Maurice lost no time, the next morning, in seeking out the crafty old Jew. Henriques was a vender of jewels that came into his hands through private sources. There was considerable risk in his traffic; for it was just possible some of the precious stones transferred to him might have been acquired in a manner not strictly legal. Perhaps it was not part of his policy to acquaint himself with the history of gems which he bought at a bargain and reaped an enormous profit in selling; for, when Maurice endeavored to extract some information concerning the diamonds purchased by the Marquis de Fleury, the Jew protested entire ignorance in regard to their prior ownership; stating that they were brought to him by one of his confrÉres, of whom he asked no questions,—that he had purchased them at a ruinous price, and resold them to the marquis without a centime's benefit: a very generous proceeding on his part, he asserted; adding, with a ludicrous assumption of importance, that he highly esteemed the marquis, and now and then allowed himself the gratification of favoring him in business transactions.

"But the name of the person from whom your friend received the jewels is certainly on his books, and, however numerous the hands through which they may have passed, they can be traced back to their original owner," observed Maurice.

"Not so easily, monsieur, not so easily. Purchaser has nothing to do with original owner. Jewels worth something, or jewels worth nothing,—that's the point; names of parties holding the articles of no consequence."

"But you certainly inquire from what source the jewels offered you proceed?"

"Never make impertinent inquiries,—never: would drive away customers. If monsieur has any jewels for sale, shall be happy to look at them; disposed to deal in the most liberal manner with monsieur."

"Thank you. My object is simply to discover a friend to whom the jewels you sold to the Marquis de Fleury once belonged. It is indispensable that I should learn through whose hands they came into your possession."

"Ah!" said the cunning Jew, placing his skinny finger on one side of his hooked nose, as if reflecting; then glancing at Maurice out of the corners of his searching eyes, he asked, "Party would like to be discovered?—or would said party prefer to remain under the rose?"

"Possibly the latter."

"Just so; that gives interest to the enterprise. But when party objects to being traced, difficulties spring up; takes time to overcome them; always a certain cost."

"If you mean that I shall offer you compensation for your trouble, I am ready to make any in my power: name your price."

"Price? price? not to be named so hastily; depends upon time consumed, amount of labor, obstacles party concerned may throw in the way. Other parties will have to be employed to seek out party who presented himself with the jewels; enumeration requisite to induce communicativeness; may turn out party had the jewels from another party, who obtained them from another; shall have to track each party's steps backward to party who was the original possessor."

"Take your own course. I am unskilled in these affairs," answered Maurice, frankly; "all I ask is that you learn for me where the lady whose family jewels passed through your hands now resides. Name the cost of your undertaking."

The wily Jew fastened his keen, speculative eyes upon his anticipated prey, as he replied, slowly, "Cost?—can't say to a certainty; thousand francs do to begin."

He heard the faint sigh, of which Maurice was himself unconscious, and drew a correct inference.

From the hour that the viscount had been made aware of the true state of Count Tristan's finances, he had reduced all his own expenses, allowed himself no luxuries, no indulgencies, nothing but the barest necessities, that his father's narrow resources might not be drained through a son's lavishness. The young nobleman had not at that moment a hundred francs at his own command. He had no alternative but to apply to Count Tristan for the sum required by the Jew.

"My means are very limited," returned Maurice, with a great waste of candor. "I must beg you to deal with me as liberally as possible. The amount you demand I hope to obtain and bring you in a few days. In the meantime you will commence your inquiries."

"Assuredly,—just so; commence putting matters in train at once; possibly may have some clew between thumb and finger when monsieur returns with the money; nothing to be done without golden keys: unlock all doors; carry one into hidden depths of the earth. Shall be obliged to advance funds to pay parties employed. Have the goodness to write your name in this book."

Maurice wrote down his name and address, and took his leave, once more elated by the belief that he was on the eve of discovering Madeleine's retreat.

The letter to his father written and dispatched, he sought Bertha, and gave her full particulars of his interview with the Jew, delicately forbearing to mention the compensation he expected.

Bertha, as sanguine of success as her cousin, was gayly discussing probabilities, when the Marquis de Merrivale entered.

