l the same."

"Do you think, then, that when a man knows he has no intention of
marrying he should pay court to a young girl? I think I told you at the
time that he had paid court to me, and that he afterward--how shall I say
it?--basely deserted me."

The sharp and thrilling tone in which Jacqueline said this amused Madame
Strahlberg.

"What big words, my dear! No, I don't remember that you ever said
anything of the sort to me before. But you are wrong. As we grow older we
lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words. They do no good. In your place
I should be touched by the thought that a man so charming had been
faithful to me."

"Faithful!" cried Jacqueline, her dark eyes flashing into the cat-like
eyes of Madame Strahlberg.

Wanda looked down, and fastened a ribbon at her waist.

"Ever since we have been here," she said, "he has been talking of you."

"Really--for how long?"

"Oh, if you must know, for the last two weeks."

"It is just a fortnight since you wrote and asked me to stay with you,"
said Jacqueline, coldly and reproachfully.

"Oh, well--what's the harm? Suppose I did think your presence would
increase the attractions of Monaco?"

"Why did you not tell me?"

"Because I never write a word more than is necessary; you know how lazy I
am. And also because, I may as well confess, it might have scared you
off, you are so sensitive."

"Then you meant to take me by surprise?" said Jacqueline, in the same
tone.

"Oh! my dear, why do you try to quarrel with me?" replied Madame
Strahlberg, stopping suddenly and looking at her through her eyeglass.
"We may as well understand what you mean by a free and independent life."

And thereupon ensued an address to which Jacqueline listened, leaning one
hand on a balustrade of that enchanted garden, while the voice of the
serpent, as she thought, was ringing in her ears. Her limbs shook under
her--her brain reeled. All her hopes of success as a singer on the stage
Madame Strahlberg swept away, as not worth a thought. She told her that,
in her position, had she meant to be too scrupulous, she should have
stayed in the convent. Everything to Jacqueline seemed to dance before
her eyes. The evening closed around them, the light died out, the
landscape, like her life, had lost its glow. She uttered a brief prayer
for help, such a prayer as she had prayed in infancy. She whispered it in
terror, like a cry in extreme danger. She was more frightened by Wanda's
wicke