me to tea?"

Annesley seemed on the point of refusing, when:

"I have acquired a reputed Leonardo," continued Madame, "and I wish you
to see it."

There was something so like a command in the words that Deacon stared at
his companion in frank surprise. The latter avoided his glance, and:

"Come!" said Madame de Medici.

As of old the great Catherine of her name might have withdrawn with her
suite, so now the lady of the tiger skins withdrew from the gallery, the
two men following obediently, and one of them at least a happy courtier.

III

TWIN POOLS OF AMBER

The white-robed Chinese servant entered and placed fresh perfume upon
the burning charcoal of the silver incense-burner. As the scented smoke
began to rise he withdrew, and a second servant entered, who facially,
in dress, in figure and bearing, was a duplicate of the first. This
one carried a large tray upon which was set an exquisite porcelain
tea-service. He placed the tray upon a low table beside the divan, and
in turn withdrew.

Deacon, seated in a great ebony chair, smoked rapidly and
nervously--looking about the strangely appointed room with its huge
picture of the Madonna, its jade Buddha surmounting a gilded Burmese
cabinet, its Persian canopy and Egyptian divan, at the thousand and
one costly curiosities which it displayed, at this mingling of East and
West, of Christianity and paganism, with a growing wonder.

To one of his blood there was delight, intoxication, in that room; but
something of apprehension, too, now grew up within him.

Madame de Medici entered. The garish motor-coat was discarded now, and
her supple figure was seen to best advantage in one of those dark
silken gowns which she affected, and which had a seeming of the
ultra-fashionable because they defied fashion. She held in her hand an
orchid, its structure that of an odontoglossum, but of a delicate green
colour heavily splashed with scarlet--a weird and unnatural-looking
bloom.

Just within the doorway she paused, as Deacon leaped up, and looked at
him through the veil of the curved lashes.

"For you," she said, twirling the blossom between her fingers and
gliding toward him with her tigerish step.

He spoke no word, but, face flushed, sought to look into her eyes as
she pinned the orchid in the button-hole of his coat. Her hands were
flawless in shape and colouring, being beautiful as the sculptured hands
preserved in the works of Phidias.

The slight d