Paris--yes, mark that--we had our farewell. I have never seen him since.
While in Italy I was brought to death's door by my illness; and when I
got up, Clare told me that Freeman was married and had gone to Egypt.
She, poor girl, bore it well. I was savage, but it was too late. I was
ordered to go to the South Seas, at least to take a long sea-voyage; and
though I could not well afford it I started for Australia. On my way out
I stopped off at Port Said to try and find Freeman in Egypt, but failed.
I heard of him at Cairo, and learned also that his wife's brother had
joined them. Two years passed, and then I got a letter from an old
friend, saying that Freeman's wife had eloped with a Frenchman. Another
year, and then came a letter from Freeman himself, saying that his wife
was dead; that he had identified her body in the Morgue at Paris--found
drowned, and all that. He believed that remorse had driven her to
suicide. But he had no trace of the brother, no trace of the villain
whom he had scoured Europe and America over to find. Again, another
three years, and now he writes me that he is going to be married to Clare
Hazard on the twenty sixth of this month. With that information came
this portrait. I tell you all, M. Barre, because I feel that this woman
Gabrielle has some connection with the past life of my friend Luke
Freeman. She recognised the face, and you saw the effect. Now will you
tell me what you know about her?"

Shorland had been much more communicative than was his custom. But
he knew men. This man had done him a service, and that made towards
friendship on both sides. He was an officer and a gentleman, and so he
showed his hand. Then he wanted information and perhaps much more,
though what that would be he could not yet tell.

M. Barre had smoked cigarettes freely during Shorland's narrative. At
the end he said with peculiar emphasis: "Your friend's wife was surely a