t I might yet do,"
she continued, resuming her languor.

"Let us talk of pleasant things only, _chere amie_," said the Prince,
turning to Sara; "mind you, not a word about graves and epitaphs. Mrs.
Parflete has arrived. Castrillon has arrived. You need not trouble about
the others. They are not--they cannot be--worth your while. But do watch
Castrillon. I find that the greatest compliment he can pay to any woman
is to sneer at her expense. He never permits himself the slightest
epigram against those who have erred in kindness toward him. One witty
but frail lady once implored him to miss no opportunity of abusing her
in public. 'Otherwise,' said she, 'they will know all.' Isn't that a
good story?"

"Anselm!" sighed the Princess.

"I wonder who that lady was?" said Sara.

"I dare not guess," said the Prince.

Sara had recovered from the emotion called forth by Reckage's tragic
fate, and she was living now in one of those taciturn reveries which had
become more and more habitual with her since the last interview with
d'Alchingen. Every force in her passionate, undisciplined soul was
concentrated in a wild love for Orange, and every thought of her mind
was fixed on the determination to win his affection in return. There
were only two real powers in the world, she told herself; these were
moral force and money. Money could not affect Robert. But he was
susceptible to moral force. She resolved to display such an intrepid
spirit, such strength of will, such devotion that Brigit would seem a
mere doll in comparison.

"What do you think," she said, turning to the Princess, "of Mrs.
Parflete? Your opinion is worth everything. Orange is infatuated with
her. His criticism is therefore useless. The Prince disapproves of her
parentage. He is therefore prejudiced. I wish to be charitable. I,
therefore, say what I hardly think. Pensee Fitz Rewes is an innocent
little fool. She judges all women by herself. You, Princess, are an
angel of the world. Your verdict, quickly."

The Princess paused before she attempted any reply. Then she fixed her
deep, grey eyes on Sarah's excited face.

"I like her," she said, slowly.

"Is that all?"

"I think she is immature for her age, and therefore reckless. She knows
everything about sorrow, and very little--at present--about happiness.
So she doesn't seem quite human. She shows that indulgence toward others
which is perhaps the last degree of contempt for the follies of
humanity. Those