The smooth adventurer had written: "If I have the future pleasure
of meeting Mademoiselle Justine Delande I only hope to find a
resemblance to her charming and distinguished sister. As my movements
are necessarily secret, pray write only in the utmost confidence
to Mademoiselle Justine. I hope to soon return and enjoy once more
the hospitalities of your intellectual circle." The address given
for India was "Bombay Club." Miss Euphrosyne gazed up at the stony
lineaments of Professor Delande, her marble-browed and flinty-hearted
sire, locked in the cold chill of a steel engraving. He was
as neutral as the busts of Buffon, Cuvier, Laplace, Humboldt, and
Pestalozzi, which coldly furnished forth her sanctum. She thought
of the eloquent eyed young Major and sadly sighed. She proceeded
to enshrine him in her withered heart, and then wrote a crossed
letter of many tender underlinings to her distant sister. And thus
the pathway was made very smooth for the artful wanderer, who had
already stepped upon the decks of the Sepoy.
Major Hawke had dispatched an excellent breakfast before he stepped
into the carriage to be whirled away to Montreux. His bridges
were burned behind him. There was not a vestige of Madame Berthe
Louison left to give the needy Pole a clue. "They are separated,
and Anstruther and the Swiss schoolmistress are harmless. I have
only my play to make upon the lovely Justine, and to retake up
my old friendship with Hugh Fraser.
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