been through in the retreat. She was quite aware when she went away and returned to her work that her application for permission to go to Switzerland would be the most damning evidence against her, when Byrne should bring his accusation; and now, having made application, she could do nothing but wait where she was. However, she heard nothing from Byrne or from the authorities upon that day nor upon the succeeding days of the week during which she worked, as she had when she first came to Paris, in the offices of the relief society; upon almost every afternoon she visited Charles Gail who was slowly sinking
After three days and then after a wait of three more, she revisited the consulate and inquired about her permission for Switzerland; but she got no satisfaction either time. But when at last the week wore out and she met no interference with her ordinary comings and goings, she was beginning to doubt her beliefs that George Byrne lived; he must have died, she thought, and without having been able to communicate his knowledge of her to anyone. Then one night she was returning to the Rue des Saints Pères a little later than usual; the mild, April afternoon had dimmed to twilight and, as she passed the point where George Byrne had encountered her, fears possessed her again; they lessened only to increase once more, as they now had formed a habit of doing, when she approached the pension.
"Letters for me, Fanchette?" she said to the daughter of her landlady who was at the door when Ruth came in.
"No letters, Mademoiselle; but Monsieur le Lieutenant!"
