.

THE WEARY SEARCH.
Blakeney was not at his lodgings when Armand arrived there that evening, nor did he return, whilst the young man haunted the precincts of St.
Germain l'Auxerrois and wandered along the quays hours and hours at a stretch, until he nearly dropped under the portico of a house, and realised that if he loitered longer he might lose consciousness completely, and be unable on the morrow to be of service to Jeanne.
He dragged his weary footsteps back to his own lodgings on the heights of Montmartre.

He had not found Percy, he had no news of Jeanne; it seemed as if hell itself could hold no worse tortures than this intolerable suspense.
He threw himself down on the narrow palliasse and, tired nature asserting herself, at last fell into a heavy, dreamless torpor, like the sleep of a drunkard, deep but without the beneficent aid of rest.
It was broad daylight when he awoke.

The pale light of a damp, wintry morning filtered through the grimy panes of the window.

Armand jumped out of bed, aching of limb but resolute of mind.