he had been specially invited to forestall--by reason of his
presence--any Governmental swooping down on Praille's wild party.
Evidently he was not thinking of morals or of license, but his
thoughts were far other.

"The people cry out for bread," said the Chevalier, looking at the
board and thinking of the shrieking beggars.

Marquis de Praille raised his fashionable lorgnette, contemplating a
vast chateau-like confection on the table, and sprung his little
joke.

"Why don't they eat cake?" he replied airily, with a cackling laugh.

De Vaudrey smiled fleetingly, then half-serious, half-smiling, raised
a hand in polite protest. Two fair ones carried him off eagerly to
retail to the distinguished visitor a morsel of gossip.

"The Marquis has made another conquest!" whispered one to him behind
her fan, to which the other added: "Yes, he found a _marvelously
beautiful_ Norman peasant journeying to Paris in a stage coach, so he
had La Fleur take her and fetch her here--a mere rustic, to outvie us
all!"

"Yes, 'twill be good sport," replied the cynic. "These country girls
that his excellency abducts are willing victims."

They were interrupted by a procession of servants bringing in the
covered pallet.

The spread was thrown off, a restorative administered to the recumbent
figure--Henriette sat up and gazed in blank stupefaction at the
crowding revelers.

She staggered to her feet, looking for a friendly face somewhere.

Of a sudden, the mental image of her lost sister shot her as with a
violent agony.

"My sister Louise--where is she?" she pleaded. "Quick! Please let me
go to her--don't you understand? She is BLIND!" Sobs almost choked the
little voice. "She cannot take a SINGLE STEP without me!"

De Vaudrey looked up to see the tiny creature running hither and yon,
asking the laughing gentlemen for help, repulsing Praille's embraces,
fending off the other satyr who would drown her sorrows in fizz. If
this were play-acting, it excelled the finest efforts of Adrienne
Lecouvreur! De Praille had now grasped her firmly by the waist and
shoulders, his sensual breath was on her cheek, a last cry escaped
her:

"Among all these noblemen, is there not ONE MAN OF HONOR?"

The despairing outcry pierced the Chevalier's shallow cynicism,
touching the finer feelings that had lain dormant.

He sprang to her side, dashed de Praille's arms from her exquisite
form. Then, facing his bewildered host, he said in calm even t