he railing. The tapestry was very old and thin and,
by putting one's face close to it, the room below was rather dimly, yet
quite sufficiently, visible. Its dimensions were unusually
ample--possibly forty feet by sixty--and its furnishings most gorgeous.
The chandelier and side-lights were burning, and a huge vase lamp, pink
shaded, was on the large table in the centre. At the moment, the room
was untenanted.

In a little while a door opposite the Gallery opened and Madeline
Spencer entered.

A woman usually knows her good points physically and how to bring them
out. And Mrs. Spencer was an adept in the art--though, in truth,
little art was needed. To her, Nature had been over generous.

She affected black; and that was her gown, now--cut daringly low and
without a jot of color about it, save the dead white of her arms and
shoulders, and a huge bunch of violets at her waist.

I thought I could guess whence the flowers came. And, though I
despised her, yet, I could but admit her dazzling beauty.

She moved slowly about the room, touching an ornament here, a picture
there. At length, she came to the table and, dropping languidly into a
chair, rested her elbow on the arm and, with chin in hand, stared into
vacancy.

Presently, there was a sharp knock at the corridor door. She glanced
quickly at the clock--then, picked up a book and, sinking back in easy
posture, assumed to read.

"Entrez," she called, without looking up.

The door opened instantly and a man entered. A long military cloak was
over his plain evening dress; one fold was raised to hide his face. He
dropped it as he closed the door.

Mrs. Spencer lowered her book--then arose with all the sinuous grace
she knew so well how to assume.

"Welcome, Your Royal Highness," she said, and curtsied very low. "It
was good of you to come."

The Duke of Lotzen tossed off his cloak--and, coming quickly over, took
her hand and kissed it.

"It was more than good of you to let me come," he answered.

"I feared you might not get my note," she said. "I believe I am under
constant surveillance."

He smiled. "Even the Secret Police would hesitate to tamper with my
mail," he said.

"That was my hope," she answered.

He looked at her steadily, a moment.

"I am always ready to be a--hope to you," he said.

She dropped her eyes--then picked up a cigarette case from the table.

"Will Your Royal Highness smoke?" she asked.

"If you will light it for