e wear?"

"My--my writing desk! Bring it here to me," answered the lady, as she
sank into a chair, and drew a little ivory stand before her.

"I wonder if madame indulges in absinthe in the morning?" was the secret
thought of the discreet Mademoiselle Desiree, as she brought the elegant
little malachite writing-desk, and placed it before her mistress.

Valerie opened it, took out a piece of note-paper and wrote:

"I cannot write much. I am stricken. I am dying. I hope you are right
in what you say. Come here tomorrow at twelve, noon. I will give you the
interview you seek."

* * * * *

This note was without date, address or signature, or any word to guide a
strange reader to its true meaning. She put it into a sealed envelope,
and directed it to _Count de Volaski, Poste Restante_.

Then she sat back in her chair, exhausted from the slight exertion.

The maid watched her mistress for a little while, and then said:

"Pardon, madame; but it is half-past twelve."

"Yes! I must dress," said Valerie rising.

"What costume will madame wear?"

"Any. It does not signify."

The maid indulged in an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, and laid
out an elegant black rep silk, heavily trimmed with black crape and jet,
with mantle, bonnet and vail to match.

"White or black gloves, madame?"

"Black, of course. It is not a wedding reception."

"Pardon, madame," said the girl; and she added the black gloves to the
costume.

Valerie was soon dressed, and then the maid said:

"The carriage waits, madame."

Valerie took the note she had prepared and went down stairs, entered her
barouche, and ordered the coachman to drive to the British Legation,
Hotel Borghese, Rue Faubourg St. Honore.

When the carriage rolled through the archway into the courtyard, and drew
up before the magnificent palace, interesting from having been built for
and occupied by the beautiful Princess Pauline Bonaparte, Valerie
alighted and handed her letter to the footman, with directions to go
and post it while she was making her call.

The man knocked at the door for his mistress, and then hurried away to do
her errand.

It was the conventional "dinner call" that brought Valerie to the Hotel
Borghese.

An English footman admitted the visitor, conducted her to the private
drawing-room of Lady C., and announced her.

Several other ladies, whom Valerie had met at the dinner party, were
there on the same duty