ording to the ideas of Joachim Murat."

"You would never have been a King in name but for him," she replied
hotly, "you are not fit to rule. You are a good soldier, Joachim, but
you need your master."

So they parted in bitterness, and Celio, who was present at their
interview, rejoiced that such was the manner of their parting, and
prayed that they might never meet again, but that prayer was not to be
answered.

The Princess returned to Rome and soon received information of the
fulfilment of her prophecy. For a few days Murat held Bologna, then the
Austrians swooped down upon him and he met them gallantly, but
disastrously, near Modena. Reverse followed reverse and at Tolentino his
mad campaign of six weeks ended in total defeat. His army fled in all
directions, and a refugee brought word that Murat, scorning surrender,
had fallen sabring desperately to the last.

Pauline received the news, pale but unshaken. "My poor sister," she
said, and then quickly, "but she knows her refuge; by this time
doubtless she is on her way to Napoleon." Then a great light illumined
her face. "The revolution has failed, my work is done. I can now write
to Camillo."

She was writing when a messenger entered with a letter from her husband.
"He is coming, Celio," she cried joyfully. "He will be here in an hour.
He writes that in disaster and grief his place is at my side, and he
could not wait my summons. Oh, Celio, was there ever such magnanimity?"

As she rang to give orders for her husband's reception, her third maid
of honour, Pippa Serbonella, a waspish, deceitful creature whom Celio
had never liked, flung wide the curtain of the window and cried:
"Eccellentissima, look,--the chimneys of Mondragone!"

It was true, from one of them rose a thin waving scarf of smoke,
fluttering and beckoning in the light wind. The Princess caught the arm
of her secretary. "Joachim is not dead!" she cried; "he is there and I
must go to him."

"Not now, not now, dearest lady," pleaded the young man. "Your husband
is coming. Think what that means."

"Yes, yes, I know," she gasped, wringing her hands, "but I cannot desert
my brother-in-law in his extremity. I led him into this, Celio. I
promised to come when he called. I must keep my promise. Stay you, and
say what you will to Camillo. I will be back this evening."

With many a misgiving the wretched dragon saw her drive away, and a
little later confronted the eager face of Prince Borghese.

"My