remain there, as she would see the doctor arrive still better. I opened the window and we passed out on the balcony. The air of the canal seemed even heavier, hotter than that of the sala. The place was hushed and void; the quiet neighbourhood had gone to sleep. A lamp, here and there, over the narrow black water, glimmered in double; the voice of a man going homeward singing, with his jacket on his shoulder and his hat on his ear, came to us from a distance. This did not prevent the scene from being very comme il faut, as Miss Bordereau had called it the first time I saw her. Presently a gondola passed along the canal with its slow rhythmical plash, and as we listened we watched it in silence. It did not stop, it did not carry the doctor; and after it had gone on I said to Miss Tita:
'And where are they now—the things that were in the trunk?'
'In the trunk?'
'That green box you pointed out to me in her room. You said her papers had been there; you seemed to imply that she had transferred them.'
'Oh yes; they are not in the trunk,' said Miss Tita.
'May I ask if you have looked?'
'Yes, I have looked—for you.'
'How for me, dear Miss Tita? Do you mean you would have given them to me if you had found them?' I asked, almost trembling.
She delayed to reply and I waited. Suddenly she broke out, 'I don't know what I would do—what I wouldn't!'
'Would you look again—somewhere else?'
She had spoken with a strange, unexpected
