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140 leave. Can you give me the exact date upon which Léonie Lemarque left Paris for Dover?"

"Assuredly, Monsieur. It was on the 4th of July."

"The 4th! And it was on the evening of the 5th she met with her death. You say she carried a small handbag containing linen."

"Yes. Her clothes were of the fewest, dear child; but everything she had was neat and nice of its kind. She had a change of linen with her."

"Had she nothing else in the bag?"

"Nothing. I went into the room while she was packing, and I saw her take a small sealed packet from under her pillow, and put it in her bosom. I had seen the same packet under her grandmother's pillow before she died. It looked like a parcel of letters or papers of some kind."

"Do you know what station Léonie was to arrive at?"

"Yes. It was the terminus of Charing."

"Charing Cross?"

"Precisely. It was a double name like that."

"Good. Adieu, Mademoiselle. My friend and I may come to you again perhaps to make further inquiries."

"You shall be very welcome, Monsieur. And if you discover the secret of my poor young friend's fate, you will tell me—"

"Assuredly."

"One word, Monsieur. Where is our little Léonie buried? Has she a decent grave in your English land?"

"She lies in a rustic churchyard under a great yew-tree. There is a stone upon her grave, with a brief record of when and how she met her death. Her name and age shall now be added to the inscription."

"Indeed, Monsieur! But what kind friend was it who placed a stone over the grave of a nameless stranger?"

"That was my care. It was a very small thing to do."

"Ah, Monsieur, it is in doing these small things that a great heart shows itself."

Mr. Heathcote and his companion made their adieux, accompanied to the landing by the spinster, who felt as if she had entertained angels unawares; but when the sound of their footsteps had died away upon the stairs she went back to her room, and wept over the fate of her young friend.

"I have nothing left in this world to love but you," she said, piteously addressing the cockatoo.

"J'ai bien des chos's au Mont-d'-Piété," replied the bird.

It was one o'clock by the time Mr. Heathcote and Monsieur Drubarde left the dressmaker's apartment, so the Englishman suggested a light luncheon at the Restaurant Lapérouse, within a stone's throw of Drubarde's apartment; and the suggestion being received favourably by the ex-policeman, they were soon