r what is done; but I
have a sort of feeling----"

"Mais mon Dieu!" murmured Madame d'Ambre. "Quelle petite sotte! No
matter. It is a pretty pose, and suits you well. I am the last to find
fault with it. Yet listen. These gentlemen are distinguished. Captain
Hannaford is an English officer who has been of a courage incredible. He
can wear many medals if he chooses. Now he is very sad, despite his luck
in the Casino. He needs cheering. And this young Monsieur Carleton, the
American, I have read of him in the papers. He is widely known as a man
who flies, and these airmen are of a nobility of character! I am your
chaperon. What more do you ask? I am the widow of a naval officer. Do
you not owe me something for the good turn I have done you to-night?"

"Yes, indeed, I owe you a great deal," Mary admitted.

It was quite certain that what Madame d'Ambre considered as owing to her
would be paid.

Prince Vanno saw the four leaving the Casino together, Mary and Carleton
walking behind the other two. He had met both the Englishman and the
American in Egypt once or twice, and had not thought of them since. Now
he would forget neither. The story about Hannaford and his retirement
from the army, Vanno knew. He had heard nothing of Carleton except what
was to his credit, but somehow this fact made it no less unpleasant for
Vanno that the aeronaut should be talking with Mary. He did not believe
they had met before to-night.

The Galerie Charles Trois was brilliantly lighted, and supper was
beginning behind immense glass windows at Ciro's and the glittering
white and gold restaurant of the Metropole. At Ciro's there had been a
dinner in honour of two celebrated airmen, and the decorations remained.
There were suspended monoplanes and biplanes made of flowers, and when
the great Ciro himself saw Carleton, he came forward, inviting the young
man to take a window-table.

Carleton explained that he was only a guest; but this made no
difference. Except the King of Sweden's table, and that of the Grand
Duke Cyril, Mr. Carleton and his friends must have the best.

"My dear friend," said Hannaford, as they sat down, letting his eyes
dwell on Madame d'Ambre's costume, "it's lucky for us that we are with a
celebrity, or the fatted calf would not have been prepared for us. No
use disguising the truth: you and I are a little the worse for wear.
Only with you, the damage is temporary. Put you into a new frock and
hat, and you'll revive lik