THE sitting-room of the Masons was a very singular
apartment. At one end it was furnished with con-
siderable luxury. The deep sofas, the low, luxurious
chairs, the voluptuous statuettes, and the rich curtains
hanging from deep and ornamental screens of metal-
work made a fitting frame for the lovely woman who
was the mistress of the establishment. Mason, a
young but wealthy man of affairs, had clearly spared
no pains and no expense to meet every want and every
whim of his beautiful wife. It was natural that he
should do so, for she had given up much for his sake.
The most famous dancer in France, the heroine of a
dozen extraordinary romances, she had resigned her life
of glittering pleasure in order to share the fate of the
young American, whose austere ways differed so widely
from her own. In all that wealth could buy he tried
to make amends for what she had lost. Some might
perhaps have thought it in better taste had he not pro-
claimed this fact--had he not even allowed it to be
printed--but save for some personal peculiarities of
the sort, his conduct was that of a husband who has
never for an instant ceased to be a lover. Even the
presence of spectators would not prevent the public
exhibition of his overpowering affection.

But the room was singular. At first it seemed
familiar, and yet a longer acquaintance made one real-
ise its sinister peculiarities. It was silent--very silent.
No footfall could be heard upon those rich carpets

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