“Yours faithfully,

“West.

“ P.S. ⁠—Fallowby has shaken Hartman and his gang, thank the Lord! There is something rotten there⁠—or it may be he’s only a miser.

“ P.P.S. ⁠—I’m more desperately in love than ever, but I’m sure she does not care a straw for me.”

“All right,” said Trent, with a smile, to the concierge; “but tell me, how is Papa Cottard?”

The old woman shook her head and pointed to the curtained bed in the lodge.

“Père Cottard!” he cried cheerily, “how goes the wound today?”