The words of recognition uttered by Mr. Wetter filled Pauline with the utmost consternation. What! was this elegant gentleman, who stood before her with an amused smile on his handsome face, the same Henrich Wetter, the blonde and lymphatic clerk to Monsieur Krebs?  
As she stared at him the features grew familiar to her, and she saw that he was practising no deception. Henrich Wetter! He knew all about her former life, then, and, if he chose, could, with a word, destroy the neat fabric of invention which she had so carefully raised. He could tell any one, whose interest it would be to know it, all about her position at the Restaurant du Midi, all about her marriage with Tom Durham, perhaps even some of the particulars of her life since her marriage. It would be most advisable to keep on good terms with a man of so much knowledge. So, all these thoughts having flashed instantaneously through Pauline's mind, she turned to her companion with a look in which astonishment and delight were admirably blended, and stretched out her hand in the frankest and friendliest manner.
 
'You must not be astonished at my not recognising you, Monsieur Wetter,' she said; 'it is long since we met, and in the interval you are so much changed, and, if I may say it, so much improved.'
 
Mr. Wetter smiled blandly and easily.
 
'And you, Pauline--' he said.
 
Pauline started as he pronounced the name. Her husband was the only man who had so addressed her since the old days at Marseilles, and, of course, she had not heard it since his death.
 
'And you, Pauline,' he continued, 'how well and handsome you look! How prosperous you seem!'
 
'Do I, Monsieur Wetter?' she said, with a characteristic shoulder-shrug, 'do I? It must be, then, because I have a light heart and a strong will of my own; for I have not been without my troubles, and heavy ones too. However, these are matters in which you could feel no possible interest, and with which I will not pretend to worry you.'
 
'I feel no interest in what concerns you?' said Mr. Wetter, with elevated eyebrows. 'Why, what do you imagine brought me to this house?'
 
'Information that the house was to let, and a desire to see if it would suit your purpose.'
 
'Suit my purpose?' repeated Mr. Wetter, with a half-sneering laugh. 'And what do you imagine my purpose to be, Pauline? I am a man of action and of business. It would not suit me to drone away my life in this rural solitude; my home must be in London, where my time is spent.'
 
'Perhaps you came to look at the house for a friend?' said Pauline.
 
'Wrong again,' he cried; 'my friends are like myself, men to whom this house, from its situation, would be absolutely useless. Now, what do you say if I were to tell you,' he said, leaning on the table, and bending towards her as he spoke, 'that the memory of the old days has never passed away from my mind, of the old days when Adolphe de Noailles and I ran neck and neck for the hand of the prettiest girl in Marseilles and when we were both beaten by the English escroc who took her away from us?'
 
'Monsieur Wetter,' said Pauline, holding up her hand, 'he was my husband.'
 
'You are right in saying was, Pauline; for he is dead, and you are free. You see,' he added, in amusement at the amazed expression on her face, 'I keep myself tolerably well informed as to the movements of those in whom I have at any time taken an interest.'
 
'And by your--your inquiries you learned that I was here?' she asked.
 
'No,' he replied; 'truth to tell, that was entirely accidental. I have only just returned from America, and as I was riding by here a few days ago I thought I perceived you at the window. At first I doubted the evidence of my senses, and even when I had satisfied myself; I was so completely upset that I could not attempt to come in. I went home meditating on what I had seen, and determining to come out again on the first opportunity. As I rode out to-day I was debating within myself what excuse I could possibly offer for intruding upon you without announcing myself; as I wished to ascertain whether you would recognise me, when the board at the gate, advertising the house to let, fortunately afforded me the necessary excuse; and how the rest of the little comedy was played out you are aware.'
 
Pauline looked at him earnestly for some moments, as though desirous of ascertaining whether he had correctly stated the motive by which he professed himself animated. The result of her survey seemed to be satisfactory, for she said to him:
 
'I need scarcely tell you, Monsieur Wetter, that I am much flattered by what you have said, or that I am very much pleased to see you again.'
 
'And on my part,' said he, taking her hand and, gallantly raising it to his lips, 'I need scarcely say that the pleasure is mutual. I hope I shall often be allowed to visit you in this house?'
 
'Not in this house,' said Pauline. 'You forget the board at the gate. There is no deception about that. This house is veritably to let, and we are about to leave it as soon as possible.'
 
'Why?' said Mr. Wetter, interrogatively.
 
'Why?' interrupted Pauline. 'I forgot to mention that I am not here alone, and that this is not my house. There is another lady with me.'
 
'O, indeed; another lady?' said Wetter, brightening. 'And who may she be?'
 
