e that important
conversation, for instance, between the French military attach, and the
English general. Without a doubt it was of interest, and especially so
to the country which she was sure claimed his allegiance, but it was
equally without doubt that Andrea Korust neither overheard a word of
that conversation nor betrayed the slightest curiosity concerning
it. Mademoiselle Celaire was a clever woman and she had never felt so
hopelessly at fault....

The seventh and last of these famous supper parties was in full swing.
Notwithstanding the shaded candles, which left the faces of the guests
a little indistinct, the scene was a brilliant one. Mademoiselle Celaire
was wearing her famous diamonds, which shone through the gloom like
pin-pricks of fire. Garda Desmaines, the wonderful Garda, sat next to
her host, her bosom and hair on fire with jewels, yet with the most
wonderful light of all glowing in her eyes. A famous actor, who had
thrown his proverbial reticence to the winds, kept his immediate
neighbors in a state of semi-hysterical mirth. The clink of wine
glasses, the laughter of beautiful women, the murmur of cultivated
voices, rising and swelling through the faint, mysterious gloom, made a
picturesque, a wonderful scene. Pale as a marble statue, with the covert
smile of the gracious host, Andrea Korust sat at the head of his table,
well pleased with his company, as indeed he had the right to be. By his
side was a great American statesman, who was traveling around the world
and yet had refused all other invitations of this sort. He had come for
the pleasure of meeting the famous Dutch writer and politician, Mr. Van
Jool. The two were already talking intimately. It was at this point that
tragedy, or something like it, intervened. A impatient voice was
heard in the hall outside, a voice which grew louder and louder, more
impatient, finally more passionate. People raised their heads to listen.
The American statesman, who was, perhaps, the only one to realize
exactly what was coming, slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped
something cold and hard. Then the door was flung open. An apologetic
and much disturbed butler made the announcement which had evidently been
demanded of him.

"Mr. Von Tassen!"

A silence followed--breathless--the silence before the bursting of the
storm. Mr. Von Tassen was the name of the American statesman, and the
man who rose slowly from his place by his host's side was the exact
doub