name; it was her fresh beauty and her wonderful voice they craved to see
and hear. Kings and queens, emperors and empresses, princes and
princesses,--what is called royalty and nobility in the newspapers freely
gave her homage. Quite a rise in the world for a little girl who had once
lived in a shabby apartment in New York and run barefooted on the wet
asphalts, summer nights!

But Nora was not recalling the happy scenes of her childhood; indeed, no;
she was still threatening Paris. Once there, she would not lack for
reprisals. To have played on her pity! To have made a lure of her tender
concern for the unfortunate! Never would she forgive such baseness. And
only a little while ago she had been as happy as the nightingale to which
they compared her. Never had she wronged any one; she had been kindness
and thoughtfulness to all with whom she had come in contact. But from now
on!... Her fingers tightened round the bars. She might have posed as Dido
when she learned that the noble AEneas was dead. War, war; woe to the moths
who fluttered about her head hereafter!

Ah, but had she been happy? Her hands slid down the bars. Her expression
changed. The mouth drooped, the eagle-light in her eyes dimmed. From out
the bright morning, somewhere, had come weariness, and with this came
weakness, and finally, tears.

She heard the key turn in the lock. They had never come so early before.
She was astonished to see that her jailer did not close the door as usual.
He put down the breakfast tray on the table. There was tea and toast and
fruit.

"Mademoiselle, there has been a terrible mistake," said the man humbly.

"Ah! So you have found that out?" she cried.

"Yes. You are not the person for whom this room was intended." Which was
half a truth and perfectly true, paradoxical as it may seem. "Eat your
breakfast in peace. You are free, Mademoiselle."

"Free? You will not hinder me if I walk through that door?"

"No, Mademoiselle. On the contrary, I shall be very glad, and so will my
brother, who guards you at night. I repeat, there has been a frightful
mistake. Monsieur Champeaux ..."

"Monsieur Champeaux!" Nora was bewildered. She had never heard this name
before.

"He calls himself that," was the diplomatic answer.

All Nora's suspicions took firm ground again. "Will you describe this
Monsieur Champeaux to me?" asked the actress coming into life.

"He is short, dark, and old, Mademoiselle."

"Rather is he not tall, b