passed over his face, not exactly confusing, but painful, and again it
left him pale, and for a moment he stood motionless. Then he came
forward to us. He bowed to me, then looked hard at her. She held out
her hand.

"Mr. Roscoe, I think?" she said. "An old friend," she added, turning to
me. He gravely took her extended hand and said:

"I did not think to see you here, Miss--"

"MRS. Falchion," she interrupted clearly.

"MRS. Falchion!" he said, with surprise. "It is so many years since we
had met, and--"

"And it is so easy to forget things? But it isn't so many, really--only
seven, the cycle for constitutional renewal. Dear me, how erudite that
sounds! . . . So, I suppose, we meet the same, yet not the same."

"The same, yet not the same," he repeated after her, with an attempt at
lightness, yet abstractedly.

"I think you gentlemen know each other?" she said.

"Yes; we met in the cemetery this morning. I was visiting the grave of a
young French officer."

"I know," she said--"Justine Caron's brother. She has told me; but she
did not tell me your name."