Simple Mr. Engelman put his handkerchief to his eyes; never, in all his
life, had he been so puzzled, so frightened, and so distressed. He kissed
the widow's hand. "Do let me see you safe home!" he said, in tones of the
tenderest entreaty.

"Not to-night," she answered. He attempted a faint remonstrance. Madame
Fontaine knew perfectly well how to assert her authority over him--she
gave him another of those tender looks which had already become the charm
of his life. Mr. Engelman sat down on one of the hall chairs completely
overwhelmed. "Dear and admirable woman!" I heard him say to himself
softly.

Taking leave of me in my turn, the widow dropped my hand, struck, to all
appearance, by a new idea.

"I have a favor to ask of you, David," she said. "Do you mind going back
with us?"

As a matter of course I took my hat, and placed myself at her service.
Mr. Engelman got on his feet, and lifted his plump hands in mute and
melancholy protest. "Don't be uneasy," Madame Fontaine said to him, with
a faint smile of contempt. "David doesn't love me!"

I paused for a moment, as I followed her out, to console Mr. Engelman.
"She is old enough to be my mother, sir," I whispered; "and this time, at
any rare, she has told you the truth."

Hardly a word passed between us on our way through the streets and over
the bridge. Minna was sad and silent, thinking of Fritz; and whatever her