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Suddenly Dallas stopped short, grasping his father's arm "Oh, by Jove," he exclaireat tree-planted space before the Invalides The do trees and the long grey front of the building: drawing up into itself all the rays of afternoon light, it hung there like the visible sylory

Archer knew that Mada from the Invalides; and he had pictured the quarter as quiet and al the central splendour that lit it up Now, by soht beca illumination in which she lived For nearly thirty years, her life--of which he knew so strangely little--had been spent in this rich atmosphere that he already felt to be too dense and yet too stiht of the theatres she must have been to, the pictures she must have looked at, the sober and splendid old houses she must have frequented, the people she must have talked with, the incessant stir of ideas, curiosities, ies and associations thrown out by an intensely social race in a setting of i Frenchood conversation--there is nothing like it, is there?"

Archer had not seen M Riviere, or heard of hiave the norance of Madame Olenska's existence More than half a lifeti people he did not know, in a society he but faintly guessed at, in conditions he would never wholly understand During that ti with his youthful ible companionship Perhaps she too had kept herapart; but if she had, it must have been like a relic in a small dim chapel, where there was not time to pray every day

They had crossed the Place des Invalides, and alking down one of the thoroughfares flanking the building It was a quiet quarter, after all, in spite of its splendour and its history; and the fact gave one an idea of the riches Paris had to draw on, since such scenes as this were left to the few and the indifferent

The day was fading into a soft sun-shot haze, pricked here and there by a yellow electric light, and passers were rare in the little square into which they had turned Dallas stopped again, and looked up