There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. But perhaps I had better get a room in an hotel to-night and look round. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the least known quarter of Paris. The truth at once flashed across his mind. . Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. He lives near the Black Lion. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. .
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