staring dreamily toward the aperture leading to the aisle. He saw
the woman's face for an instant, and it gradually dawned upon him
that there was something familiar about its beauty. Where had he
seen her before? Like the curious American he was, he arose a few
minutes later and deliberately walked into the aisle. He passed two
compartments before he saw the young woman. She was alone and was
leaning back, her eyes closed. Quentin observed that she was young
and beautiful and possessed the marks of fashion and refinement. As
he stood for a moment looking upon the face of the dozing French
woman, more certain than ever that he had seen her recently, she
opened her eyes with an affrighted start.

He instantly and in some embarrassment turned to escape the eyes
which had caught him in a rare bit of impertinence, but was
surprised to hear her call softly:^

"Monsieur!"

"Mademoiselle," he replied, pausing, "can I be of service to you?"

"I must speak with you, M. Quentin. Come inside. I shall detain you
but a moment, and it is so very important that you should hear me."
She was now sitting upright, visibly excited and confused, but very
much in earnest.

"You know my name," he said, entering and dropping to the seat
beside her. "Where have we met? Your face is familiar, but I am
ashamed to admit--"

"We have no time to talk of that. You have never met me, and would