The heights of Montmartre area Golgotha. Trade slowly opens its
doors. The curious foreigner pokes, a human raven, over the scenes
of carnage. Disjointed household organizations rearrange themselves.
The railway trains once more run regularly. Laughter, clinking
of glasses, and smirking loiterers on the boulevards testify that
thoughtless, heartless Paris is itself once more. "Vive la bagatelle."
Francois Ribaut at last regains his home of religious seclusion.
Louise is convalescent, and needs rest and quiet. There is no want
of money in the Dauvray household. The liberal douceurs of Louise
Moreau's mysterious guardian, furnish all present needs.
"Thank God!" cries Pere Frangois, when he remembers that he has
the fund intact, which he received from the haughty Hardin.
He can follow the quest of justice. He has the means to trace
the clouded history of this child of mystery. A nameless girl who
speaks only French, yet in her wandering dreams recalls the Spanish
cradle-hymns of lost Isabel.
Already the energy of the vivacious French is applied to the care
of what is left, and the repair of the damages of the reign of
demons. The rebuilding of their loved "altars of Mammon" begins.
The foreign colony, disturbed like a flock of gulls on a lonely
rock, flutters back as soon as the battle blast is over.
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