BY SPECIAL ORDER
It was not until after vespers that Alice was able to leave Notre-Dame and start for the Villa Montmorency—in fact, it was nearly five when, with mingled feelings of confidence and shrinking, she opened the iron gate in the ivy-covered wall of Coquenil's house and advanced down the neat walk between the double hedges to the solid gray mass of the villa, at once dignified and cheerful. Melanie came to the door and showed, by a jealous glance, that she did not approve of her master receiving visits from young and good-looking females.
"M. Paul is resting," she grumbled; "he worked all last night and he's worked this whole blessed day until half an hour ago."
"I'm sorry, but it's a matter of great importance," urged the girl.
"Good, good," snapped Melanie. "What name?"
"He wouldn't know my name. Please say it's the girl who sells candles in Notre-Dame."
"Huh! I'll tell him. Wait here," and with scant courtesy the old servant left Alice standing in the blue-tiled hallway, near a long diamond-paned window. A moment later Melanie reappeared with mollified countenance. "M. Paul says will you please take a seat in here." She opened the study door and pointed to one of the big red-leather chairs. "He'll be down in a moment."
Left alone, Alice glanced in surprise about this strange room. She saw a photograph of Cæsar and his master on the wall and went nearer to look at it. Then she noticed the collection of plaster hands and was just bending over it when Coquenil entered, wearing a loosely cut house garment of pale yellow with dark-green braid around the jacket and down the legs of the trousers. He looked pale, almost haggard, but his face lighted in welcome as he came forward.
