I very well know, from no hope of or desire for
reward. Efface yourself. It will be for Isobel's good. I myself shall
stand sponsor for her to the world. I shall have discovered her in the
convent here, and I shall take her back to her rightful place with
triumph. All your difficulties then will vanish, your end will have been
creditably and adequately attained. For myself the advantage is obvious.
A difference to Adelaide it must make, but it will inevitably be less if
the credit of her discovery remains with me. Have I made myself clear,
Mr. Greatson?"

"Perfectly," I answered. "But you forget there is Isobel herself to be
considered. She is no longer a child. She has opinions and a will of her
own."

"She owes too much to you," Madame replied quietly, "to disregard your
wishes."

I believed from the first that the woman was in earnest, and her
proposal an honest one. And yet I hesitated. The past was a little
recent. She showed that she read my thoughts.

"Come," she said, "I will prove to you that I mean what I say. To-night
I will give a dinner-party--informal, it is true, but the Prince of
Cleves, my cousin the Cardinal, and your own ambassador, shall come. I
will introduce Isobel as my niece. The affair will then be established.
Do you consent?"

For one moment I hesitated. I knew very well what my answer meant.
Absolute effacement, the tearing out of my life for ever of what had
become the sweetest part of it. In that single moment it seemed to me
that I realized with something like complete despair the barrenness of
the days to come.

"Madame, if Isobel is to be persuaded," I answered, "I consent."

CHAPTER VIII

"This, then," the Prince remarked, raising his eyeglass, "is the young
lady whose romantic history you have been recounting to me? But, my dear
lady, she is charming!"

Madame held out her hands affectionately and kissed Isobel, who had
entered the room with her cousin, on both cheeks. Then she took her by
the hand and presented her to the Prince of Cleves and several others of
the company. Isobel was a little pale, but her manner was perfectly easy
and self-possessed. She was dressed, somewhat to my surprise, in the
deepest mourning, and she even wore a band of black velvet around her
neck.

"My dear child," her aunt said pleasantly, "I scarcely think that your
toilette is a compliment to us all. White should be your colour for many
years to come."

Isobel raised her eyes. Her