train left; and when she at last addressed herself, timid and blushing, to a stout, red-faced guard, he took no notice of her beyond a stare.

"What is it you want to know, Mademoiselle ?" asked a dark-bearded man, with a fascinating smile that frightened Dolores much more than the other one's rudeness.

"Can you tell me when the train leaves for Paris ?" she asked with a faltering voice, ready to cry.

"For Paris? In three quarters of an hour. Does Mademoiselle propose to herself to go there alone ?"

Yes, Monsieur," stammered Dolores. "Ah! Now if only Mademoiselle were going to Amiens, I should have been charmed to offer my escort," said the stranger, with a familiar leer. "I am quite desolate not to be able to serve

Mademoiselle." And as the guard began to shout frantically-"En voiture, Messieurs et Mesdames !" he had to hurry off without more ado.

"Three quarters of an hour!" the child said to herself in dismay. "If Marcelline should have returned to the house and found me gone, she might come here to look for me, or some one who knows me might see and stop me." And she tried to look down, and hide her face under her straw hat, but could not baffle the inquisitive or impertinent glances of the men who lounged about and ogled her.

Then there was the terrible business of taking her ticket; and when she saw the gold and notes flung through the pigeonhole, a sudden fear took possession of her that the one Napoleon she had stolen from Marcelline's workbox would be insufficient to pay for her journey. Perhaps if she

asked for a ticket, and then had not enough money, some of those rough, dreadfullooking men might be rude to her, and turn her out of the station, or even put her into prison. She underwent torments of fear and anxiety.

After a time, summoning up all her courage, she went and asked the price of a ticket to Paris. It was fifteen francs, and the official who gave it to her was polite. At last, after what seemed an age to her feverish anxiety, she was in the train, and on her way to Paris.

In the carriage with her were two goodnatured-looking women, who began to ask questions.

"To what part of Paris are you going, Mademoiselle ?" said one.

Dolores blushed scarlet, and shook hor head.

"I do not know, Madame."

"You are very young to travel alone," interposed the second. the second. “But of course your friends will meet you ?”

"I do not know, Madame," stammered Dolores again.

"But, mon Dieu! Mademoiselle, you cannot go wandering over Paris by yourself.”

The girl felt a vague terror lest these women should insist on finding out all about her, and taking her back to Marcelline; so she turned resolutely to the window and looked out, while her two companions glanced at each other, shook their heads, and thought there was something very strange about her.

The train whizzed past the green fields and rows of trees, past the high hills and the winding Seine, past stately white châteaux, enclosed in thick forests and avenues of handsome trees, and drew up at last, just

as the dusk was falling, into the St. Lazare station of the beautiful city. There was a banging of doors, a clamour of voices, a hurrying to and fro, and with a beating, terrified heart, the child found herself pushed and hustled, not knowing which way to turn. At last she was in the street, cowering, shrinking, stared at, filled for the first time with a desperate fear lest, in this great city, she might wander hopelessly without finding the man she sought. It had never occurred to her before that there would be any doubt of her meeting Sir Guy. He was in Paris-she would go after him; and there the poor childish reasoning had ceased.

VOL. I.

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