who nodded intelligently, reseated himself, and lit his cigar.
Passing through the library, Mrs. Harden led the way to the music-room,—her own especial sanctum,—and seated herself on a low causeuse. "Sit here, opposite me, where I can see you." She spoke quite seriously, and despite her turned-up nose and blithe blue eyes she looked very grave.
"Philippe le bel," she said, addressing him gently, "Philippe, my good fellow, you are in need of a friend. There is no one in this city that you would trust as you trust me. Is it not so? And there is no one who has your interest more unselfishly at heart."
"Dear friend, it is true."
"Then tell me all about it."
"My lips are sealed, madam."
"Professional etiquette?"
He bowed.
"But if I knew it all?"
"That would make a difference."
"You know what they are saying about you?"
"Something of it."
"That you could tell more than any one else of the death of Fernand Thoron?"
Philip nodded slightly, and silently asked permission to light a cigarette.
