"There now, ma cherie, is something worth fifty times its weight
in gold," said M. Roussillon when he presented the necklace to his
foster daughter with pardonable self-satisfaction. "It is a sacred
charm-string given me by an old heathen who would sell his soul
for a pint of cheap rum. He solemnly informed me that whoever wore
it could not by any possibility be killed by an enemy."

Alice kissed M. Roussillon.

"It's so curious and beautiful," she said, holding it up and
drawing the variegated string through her fingers. Then, with her
mischievous laugh, she added; "and I'm glad it is so powerful
against one's enemy; I'll wear it whenever I go where Adrienne
Bourcier is, see if I don't!"

"Is she your enemy? What's up between you and la petite Adrienne,
eh?" M. Roussillon lightly demanded. "You were always the best of
good friends, I thought. What's happened?"

"Oh, we are good friends," said Alice, quickly, "very good
friends, indeed; I was but chaffing."

"Good friends, but enemies; that's how it is with women. Who's the
young man that's caused the coolness? I could guess, maybe!" He
laughed and winked knowingly. "May I be so bold as to name him at
a venture?"

"Yes, if you'll be sure to mention Monsieur Rene de Ronville," she
gayly answered. "Who but he could work Adrienne up into a perfect