t been given. Will you present him his chance to receive
it--just when her sympathy must be stronger for him, since she will
think he has had to bear rudeness?"

He went out of the door quickly.

I dod not smoke. I pretended to, while the waiters made the arrangements
of the table and took themselves off. I sat there a long, long time
waiting for Antonio to do what I hoped I had betrayed him to do.

It befell at last.

Poor Jr. came to the door and spoke in his steady voice. "Ansolini, will
you come out here a moment?"

Then I knew that I had succeeded, had made Antonio afraid that I would
do the thing he himself, in a panic, had already done--speak evil of
another privately.

As I reached the door I heard him call out foolishly, "But Mr. Poor, I
beg you--"

Poor Jr. put his hand on my shoulder, and we walked out into the dark of
the terrace. Antonio was leaning against the railing, the beautiful lady
standing near. Mrs. Landry had sunk into a chair beside her daughter. No
other people were upon the terrace.

"Prince Caravacioli has been speaking of you," said Poor Jr., very
quietly.

"Ah?" said I.

"I listened to what he said; then I told him that you were my friend,
and that I considered it fair that you should hear what he had to say.
I will repeat what he said, Ansolini. If I mistake anything, he can
interrupt me."

Antonio laughed, and in such a way, so sincerely, so gaily, that I was
frightened.

"Very good!" he cried. "I am content. Repeat all."

"He began," Poor Jr. went on, quietly, though his hand gripped my
shoulder to almost painfulness,--"he began by saying to these ladies, in
my presence, that we should be careful not to pick up chance strangers
to dine, in Italy, and--and he went on to give me a repetition of his
friendly warning about Paris. He hinted things for a while, until I
asked him to say what he knew of you. Then he said he knew all about
you; that you were an outcast, a left-handed member of his own family,
an adventurer--"

"It is finished, my friend," I said, interrupting him, and gazed with
all my soul upon the beautiful lady. Her face was as white as Antonio's
or that of my friend, or as my own must have been. She strained her eyes
at me fixedly; I saw the tears standing still in them, and I knew the
moment had come.

"This Caravacioli is my half-brother," I said.

Antonio laughed again. "Of what kind!"

Oh, he went on so easily to his betrayal, not knowing the
Unite