She rose with an effort. "I am glad for you, George."

"You are ill, Lisa!"

"A little tired, only. Colette will give me my powder,
and I shall be quite well in the morning. Will you send
her to me now?"

After George was gone the rumbling of a diligence
was heard in the courtyard, and presently a woman was
brought up to the opposite chamber.

The hall was dark. Looking across it, Frances Waldeaux
saw in the lighted room Lisa and her child.



CHAPTER XIV

Before we come to the dark story of that night in the
inn, it is but fair to Frances to say that she came there
with no definite evil purpose. She had been cheerful on
her journey from Munich. There was one clear fact in her
brain: She was on her way to George.

The countless toy farms of southern France, trimmed
neatly by the inch, swept past her. In Brittany came
melancholy stretches of brown heath and rain-beaten
hills; or great affluent estates, the Manor houses