* * * * *

And so it all ended, as the baron remarked, with virtue rewarded and right triumphant over wrong.  Only the doctors agreed that many a day must pass before Coquenil could get back to his work, if, indeed, he ever went back to it.  There were reasons, independent of M. Paul’s health, that made this doubtful, reasons connected with the happiness of the lovers, for, after all, it was to Coquenil that they owed everything; Kittredge owed him his liberty and established innocence, Alice (we should say Mary) owed him her memory, her lover, and her fortune; for, as the sole surviving heir of her mother, the whole vast inheritance came to her.  And, when a sweet young girl finds herself in such serious debt to a man and at the same time one of the richest heiresses in the world, she naturally wishes to give some substantial form to her gratitude, even to the extent of a few odd millions from her limitless store.

At any rate, Coquenil was henceforth far beyond any need of following his profession; whatever use he might in the future make of his brilliant talents would be for the sheer joy of conquest and strictly in the spirit of art for its own sake.

On the other hand, if at any time he wished to undertake a case, it was certain that the city of Paris or the government of France would tender him their commissions on a silver salver, for now, of course, his justification was complete and, by special arrangement, he was given a sort of roving commission from headquarters with indefinite leave of absence.  Best of all, he was made chevalier of the Legion of Honor “for conspicuous public service.”  What a day it was, to be sure, when Madam Coquenil first caught sight of that precious red badge on her son’s coat!

So we leave Paul Coquenil resting and recuperating in the Vosges Mountains, taking long drives with his mother and planning the rebuilding of their mountain home.

“You did your work, Paul, and I’m proud of you,” the old lady said when she heard the tragic tale, “but don’t forget, my boy, it was the hand of God that saved you.”

“Yes, mother,” he said fondly, and added with a mischievous smile, “don’t forget that you had a little to do with it, too.”

As for the lovers, there is only this to be said:  that they were ridiculously, indescribably happy.  The mystery of Alice’s strange dreams and clairvoyant glimpses (it should be Mary) was in great part accounted for, so Dr. Duprat declared, by certain psychological abnormalities connected with her loss of memory; these would quickly disappear, he thought, with a little care and a certain electrical treatment that he recommended.  Lloyd was positive kisses would do the thing just as well; at any rate, he proposed to give this theory a complete test.

The young American had one grievance.

“It’s playing it low on a fellow,” he said, “when he’s just squared himself to hustle for a poor candle seller to change her into a howling millionaire.  I’d like to know how the devil I’m going to be a hero now?”