It seems to me that her
devotion could never be appeased; for the conviction must have been
growing on her that, no matter what happened, Madame could never
have any friends. It may be that Dona Rita had given her a glimpse
of the unavoidable end, and that the girl's tarnished eyes masked a
certain amount of apprehensive, helpless desolation.
What meantime was becoming of the fortune of Henry Allegre is
another curious question. We have been told that it was too big to
be tied up in a sack and thrown into the sea. That part of it
represented by the fabulous collections was still being protected
by the police. But for the rest, it may be assumed that its power
and significance were lost to an interested world for something
like six months. What is certain is that the late Henry Allegre's
man of affairs found himself comparatively idle. The holiday must
have done much good to his harassed brain. He had received a note
from Dona Rita saying that she had gone into retreat and that she
did not mean to send him her address, not being in the humour to be
worried with letters on any subject whatever. "It's enough for
you"--she wrote--"to know that I am alive." Later, at irregular
intervals, he received scraps of paper bearing the stamps of
various post offices and containing the simple statement: "I am
still alive," signed with an enormous, flourished exuberant R.
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