ght it was '_Doux comme un mouton_,'" said Rosina cruelly, even
while she was conscious of a real and genuine pity for her friend, under
the circumstances.

"No, it's '_agneau_,'" the other replied placidly, and then she rose and
shook out her stunning blue grenadine self. "I must go. I've been away a
long time."

"You don't get a bit tired of him, do you?"

"Well, I haven't yet."

"Isn't it curious? I used to be so bored if I had to talk to the same
man into the second hour, and then I never guessed what made me so
contented to walk around with this one forever and ever."

"But you know now?"

"Yes, I know now."

"I shall see you to-night," Molly said, adjusting her hat before the
pier-glass; "your cousin is going to give an especially magnificent
dinner to just we five."

"I didn't know that he was going to give a dinner," Rosina exclaimed,
starting up affrightedly. "Why, all my trunks are down on the steamer!"

"They aren't now," said Molly, "they're in the next room; and your gown
is laid out on the bed, and on the table is a diamond star from your
cousin, and a bracelet from my beloved and myself, and a perfectly
ripping tiara from your beloved to yourself."

Rosina put two bewildered hands to her head.

"Nobody tells me _anything_!" she wailed.

"No," said Molly mockingly; "you're so set on having your own way that
it really seems wiser not to."

Then they threw their arms about one another, kissed, laughed, kissed
again, and parted.

Chapter Eighteen

It was some ten or twelve days later, and the hour was half-past nine,
and the scene a private salon in the Schweizerhof at Lucerne. It was
early November, or very close upon it, and so a fire blazed on the
hearth, and the looped-back curtains at the windows showed only a
mirrored reflection of what was within. Beside the chimney-piece stood a
wee table with a coffee service upon it, and scattered on the floor
beside was a typical European mail,--letters, postals and papers galore;
the "Munchener Jugend," the "Town Topics," a "Punch," a "Paris-Herald,"
the "Fliegender-Blatter," three "Figaros," and two "Petit-Journaux."
There was a grand piano across one corner of the room, and the priceless
Stradivarius lay in its unlocked case beside it. Upon the music-rack was
spread "Le Souvenir" of Vieuxtemps, with directions in pencil dashed
across it here and there, and upward sweeps and great fortes and
pianissimos indicated by the hand that was n