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She overcame the inveterate reluctance in
her to see the boy so fatally associated with the misery of Romayne's
life. As Madame Marillac led the way to the door of communication
between the rooms, she quickly took from her pocketbook the bank-notes
with which she had provided herself, and folded them so that they could
be easily concealed in her hand.
She followed the widow into the little room.
The boy was sitting on his bed. He laid down his flageolet and bowed to
Stella. His long silky hair flowed to his shoulders. But one betrayal
of a deranged mind presented itself in his delicate face--his large soft
eyes had the glassy, vacant look which it is impossible to mistake. "Do
you like music, mademoiselle?" he asked, gently. Stella asked him to
play his little vaudeville air again. He proudly complied with the
request. His sister seemed to resent the presence of a stranger. "The
work is at a standstill," she said--and passed into the front room.
Her mother followed her as far as the door, to give her some necessary
directions. Stella seized her opportunity.


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