They tracked the fugitive to the Mint; but, like hounds at fault, they here lost all scent of their prey. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. “The Chens must already be here. Of all the amazing coincidences. ‘You do not know how I am like my mother. Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear.
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