The Woman of Mystery<br />&quot;Suppose I were to tell you,&quot; said Paul Delroze, &quot;that I once stood face to face with him on French. . . .&quot; lisabeth looked up at him with the fond expression of a bride to whom the least word of the man she loves is a subject of wonder: &quot;You have seen William II. in France?&quot; &quot;Saw him with my own eyes; and I have never forgotten a single one of the details that marked the meeting. And yet it happened very long ago.&quot; He was speaking with a sudden seriousness, as though the revival of that memory had awakened the most painful thoughts in his mind. &quot;Tell me about it, won&#39;t you, Paul?&quot; asked lisabeth.