a rumour that a new and charming French artiste was to sing a
few peculiarly ravishing songs, unheard in England before. Close to
the main ballroom was the octagon music-room which was brilliantly
illuminated, and in which a large number of chairs had been obviously
disposed for the comfort of an audience. Into this room many of
the guests had already assembled. It was quite clear that a
chamber-concert--select and attractive as were all Lady Blakeney's
entertainments--was in contemplation.

Marguerite herself, released for a moment from her constant duties near
her royal guests, had strolled through the smaller rooms, accompanied by
Juliette, in order to search for Mademoiselle Candeille and to suggest
the commencement of the improvised concert.

Desiree Candeille had kept herself very much aloof throughout the
evening, only talking to the one or two gentlemen whom her hostess had
presented to her on her arrival, and with M. Chauvelin always in close
attendance upon her every movement.

Presently, when dancing began, she retired to a small boudoir, and
there sat down, demurely waiting, until Lady Blakeney should require her
services.

When Marguerite and Juliette Marny entered the little room, she rose and
came forward a few steps.

"I am ready, Madame," she said pleasantly, "whenever you wish me to
begin. I have thought out a short programme,--shall I start with the gay
or the sentimental songs?"

But before Marguerite had time to utter a reply, she felt her arm
nervously clutched by a hot and trembling hand.

"Who... who is this woman?" murmured Juliette Marny close to her ear.

The young girl looked pale and very agitated, and her large eyes were
fixed in unmistakable wrath upon the French actress before her. A little
startled, not understanding Juliette's attitude, Marguerite tried to
reply lightly:

"This is Mademoiselle Candeille, Juliette dear," she said, affecting
the usual formal introduction, "of the Varietes Theatre of
Paris--Mademoiselle Desiree Candeille, who will sing some charming
French ditties for us to-night."

While she spoke she kept a restraining hand on Juliette's quivering
arm. Already, with the keen intuition which had been on the qui-vive the
whole evening, she scented some mystery in this sudden outburst on the
part of her young protegee.

But Juliette did not heed her: she felt surging up in her young,
overburdened heart all the wrath and the contempt of the persecuted,
fugiti