As the reporter had discovered, Jane Zeld occupied an apartment on the first floor of a small hÔtel, or rather, in one of those boarding-houses frequented by respectable people who come from the four quarters of the globe to enjoy the attractions of Paris. It was a most respectable establishment, with its iron gate À l'Anglaise, its well scrubbed steps, its parlor on the rez de chaussÉe, and its three floors above all occupied.

The lady who managed this enterprise was the widow of a captain. She wore English curls, spoke a few words in various languages, and had a marvelous ability for making out long bills. Her prices were high, very high, but the situation of her house was at once elegant and retired. It was a wonder that these items were not entered on the bill. She had never admitted any artists into her sanctuary until the intendant Maslenes one day offered her five hundred francs for an apartment which she usually rented for three, and no single women. Now Jane Zeld seemed to be a single woman, but Madame closed her eyes to this, and now that she divined a star in the future, Madame Vollard redoubled her courtesy to her lodger. She felt that she was a mine of wealth in the future. That night Madame Vollard had insisted on dressing Jane herself, and she had excellent taste. She spent a number of hours dwelling on the undoubted success of "the dear child," and it was two o'clock when she heard the carriage. She ran down the stairs, and when she saw Jane and her remarkable costume, she raised her hands in astonishment.

"You have had a pleasant time, I trust!" she exclaimed.

Maslenes gently pushed her back.

"Excuse me, Madame, but the young lady is fatigued, and somewhat ill, I fear."

"Ill! What can I do for her? I have camphor, lavender water—what shall I get?"

Maslenes led Jane hastily to her room, saying as he did so:

"No, no, it is nothing. To-morrow will do. She only needs rest now."

Jane sank into a chair on reaching her salon.

Maslenes closed the door, and stood motionless and silent until she should see fit to speak.

How old was this man? Sixty probably, and yet his face was unwrinkled although his hair was perfectly white. His eyes were gray. He inspired at first sight a certain repulsion. There were indications of vices, but they were of vices that had burned themselves out, of passions that had crumbled to ashes. Now, as he stood with his arms folded on his breast, his face expressed something more than the interest of a servant in his mistress. In his faded eyes there was great compassion. His pale lips trembled. Jane did not speak. He said gently:

"You are suffering?"

She started as if from sleep.

"No," she replied, "no. I did not know." Then she looked up. "Ah!" she said, "why did you drag me among these people? I will never go anywhere again. No, never!"

The man bit his lips. "And yet," he said, "you were received like a queen!"

"Why do you say that?" she asked, in a tone of great irritation. "Why do you try to awaken in me thoughts which should never be mine? A queen! I!"

"But your talent—your voice?"

"What of them? Ah! leave me. I wish to be alone!"

She spoke with some harshness.

He answered sadly enough.

"I am always willing to obey you, Jane. Do not speak in that tone."

"Yes, I know that. Forgive me if I am cruel. Alas! You know what agony I hide within my breast." She rose to her feet as she spoke. "Why," she cried, "why did not that fire burn me to death? I should have suffered less than from this flame which devours my heart!"

She leaned her head against the wall, and burst into passionate weeping.

Maslenes, too, had tears in his eyes. It was plain that he cherished a mysterious affection for this beautiful woman, who was tortured by some secret sorrow.

"Jane,—Miss Jane," he corrected himself quickly. "I have never seen you like this before. Some one must have insulted you!"

His eyes flashed as he said this.

"No," murmured Jane. "No, nothing of the kind."

"Then you are over-excited by this accident. Pray, try and control yourself. I know that there are sad thoughts, which you cannot drive from your mind, but you are young; you have the future before you, you will forget the past. You must!"

Jane dried her tears with her lace handkerchief, and her face became suddenly calm.

"Yes, I will forget," she replied, firmly. "You are right, I must do so. Forgive me!"

She extended her hand.

He hesitated and, drawing back, replied:

"We will talk together to-morrow. You know that you may rely on me."

"Yes, and I am very weary."

The intendant left the room. When outside the room, he caught at the railing, and with almost a sob, exclaimed: "How miserable I am!"

"Well!" asked Madame, from the foot of the stairs, "is the poor child any better?"

"Yes, thank you. There was an accident; her dress took fire."

"What a pity! A new dress, too. But I can offer her another in its place—one that has just come into my hands."

"You can talk with her about it to-morrow. At present I am worn out."

He hurried to his room, which was in the attic under the eaves, furnished with the most excessive simplicity: an iron bedstead, a table, and one chair. A trunk with a large lock upon it was also in the room.

Maslenes locked the door, and then dropped on the one chair the place contained. He sat for some minutes buried in thought.

"What am I to do? What am I to do?"

Then he rose, and opened the trunk of which we have spoken, with a key that he took from his pocket. He took out a bag, and a portfolio. He tried the weight of the bag and shrugged his shoulders. He then loosened the cord that held the bag together, and produced ten louis, at which he looked sadly. The portfolio contained three bank notes of one hundred francs each.

"And in two days I have five hundred francs to pay, and afterward what is to become of us?"

Then a long silence broken by the words once more, "Oh! how miserable I am!" He paced his room like a prisoner in his cell.

"What am I to do? I am afraid to try anything. I might, to be sure, earn a crust of bread for myself, but what is to become of her? Poor Jane! and yet I would give my very life to spare her one pang. If she pleased she might, with her talent, be as rich as a queen, but she cannot forget the past, and that is my work!"

He counted the louis over and over again. Suddenly he started. It seemed to him that he heard a sound without; he threw the bag and the portfolio into the trunk and locked it, then rushed to the door. On opening it there was no one to be seen.

"Is there any one here?" he asked.

There was no reply.

"I was mistaken, of course."

He returned to his room and there found that the sounds were repeated, and came from the window. He went to it, and looking out saw the outlines of a human being. No robber would have attracted attention thus. Nevertheless Maslenes took down a revolver before he opened the window.

"Who is there?" he asked.

"Some one who wishes to speak to you!" And with these words the person jumped into the room.

Maslenes raised his revolver, but at this moment the light fell on the face of the unknown. He uttered a cry of horror.

"You here! Ah! leave me, leave me at once, or I swear that I will blow out your brains."

"No, sir, you will do nothing of the kind. It would be very inconvenient for you to find yourself with a dead body to get rid of. You would be obliged to give your name, and you certainly don't care for the police to put their nose into your affairs."

And as the intendant did not reply, the new comer continued:

"That is right! You are becoming reasonable, I see. It is really droll that we should meet again after all these years in this way!"

He seated himself, and drawing out a cigar, lighted it at the candle.

"Now listen to me," said Maslenes. "Why are you here? Go your way, and let me go mine. I am doing my best to repair the evil that I have committed in my life. I do not interfere with you, and I only ask that you shall leave me alone. You call yourself Fagiano, and my name is Maslenes. Now, go."

The other sneered:

"You have become very haughty, convict Sanselme."

Sanselme, for he it was, uttered an angry exclamation:

"And you, Benedetto, are still the same scoundrel that you were!"