The fan stopped, and she laughed lightly.

"Simply this: I am not Armand Dalberg's wife."

(Dehra reached over and took my hand. The King looked at us both and
nodded; then clapped me on the knee.)

For a space, Lotzen stared at Mrs. Spencer--and she smiled sweetly back
at him.

"Not his wife!" he ejaculated, presently.

Her smile became a laugh.

"No, monsieur; not his wife."

This time, Lotzen's stare was even longer. Then, suddenly, he laughed.

"I thought, for a moment, you actually meant it," he said.

She put both elbows on the table and leaned forward.

"Come, monsieur, let us be frank with each other," she said. "Not only
am I not Armand Dalberg's wife, but you have always known it."

He frowned. "My dear girl," he said, "I've been sorrowfully accepting
your own word that you are his wife; how should I know that you've
been----" he hesitated.

She finished it for him--

"Lying, Duke, lying," she laughed.

He held up his hands, protestingly.

"Not at all, my dear; teasing is the word I wanted."

She lay back in the chair and laughed softly to herself.

"Do you fancy the Grand Duke Armand would call it teasing?" she asked.

He joined in the laugh.

"The victim never sees the joke," he said.

She sat up sharply.

"So, then, it was intended only as a joke?" she exclaimed. "I thought
it had another object."

He frowned again.

"I don't quite follow you," he said.

She looked at him with a queer smile.

"My being brought to Valeria to pose as his wife," she explained.

"You don't mean you came here from America expressly for that purpose?"
he asked.

Her smile grew broader.

"Really, Duke, you are most delicious," she said. "Armand Dalberg told
me, the other day, that I played my part beautifully--he should see
you. You are a _premier artiste_."

"Madame flatters me," Lotzen answered with soft irony; then tried for
her hand--and failed.

"Well, you may take it so," said she; "but, believe me, your cousin
didn't mean it so, to me."

He moved over and sat on the edge of the table near her.

She leaned far back and put her hands behind her.

"Come, my dear, don't be so mysterious," he said.

"Let us be frank, as you suggest. You say you are not Armand's
wife--that, I am only too glad to believe; I am delighted. You say I
have always known it--that, of course, is a mistake. You say I am
playing a part, now--that, I don't understand."

"_Premier artiste_, surely,"