he
Chancellor,--not another soul was in the room."

"If only Von Behrling had been taken!" she exclaimed. "He was there
in reserve, I know, as stenographer. I have but to lift my hand
and it is enough. I would have had the truth from him, whatever it
cost me."

Bellamy looked at her thoughtfully. It was not for nothing that
the Press of every European nation had called her the most beautiful
woman in the world. He frowned slightly at her last words, for he
loved her.

"Von Behrling was not even allowed to cross the threshold," he said
sharply.

She moved her head and looked up at him. She was leaning a little
forward now, her chin resting upon her hands. Something about the
lines of her long, supple body suggested to him the savage animal
crouching for a spring. She was quiet, but her bosom was heaving,
and he could guess at the passion within. With purpose he spoke to
set it loose.

"You sing to-night?" he asked.

"Before God, no!" she answered, the anger blazing out of her eyes,
shaking in her voice. "I sing no more in this accursed city!"

"There will be a revolution," Bellamy remarked. "I see that the
whole city is placarded with notices. It is to be a gala night at
the Opera. The royal party is to be present."

Her body seemed to quiver like a tree shaken by the wind.

"What do I care--I--I--for their gala night! If I were like
Samson, if I could pull down the pillars of their Opera House and
bury them all in its ruins, I would do it!"

He took her hand and smoothed it in his.

"Dear Louise, it is useless, this. You do everything that can be
done for your country."

Her eyes were streaming and her fingers sought his.

"My friend David," she said, "you do not understand. None of you
English yet can understand what it is to crouch in the shadow of
this black fear, to feel a tyrant's hand come creeping out, to know
that your life-blood and the life-blood of all your people must be
shed, and shed in vain. To rob a nation of their liberty, ah! it
is worse, this, than murder,--a worse crime than his who stains
the soul of a poor innocent girl! It is a sin against nature
herself!"

She was sobbing now, and she clutched his hands passionately.

"Forgive me," she murmured, "I am overwrought. I have borne up
against this thing so long. I can do no more good here. I come
to tell you that I go away till the time comes. I go to your
London. They want me to sing for them there. I sha