. One thing, however, the Countess had
gained by his visit. He was to urge on the Archduchess the necessity for
an immediate vacation for her favorite.

"Our loss, Countess," he said, with heavy gallantry.. "But we cannot
allow beauty to languish for need of mountain air."

Then at last he was gone, and she went about her heavy-hearted
preparations for the night. From a corner of her wardrobe she drew a
long peasant's cape, such a cape as Minna might wear. Over her head,
instead of a hat, she threw a gray veil. A careless disguise, but all
that was necessary. The sentries through and about the Palace were not
unaccustomed to such shrouded figures slipping out from its gloom to
light, and perhaps to love.

Before she left, she looked about the room. What assurance had she that
this very excursion was not a trap, and that in her absence the vault
would not he looted again? It contained now something infinitely
valuable--valuable and incriminating--the roll of film. She glanced
about, and seeing a silver vase of roses, hurriedly emptied the water
out, wrapped the film in oiled paper, and dropped it down among the
stems.

The Street of the Wise Virgins was not near the Palace. Even by walking
briskly she was in danger of being late. The wind kept her back, too.
The cloak twisted about her, the veil whipped. She turned once or twice
to see if she were being followed, but the quiet streets were empty.
Then, at last, the Street of the Wise Virgins and the fiacre, standing
at the curb, with a driver wrapped in rugs against the cold of the
February night, and his hat pulled down over his eyes. The Countess
stopped beside him.

"You are expecting a passenger?"

"Yes, madame."

With her hand on the door, the Countess realized that the fiacre was
already occupied. As she peered into its darkened interior, the shadow
resolved itself into a cloaked and masked figure. She shrank back.

"Enter, madame," said a voice.

The figure appalled her. It was not sufficient to know that behind the
horrifying mask which covered the entire face and head, there was a
human figure, human pulses that beat, human eyes that appraised her. She
hesitated.

"Quickly," said the voice.

She got in, shrinking into a corner of the carriage.

Her lips were dry, the roaring of terror was in her ears. The door
closed.

Then commenced a drive of which afterward the Countess dared not think.
The figure neither moved nor spoke. Inside the carriage