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318 think"—she glanced at the clock—"and Kharkoff is coming at four."

"The police suspected Ivan of something," said I, "but have no positive proof that he belonged to a criminal organisation. Let us see if he's got anything compromising about him now. If so, it would make the statement that he was poisoned by Chu-Chu more plausible."

I stepped to the divan, ran my hand through Ivan's pockets and brought to light, besides the usual small articles, a porte-monnaie and a letter sealed and addressed, but not stamped. Turning it in my hand, I was surprised to see that it was addressed to Léontine.

The tears gushed to her eyes as she took it, broke the seal, and quickly ran it through. Watching her closely, I saw the colour come and go in her face, while the tears flowed faster. The note was brief, and, as she finished reading, Léontine flung the letter toward me on the table, and, dropping her face in her hands, wept silently.

I picked up the note, which was wet and tear-stained, but written in Ivan's clear, regular hand. It was in French, and read as follows:

"Léontine, my dear friend, this is but a word of farewell. My tortuous course is sped—my ill-spent life nearly at its end.

"In this twilight of my soul I see but two bright stars—one whom I dearly loved and who has gone before, and who perhaps may intercede for my mistakes before the Great Tribunal. The other is a dear friend whom I leave behind, and who will mourn me as one less evil than mistaken.

"Léontine, you are my dearest living friend, and I wish to