It seemed to be my duty to tell Rosa, of course with all possible

circumspection, that, despite a general impression to the contrary,

Lord Clarenceux was still alive. His lordship's reasons for effacing

himself, and so completely deceiving his friends and the world, I

naturally could not divine; but I knew that such things had happened

before, and also I gathered that he was a man who would hesitate at no

caprice, however extravagant, once it had suggested itself to him as

expedient for the satisfaction of his singular nature.

A light broke in upon me: Alresca must have been aware that Lord

Clarenceux was alive. That must have been part of Alresca's secret,

but only part. I felt somehow that I was on the verge of some tragical

discovery which might vitally affect not only my own existence, but

that of others.

I saw Rosa on the morning after my interview with Yvette. She was in

perfect health and moderately good spirits, and she invited me to dine

with her that evening. "I will tell her after dinner," I said to

myself. The project of telling her seemed more difficult as it

approached. She said that she had arranged by telephone for another

rehearsal at the Opéra Comique at three o'clock, but she did not

invite me to accompany her. I spent the afternoon at the Sorbonne,

where I had some acquaintances, and after calling at my hotel, the

little Hôtel de Portugal in the Rue Croix des Petits Champs, to dress,

I drove in a fiacre to the Rue de Rivoli. I had carefully considered

how best in conversation I might lead Rosa to the subject of Lord

Clarenceux, and had arranged a little plan. Decidedly I did not

anticipate the interview with unmixed pleasure; but, as I have said, I

felt bound to inform her that her former lover's death was a fiction.

My suit might be doomed thereby to failure,--I had no right to expect

otherwise,--but if it should succeed and I had kept silence on this

point, I should have played the part of a--well, of a man "of three

letters."

"Mademoiselle is not at home," said the servant.

"Not at home! But I am dining with her, my friend."

"Mademoiselle has been called away suddenly, and she has left a note

for monsieur. Will monsieur give himself the trouble to come into the

salon?"

The note ran thus: "Dear Friend:--A thousand excuses! But the enclosed will

explain. I felt that I must go--and go instantly. She might

die before I arrived. Will you call early to-morrow?

"Your grateful

"Rosa"

And this was the enclosure, written in French: "VILLA DES HORTENSIAS,

"RUE THIERS, PANTIN, PARIS.

"Mademoiselle:--I am dying. I have wronged you deeply, and I

dare not die without your forgiveness. Prove to me that you

have a great heart by coming to my bedside and telling me

that you accept my repentance. The bearer will conduct you.




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