"Young heads laid together to plot mischief, I wager!" remarked the nobleman, jocosely; for he was in a capital humor, having just partaken of an epicurean dejeuner À la fourchette at the celebrated "Madrid's."

"We are talking about our Cousin Madeleine. Maurice has a new plan for prosecuting his search," said Bertha. "Ah, dear Madeleine! Why did she forsake us so strangely? How could she have had the heart to cause us so much sorrow?"

"My dear child, it was probably her liver not her heart that was in fault. Her heart, I dare say, performed its grave duties properly, and should not be aspersed; some bilious derangement was no doubt at the bottom of her singular conduct. The greatest eccentricities may all be traced back to bile as their origin. Regulate the bile and you regulate the brain from which mental vagaries proceed. If some judicious friend had administered to your cousin Madeleine a little salutary medicine, and forced her to diet for a few days, she would have acted more reasonably. Talking of diet, that was a princely dinner the Marquis de Fleury set before us. He is really a very able and estimable member of society,—understands good living to perfection. I cordially reciprocate his wish that a lasting bond of union should exist between us. His brother-in-law, the young Duke de Montauban, is enchanted with my little niece. I say nothing: arrange between yourselves; but, by all means, marry into a family which knows how to value a good cook; take a young man who has had his taste sufficiently cultivated to distinguish of what ingredients a sauce is composed. Don't despise a blessing that may be enjoyed three hundred and sixty-five times every year,—that's my advice."

Bertha had not attached any importance to the attentions of the young duke; but her manner of receiving this suggestion,—the

convinced Maurice that, if she favored any suitor, her inclinations did not turn towards the duke.

"The Duke de Montauban is not ill-looking," Maurice remarked, to decoy her into some more open expression; "and he is sufficiently agreeable,—do you not think so?"

"I never thought about him," she replied, somewhat petulantly. "If I chance to look at him I never think of any one but his tailor and his hairdresser, without whom I verily believe he would have no tangible existence."

"An accomplished tailor and a skilful coiffure are all very well in their way," observed her uncle; "but a scientific cook is the grand necessity of a man's life,—a daily need,—the trebly repeated need of each day; and the education of a cook should commence in the cradle. If this point received the attention which it deserves from sanitarians, there would be fewer digestive organs out of order, and consequently fewer police reports, and a vast diminution of eccentric degradation, and moping madness and suicide, and horrors in general."

Bertha and Maurice did not dispute this sweeping assertion; for they knew it would entail upon them the necessity of encountering a battalion of arguments, which the marquis delighted to call into action to defend the ground upon which he took up his favorite position.

Count Tristan's reply to Maurice, enclosing a check for the thousand francs, was received a few days later. Maurice returned to the Jew with the money. The latter rejoiced him by vaguely hinting that there was a prospect of successful operation; but the matter would occupy time. The viscount would be good enough to call again in a week.

Maurice was too unsuspicious and too unskilled in transactions of this nature to doubt that the Jew was dealing with him in good faith. Instead of a week, he returned the next morning, and repeated his visits regularly every day. The Jew diligently fanned his hopes, assuring him that old Henriques was not to be baffled, though the parties through whose hands the jewels had passed were almost unapproachable. Very soon the merciless Israelite notified the young nobleman that further funds would be requisite, and Maurice writhed under the cruel compulsion which forced him to make a second application to his father.

Bertha had been a fortnight in Paris when the anniversary of her birthday, which for the first time had been forgotten, was in a singular manner recalled to her mind. A small package had been received for her at her uncle's residence in Bordeaux, and had been promptly forwarded to Paris. The outer cover was directed in the handwriting of her uncle's concierge; on the inner, a request, that if Mademoiselle de Merrivale were absent the parcel might be immediately forwarded to her, was written in familiar characters. Bertha had no sooner caught sight of them than she cried out,—

"Madeleine! It is the handwriting of Madeleine!"

She tore open the paper with trembling hands. There was no note,—not a single written word,—but before her lay a handkerchief of the finest texture, and embroidered with the marvellous skill which belonged alone to those "fairy fingers" she had so often watched.

