Madame followed me presently to the study, and there gave me the Vicomte's last letter to read.

It was short and breathed of affection.
"Do not seek for me," it ran.

"I cannot bear my great misfortunes, and the world will, perhaps, be less cruel to two women who have no protector." Madame handed me the envelope, which bore the Passy postmark, and I read her thoughts easily enough.
I saw John Turner again that evening, also Alphonse Giraud, who had called at the Hotel Clericy during the day.

With these gentlemen I set off the next morning for Passy, taking passage in one of those little river steamers which we had all seen a thousand times, without thinking of a nearer acquaintance.
"This is gay," cried Alphonse, on whom the sunshine had always an enlivening effect, as we sped along.

"This is what you call sport--_n'est ce pas_?
For you are a maritime race, is it not so, Howard ?" "Yes," answered I, "we are a maritime race." "And figure to yourself this is the first time that I am afloat on anything larger than a ferry-boat." During our short trip Alphonse fully decided that if his fortune should be recovered he would buy a yacht.
"Do you think you can recover it ?" he asked quite wistfully, his mind full of this new scheme, and oblivious to the mournful object of our journey.
At Passy we were received with shrugging shoulders and outspread hands.
No, such an old gentleman had not been seen--but the river was large and deep.