e kindness mademoiselle has shown in not
discarding my poor flowers."

"They are lovely," I replied simply; "and I am very much obliged to
you, signor, for sending them to me."

"And how fresh they keep!" said Amy, burying her little nose in the
fragrance of my fan; "yet they have been in the heat of the room all
the evening."

"They cannot perish while mademoiselle wears them," said Cellini
gallantly. "Her breath is their life."

"Bravo!" cried Amy, clapping her hands. "That is very prettily said,
isn't it?"

I was silent. I never could endure compliments. They are seldom
sincere, and it gives me no pleasure to be told lies, however prettily
they may be worded. Signor Cellini appeared to divine my thoughts, for
he said in a lower tone:

"Pardon me, mademoiselle; I see my observation displeased you; but
there is more truth in it than you perhaps know."

"Oh, say!" interrupted Mrs. Everard at this juncture; "I am SO
interested, signor, to hear you are engaged! I suppose she is a dream
of beauty?"

The hot colour rushed to my cheeks, and I bit my lips in confusion and
inquietude. What WOULD he answer? My anxiety was not of long duration.
Cellini smiled, and seemed in no way surprised. He said quietly:

"Who told you, madame, that I am engaged?"

"Why, she did, of course!" went on my friend, nodding towards me,
regardless of an imploring look I cast at her. "And said you were
perfectly devoted!"

"She is quite right," replied Cellini, with another of those rare sweet
smiles of his; "and you also are right, madame, in your supposition: my
betrothed is a Dream of Beauty."

I was infinitely relieved. I had not, then, been guilty of a falsehood.
But the mystery remained: how had I discovered the truth of the matter
at all? While I puzzled my mind over this question, the other lady who
had accompanied Mrs. Everard spoke. She was an Austrian of brilliant
position and attainments.

"You quite interest me, signor!" she said. "Is your fair fiancee here
to-night?"

"No, madame," replied Cellini; "she is not in this country."

"What a pity!" exclaimed Amy. "I want to see her real bad. Don't you?"
she asked, turning to me.

I raised my eyes and met the dark clear ones of the artist fixed full
upon me.

"Yes," I said hesitatingly; "I should like to meet her. Perhaps the
chance will occur at some future time."

"There is not the slightest doubt about that," said Cellini. "And now,
mademoiselle, will you give me