have already an
engagement for supper."

"Ah, then surely, Mademoiselle, you will share your luck with us in some
way? Otherwise, you can't hope to keep it."

"I should be glad to share it," Mary said, warmly. "What can I do?"

The red-haired lady broke into gestures. "She who has won a fortune asks
us who have nothing what she can do for us? How she is amusing, this
pretty English one!"

"Would you--might I--that is----" Mary began to stammer.

"We would--you might!" Clotilde finished for her, laughing.

"I wonder you have not more pride!" Madame d'Ambre reproached the four,
her white-rose cheeks flushing with annoyance.

"Pride does not buy us supper, or new hats," the girl with golden hair
reminded her.

"Oh, please take these, and do whatever you like with them," Mary said
hastily, her voice quivering with shyness and compassion. She began
dealing out her thousand-franc notes, and did not stop until she had
given one to each of the four.

It was at this moment that Prince Giovanni Della Robbia, unable to
resist his desire to follow Mary to the Casino, came within sight of
her. This was the picture he saw: the strikingly dressed girl,
bright-eyed, carmine-cheeked, feverishly distributing notes to a crowd
of young women more showily dressed than herself.

He turned away instantly, chilled and disgusted.

IX

Others were less fastidious than Vanno.

The calm-faced man with black pads over the left eye and ear joined
Madame d'Ambre, with a lazy yet determined air, and a glance of interest
at Mary. Seeing the brown youth who had been at her table, the elder man
nodded to him. This gave Mary's late neighbour an excuse which he had
wanted. He stopped, and held out his hand. "How are you, Captain
Hannaford?" he asked.

"Hullo, Carleton!" returned the other. "Here for the Nice flying week?"

"Yes," said Carleton, who, beside Hannaford the Englishman, showed by
contrast his American origin. His chin was all that Peter had said an
American's chin ought to be, and he had keen, brilliant blue eyes.
Hannaford, though taller than he, was stouter as well as older, and
therefore appeared less tall. He was of a more stolid type, and it
seemed incredible that such an adventure as that sketched by Madame
d'Ambre could approach such a man. Yet for once, gossip and truth were
one. The thing had happened. Hannaford had lately retired from the army,
after being stationed for two years in Egypt. For months he had