preme contempt for his fellow-men. He did not look at
Saltash, did not apparently even see the hushed crowd that hung upon
every movement of that wonderful woman-creature who took the world by
storm wherever she went.

He was superbly indifferent to his surroundings, gazing straight before
him with the eyes of a Viking who searches the far horizon. He walked
with the free swing of a pirate. And as the woman turned her dazzling
face towards him, it was plain to all that she saw none but him in that
vast and crowded place.

He was by her side as they moved forward, and they saw her lightly touch
his arm, with an intimate gesture, as though they were alone. Then the
whole throng broke into acclamations, and the spell was broken. She saw
them all again, and laughed her gracious thanks. The great hall rang with
their greeting as she passed through, but no one sought to detain her and
she did not pause.

Later, she would give them all they desired, but her moment had not
arrived. So she went on to the great curving staircase, side by side with
her fair-bearded Viking, still laughing like a happy child who looks for
the morrow.

As she rounded the curve of the stair, she snatched a red rose from her
breast and threw it down to her worshippers below. It was aimed at
Saltash, but it fell before Spentoli, and he caught and held it with wild
adoration leaping in his eyes. As he pressed it to his lips, he was
sobbing.

"_Mon ami_," said Saltash's voice behind him, maliciously humorous, "you
have stolen my property. But--since I have no use for it--you may keep
it."

Spentoli looked at him with burning eyes. "Ah! You may laugh!" he said,
in a fierce undertone. "You are--without a soul."

"Isn't it better to laugh?" queried Saltash. "Did you expect a blow in
the face?"

Spentoli glared for a moment, and recovered himself. "Do you know what
they are saying of her?" he said. "They say that she is dying. But it is
not true--not true! Such beauty as that--such loveliness--could never
die!"

The cynical lines in Saltash's face deepened very perceptibly. He
shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.

"Who is the man with her?" demanded Spentoli. "I have never seen him
before--the man with the face of a Dane. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I know him," said Saltash.

"Then who is he? Some new lover?" There was suppressed eagerness in the
question. Spentoli's eyes were smouldering again.

Saltash was looking supremely ironical. "Pe