s stones.

The hides which covered the granite couch were also unknown to me; they
were of an amazing thickness and incredibly soft.

We were amusing ourselves with an attempt to pry one of the bits of
gold from the wall when we heard a sound behind us.

We turned and saw Desiree.

She stood in the entrance, smiling at us as though we had been caught
in her boudoir examining the articles on her dressing-table. She was
clothed as she had been on the throne; a rope girdle held her single
garment, and her hair fell across her shoulders, reaching to her knees.
Her arms and shoulders appeared marvelously white, but they may have
been by way of contrast.

Harry sprang across to her with a single bound. In another moment his
arms were round her; she barely submitted to the embrace, but she gave
him her lips, then drew herself away and crossed to me, extending her
hands in a sort of wavering doubt.

But that was no time for hostilities, and I took the hands in my own
and bent over them till my lips touched the soft fingers.

"A visit from the queen!" I said with a smile. "This is an honor, your
majesty."

"A doubtful one," said Desiree. "First of all, my friend, I want to
congratulate you on your savoir faire. Par Bleu, that was the part of
a man!"

"But you!" cried Harry. "What the deuce did you mean by pretending to
play the black? I tell you, that was a shabby trick. Most unpleasant
moment you gave us."

Desiree sent me a quick glance; she was plainly surprised to find Harry
in ignorance of what had passed between us that evening in the camp on
the mountain. Wherein she was scarcely to be blamed, for her surprise
came from a deep knowledge of the ways of men.

"I am beginning to know you, Paul," she said, looking into my eyes.

"Now what's up?" demanded Harry, looking from her to me and back again.
"For Heaven's sake, don't talk riddles. What does that mean?"

But Desiree silenced him with a gesture, placing her fingers playfully
on his lips. They were seated side by side on the granite couch; I
stood in front of them, and there flitted across my memory a picture of
that morning scene in the grounds of the Antlers at Colorado Springs,
when Desiree and I had had our first battle.

We talked; or, rather, Harry and Desiree talked, and I listened. First
he insisted on a recital of her experiences since her reckless dash
into the "cave of the devil," and she was most obliging, even eager,
for she had