it was a tired and
lonely little smile. "Wait near me, but fear nothing." She had long
since armed her nerves against this moment.

"But--"

"Enough! Leave everything to me."

"In God's name, who and what are you that you show no alarm when such
danger threatens?"

"I have told you to wait," she answered.

He stepped back, beaten, discouraged. He would wait, and woe to any who
touched her!

At precisely eleven the music ceased for intermission. There was a lull.
Two _carabinieri_ pushed their way into the ball-room. Tableau.

"Which among you is called the Principessa di Monte Bianca?" was asked
authoritatively.

"I am she," said La Signorina, stepping forth.

The _carabinieri_ crossed quickly to her side.

"What do you wish?" she asked distinctly.

"You are under arrest for imposture. You are not the Principessa di
Monte Bianca; you are known as La Signorina, a singer."

Hillard, wild with despair, made as though to intervene.

"Remain where you are!" he was warned.

As the _carabinieri_ were about to lay hands upon La Signorina, a loud
voice from the hall stopped them.

"One moment!" An officer in riding breeches and dusty boots entered and
approached the dramatic group. Hillard and Merrihew recognized him
instantly. It was the man with the scar. "What is the trouble?"

"This woman," explained one of the _carabinieri_, saluting respectfully,
"is posing as your wife, Highness. We are here to arrest her."

"Do not touch her!" said the prince. "She has the most perfect right in
the world to do what she has done. She _is_ the Principessa di Monte
Bianca, my wife!"

CHAPTER XXIV

MEASURE FOR MEASURE

Silence invested the Villa Ariadne; yet warm and mellow light illumined
many a window or marked short pathways on the blackness of the lawn. Of
the hundred lanterns hanging in the gardens, not a dozen still burned,
and these offered rather a melancholy reminder of joy and laughter
departed. The moon was high in the heavens now, and the shadows cast by
the gloomy cypresses put the little god in the fountain in complete
darkness. A single marble bench stood out with that vividness which only
marble and moonshine can produce. All the carriages, save one, were
gone. A solitary saddle-horse rattled his bit, pawed restively, and
tossed his head worriedly from side to side, as if prescience had
touched him with foretelling.

On the other side of the wall, lurking in the dark niches, was a tall,
l