The woman vouchsafed no reply to this direct enquiry, but busied herself dressing the girl’s hair.  Louise casually turned over the silver-mounted hand mirror she was holding and gave a sudden start.  A monogram was engraved upon the metal:  “D.v.T.”  She gazed at the mark fixedly and then picked up a brush that the Frenchwoman laid down.  Yes, the same monogram appeared upon the brush.

The sharp eyes of Cerise had noted these movements.  She was a little dismayed but not startled when Louise said, slowly:  “‘D.v.T.’ stands for Diana Von Taer.  And it isn’t likely to stand for anything else.  I think the mystery is explained, now, and my worst fears are realized.  Tell me, Madame, is this Diana Von Taer’s house?”

Her eyes shone with anger and round red patches suddenly appeared upon her pallid cheeks.  Madame Cerise drew a long breath.

“It used to be,” was her quiet answer.  “It was left her by her grandmother; but Mr. Von Taer did not like the place and they have not been here lately—­not for years.  Miss Von Taer informed me, some time ago, that she had transferred the property to another.”

“To her cousin—­Mr. Mershone?” asked Louise quickly.

“That may be the name; I cannot remember,” was the evasive reply.

“But you must know him, as he is Diana’s cousin,” retorted Louise.  “Why will you try to deceive me?  Am I not helpless enough already, and do you wish to make me still more miserable?”

“I have seen Mr. Mershone when he was a boy, many times.  He was not the favorite with Ma’m’selle Diana, nor with Monsieur Von Taer.  For myself, I hated him.”

There was decided emphasis to the last sentence.  Louise believed her and felt a little relieved.

From the melange of apparel a modest outfit was obtained to clothe the girl with decency and comfort, if not in the prevailing style.  The fit left much to be desired, yet Louise did not complain, as weightier matters were now occupying her mind.

The toilet completed, Madame Cerise disappeared to get a tray containing a good breakfast.  She seemed exceedingly attentive.

“If you will give me the proper directions I will start for home at once,” announced Louise, with firm resolve, while eating her egg and toast.

“I am unable to give you directions, and I cannot let you go, ma’m’selle,” was the equally firm reply.  “The day is much too disagreeable to venture out in, unless one has proper conveyance.  Here, alas, no conveyance may be had.”

Louise tried other tactics.

“I have no money, but several valuable jewels,” she said, meaningly.  “I am quite sure they will obtain for me a conveyance.”

“You are wrong, ma’m’selle; there is no conveyance to be had!” persisted the old woman, more sternly.

“Then I shall walk.”

“It is impossible.”

“Where is this place situated?  How far is it from New York?  How near am I to a street-car, or to a train?”