And so this uncomfortable episode, the only one that occurred during the evening, passed quietly away.

Music was soon called for, and Madeleine sang a beautiful song of the sea.  Then there was a merry glee, and a duet on the piano and violoncello, and the time passed so cheerily that when the trays with refreshments came round, betokening that the time to go was fast approaching, everybody instinctively looked at the clock to make sure that there was not some mistake.

One or two of the boys, as they lay awake that night, trying to recall some of its pleasant hours, little thought that as long as life lasted the incidents of that reception evening would be stamped indelibly upon their memories.

“Now, aunt,” said Madeleine, after all the guests had departed, “sit down and rest, and let me collect the things together.”

Everybody knows how a drawing-room looks when the company has gone.  Music here, drawings there, musical instruments somewhere else, and a certain amount of confusion not apparent before now apparent everywhere.

But Mrs. Brier was one of those who never could sit still while anything had to be done, and she began to arrange the cabinet which held her curiosities, while Madeleine collected the music.  They were thus employed when Mrs. Brier suddenly exclaimed, “Oh!  Madeleine!”

“What is the matter, aunt?” asked the young girl, running to her.

“Nothing, I hope, but I cannot find the miniature portrait or the old snuff-box which were here.”

“Then they must be on one of the tables!” said Madeleine.

“I fear not; I laid everything back in the case myself—­at least, I believe I did—­before putting it in the cabinet.”

A careful search in every probable and improbable place in the room was made, but the missing articles could not be found.  The Doctor was hastily called, and inquiries were made of him.

“No, my dear, I have seen nothing of them,” he said.  “I was busy with the microscopes, and never even saw the things during the evening.  Let us look about—­we shall soon find them.”

Search after search was made, but in vain, and there was but one conclusion at which to arrive,—­the miniature and the snuff-box had been taken away.

[Illustration:  “HOWARD PRETENDED TO CLASP THE IMAGE TO HIS BREAST.”]

But by whom?  It could not have been by the servants, for they had only entered the room to bring the refreshments.  It could not have been by any of the lady guests, for they had not been near the curiosities; being old friends, these had often been shown to them before.

It was, perhaps, the most trying hour that either the Doctor or Mrs. Brier had ever spent.  They were not grieved simply because they had lost property, valuable as it was, but their deepest sorrow arose from the fear that honor had been lost in the school.

CHAPTER III.