The change in his manner was not lost upon Pauline.
 
'She is a lady who has just lost her husband,' said she coldly. 'Her bereavement is so recent, and she feels it so acutely, that she will see no one, nor will she remain in this house where she lived with him.'
 
'Poor creature!' said Mr. Wetter, shaking his head. 'No one with any feeling would desire to intrude upon her. And will you continue to live with her when she moves to a new abode?'
 
'I shall,' said Pauline, still coldly. 'She depends upon me greatly for advice and assistance.'
 
'And that new abode will be--?' he asked insinuatingly.
 
'I cannot say at present,' she replied; 'nothing is decided. We have, indeed, scarcely had time to look out.'
 
'You will let me know when you have fixed upon a spot, will you not?' he said. 'I am going out of town for some shooting, but I shall not be more than a month away; and I should like to carry with me the thought that the renewal of an acquaintance so dear to me is not a mere temporary measure.'
 
His manner was as earnest and as gallant as before, and his eyes were as expressive as his words; but Pauline still answered him coldly: 'You shall have a line from me stating where I have pitched my tent if you will tell me where to send it.'
 
He gave her his address in South Audley-street; and as there was nothing more to be done, rose and took his leave. As he bade her adieu he once more raised her hand to his lips, and reiterated his hope of speedily hearing from her.
 
Pauline walked to the window, and looked out after him. She heard his retreating footsteps, but it was too dark to see his figure. Then, as she turned away, her face was set and rigid, and she muttered to herself; 'Connu, monsieur! connu! Though I was very nearly being taken in by your bland manner and the softly sympathetic voice in which you spoke of those old memories. If it had not been for that sly look at the corner of your eyes, which you always had, and which I recognised at once when you spoke of the subject in which you were really interested, I might have imagined that it was on my account you had taken the trouble to ride out here, that to renew your friendship with me was the one great wish of your life. It is all plain to me now. He has seen Alice, and is dying for an introduction to her. He tried, to avail himself of the circumstance of the house being to let, was baffled for the moment when he recognised me, but had sufficient mother-wit to enable him to concoct a story by which I was so nearly taken in. I, with whom all vanity ought to have died out years ago, whose knowledge of the world ought to have led me at once to suspect the hollowness of Monsieur Wetter's profession!
 
'He wants an introduction to Alice, that is it undoubtedly; and for what end? He is amazingly changed, this gar?on! He is no longer lymphatic, romantic in the highest degree, mawkish, or Teutonic; he rides on horseback, and affects the air of conquest. There is about him a smack of the gallant, of the coureur des dames. He is a man whom Alice would not like, but still it is as well that she did not see him at this particular time. He is going out of town, he said; and when he comes back we shall have moved into another house, our change of address will not be recorded in the fashionable newspapers, and, as I shall take care that it is not sent to Monsieur Wetter at South Audley-street, it is probable that he will know nothing about it. And so,' she added, drawing down the blinds as she heard Alice's footsteps on the stairs, 'bon soir, Monsieur Wetter.'
 
And for his own part, Mr. Wetter, as he rode back to London, was full of his reflections.
 
'What a wonderful thing,' he thought to himself; 'that I should have come across Pauline Lunelle in that house; and how lucky that I recognised her instantly, and was enabled, by playing upon her vanity, to put her off the scent of the real motive of my visit, and induce her to believe that I had come to see her! Let me see; all the points of the story seem to fit and dovetail together admirably. Pauline spoke of her companion as a widow--yes, that's right. I saw the notice of John Calverley's death just before I left New York. She said too, that her husband, the escroc, was dead--that also is right. I recollect reading the story of his having been drowned some time ago. Ay, and now I remember that it spoke of him, Mr. Durham, as having been in the employ of Messrs. Calverley. This would account for Pauline's presence in that house, and her intended connexion with that pretty girl. So far so good; je prend mon bien où je le trouve; and I think in the present instance I shall not have far to look for it. Mademoiselle Pauline Lunelle, ex-dame du comptoir, will be too much frightened at the idea of having the story of her own youth set before her friends to refuse to aid me in any way that I may wish.'
 
It was curious to note how Alice had accepted Pauline's companionship as a matter of course, and how she seemed to cling to the Frenchwoman for society in that dark period of her life. When Martin Gurwood visited her soon after her convalescence, he conducted himself, under Humphrey Statham's directions, with all the formality and authority of a duly appointed guardian, and as such Alice received him. Amongst the business matters which were discussed between them, the appointment of Pauline to her new charge naturally held a prominent place. Martin imagined that he might have had some difficulty in bringing Alice to his views; but Pauline had already m............