A hansom stopped a little way off. “In Paris our lives were far apart, and we had seldom the same friends. The whole was then fired, and in a few minutes the room was a blaze. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. There are cigarettes and magazines in the corner there. Monsieur could rely upon his special attention, and for the cooking—well, he had his customers, who came from their homes to him year after year. It was eleven o'clock. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights.
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