiveness.

When he was a boy he had often listened, with the blood curdling in his veins, to a story his grandmother told him with sundry embellishments, for he was not well versed in German literature, of a man--Foster it seemed to him was the name--who sold his soul to the devil in consideration that for a certain number of years he was to have every pleasure the world could give.