losing his fortune." Mr. Carmichael paused a moment, as if a new thought had occurred to him. "Are you sure the child was left at a school in Paris? Are you sure it was Paris?"
"My dear fellow," broke forth Carrisford, with restless bitterness, "I am sure of nothing. I never saw either the child or her mother. Ralph Crewe and I loved each other as boys, but we had not met since our school-days, until we met in India. I was absorbed in the magnificent promise of the mines. He became absorbed, too. The whole thing was so huge and glittering that we half lost our heads. When we met we scarcely spoke of anything else. I only knew that the child had been sent to school somewhere. I do not even remember, now, how I knew it."
He was beginning to be excited. He always became excited when his still weakened brain was stirred by memories of the catastrophes of the past.
Mr. Carmichael watched him anxiously. It was necessary to ask some questions, but they must be put quietly and with caution.
"But you had reason to think the school was in Paris?"
"Yes," was the answer, "because her mother was a Frenchwoman, and I had heard that she wished her child to be educated in Paris. It seemed only likely that she would be there."
"Yes," Mr. Carmichael said, "it seems more than probable."
The Indian gentleman leaned forward and struck the table with a long, wasted hand.
