ould always be able so to hold his peace, and to withhold his arm,
that he should never strike his tyrant down with one blow, in which all
the opprobrium of years should be stamped out. A voice woke him from his
reverie.

"Are those beautiful carvings yours?"

He looked up, and in the gloom of the alcove where he stood, where
the sun did not stray, and two great rugs of various skins, with some
conquered banners of Bedouins, hung like a black pall, he saw a woman's
eyes resting on him; proud, lustrous eyes, a little haughty, very
thoughtful, yet soft withal, as the deepest hue of deep waters. He bowed
to her with the old grace of manner that had so amused and amazed the
little vivandiere.

"Yes, madame, they are mine."

"Ah!--what wonderful skill!"

She took the White King, an Arab Sheik on his charger, in her hand, and
turned to those about her, speaking of its beauties and its workmanship
in a voice low, very melodious, ever so slightly languid, that fell
on Cecil's ear like a chime of long-forgotten music. Twelve years had
drifted by since he had been in the presence of a high-bred woman, and
those lingering, delicate tones had the note of his dead past.

He looked at her; at the gleam of the brilliant hair, at the arch of the
proud brows, at the dreaming, imperial eyes; it was a face singularly
dazzling, impressive, and beautiful at all times; most so of all in
the dusky shadows of the waving desert banners, and the rough, rude,
barbaric life of the Caserne, where a fille de joie or a cantiniere
were all of her sex that was ever seen, and those--poor wretches!--were
hardened, and bronzed, and beaten, and brandy-steeped out of all
likeness to the fairness of women.

"You have an exquisite art. They are for sale?" she asked him. She spoke
with the careless, gracious courtesy of a grande dame to a Corporal
of Chasseurs; looking little at him, much at the Kings and their mimic
hosts of Zouaves and Bedouins.

"They are at your service, madame."

"And their price?" She had been purchasing largely of the men on all
sides as she swept down the length of the Chambre and she drew out
some French banknotes as she spoke. Never had the bitterness of poverty
smitten him as it smote him now when this young patrician offered him
her gold! Old habits vanquished; he forgot who and where he now was; he
bowed as in other days he had used to bow in the circle of St. James'.

"Is--the honor of your acceptance, if you will dei