Vainly might we attempt to convey even a faint idea of her tumultuous rapture,—of the tears of ecstasy, the hysterical laughter, the dancing delight, with which she greeted her uncle and Maurice, who entered a few moments after the package was received. She kissed the handkerchief moistened with her tears, waved it exultingly over her head, kissed it again, and wept over it again, while the marquis and her cousin stood looking at her in speechless astonishment.

"Madeleine! Madeleine! it is from Madeleine!" at last she found voice to ejaculate. "See, that is her handwriting," pointing to the paper cover; "and this is her work; her 'fairy fingers' send me a token on my birthday. I am seventeen to-day, and no one has remembered it but Madeleine. She thinks of me still; she never forgets any one; she has not forgotten me!"

Maurice caught up the paper in which the handkerchief had been enveloped, and with throbbing pulses eagerly examined the handwriting.

"See, Maurice," Bertha continued, joyfully, "in the corner she has embroidered my name, surrounded by a wreath of forget-me-nots,—for she does not forget. The crest of the de Merrivales is in the opposite corner; and this,—why this looks like the bracelet I gave her on her last birthday. How wonderfully she has imitated the knot of pearls that fastened the golden band! And this corner, Maurice, look,—this is in remembrance of you,—of your birthday token to her. Do you not see the design is a brooch, and the device a dove carrying an olive-branch in its mouth, and the word 'Pax' embroidered beneath?"

Maurice looked, struggling to repress the emotion that almost unmanned him. Pointing to the stamp upon the envelope which had contained the handkerchief, he said,—

"It is postmarked Dresden."

"Dresden? Dresden? Can Madeleine be in Dresden?" returned Bertha. "Ah, uncle, can we not go there at once? We shall certainly find her. Yes,—we must go. I am tired of Paris,—let us start to-morrow."

"Dresden, my dear!" cried her uncle, in a tone of unmitigated disgust. "Why, the barbarians would feed us upon sour kraut, and give us pudding before meat! Go to Dresden? Impossible! Not to be thought of! Paris was a wise move,—we have enjoyed the living amazingly; but trust ourselves to those tasteless German cooks? We should be poisoned in a couple of days. Keep cool, my dear, or you will make yourself ill by getting into such a violent state of excitement just after breakfast. How do you suppose the important process of digestion can progress favorably if your blood is agitated in this turbulent manner?"

Bertha was about to answer almost wrathfully, but Maurice interrupted her.

"I will go, Bertha. Madeleine must be in Dresden. At last she has sent us a token of her existence, a token of remembrance, thank Heaven!"

"Go! go! go at once!" was Bertha's energetic injunction.

Maurice pressed her hand tightly, and bowing to the marquis, without attempting to utter another syllable, took his leave, carrying with him the envelope which bore Madeleine's handwriting.

After having his passport visÉd, he returned to his apartment to make rapid preparations for starting that evening. Very soon Gaston de Bois entered, evidently in a state of ill-concealed perturbation.

"Mademoiselle Bertha tells me you are going to Dresden."

"Yes, to seek my cousin. Look at the post-stamp upon that envelope. Madeleine is in Dresden."

"How can you be sure of that?" asked Gaston.

"She writes from Dresden; can anything be clearer?" returned Maurice, confidently.

"It is not clear to me that she is there. I wish I could persuade you against taking this jour—our—ourney."

"That is out of the question, Gaston; so spare yourself the trouble of the attempt."

"But the journey will be use—use—useless," persisted M. de Bois.

"How can you know that?" inquired Maurice, quickly.

"I think so; it is my impression, my conviction."

"It is not mine, and nothing can prevent my making the experiment," answered Maurice, decidedly.

Gaston looked as thoroughly vexed as though he were responsible for the rash actions of his friend; but he knew that Maurice was inflexible where Madeleine was concerned, and that all entreaties would be thrown away unless he could sustain them by some potent reason; and that it was not in his power to proffer. He made no further opposition, but remained fidgeting about the room in the most distracting manner, hindering the preparations of Maurice, stumbling over articles scattered on the floor, now and then stammering out a broken, unintelligible phrase, and altogether seeming wretchedly uncomfortable, yet unwilling to leave until he saw the obstinate traveller in the fiacre which drove him to the railway station.