her slim fingers. It was suspended from a thin gold
chain. Presently, descrying Annesley seated at a table with Lady Dascot,
she raised the jewel languidly and peered through it at the two.

"Why!" exclaimed Rene Deacon, who stood close beside her, "that was a
trick of Nero's!"

Madame laughed musically.

"One might take a worse model," she said softly; "at least he enjoyed
life."

Colonel Deacon, who listened to her every word as to the utterance of a
Cumaean oracle, laughed with extraordinary approbation.

There was scarce a woman present who regarded Madame with a friendly
eye, nor a man who did not aspire to become her devoted slave. She
brought an atmosphere of unreality with her, dominating old and young
alike by virtue of her splendid pagan beauty. The lawn, with its very
modern appointments, became as some garden of the Golden House, a
pleasure ground of an emperor.

But later, when the company entered the house, and Colonel Deacon sought
to monopolize the society of Madame, an unhealthy spirit of jealousy
arose between Rene and his guardian. It was strange, grotesque, horrible
almost. Annesley watched from afar, and there was something very like
anger in his glance.

"And this," said the Colonel presently, taking up an exquisitely carved
ivory Buddha, "has a strange history. In some way a legend has grown up
around it--it is of very great age--to the effect that it must always
cause its owner to lose his most cherished possession."

"I wonder," said the silvern voice, "that you, who possess so many
beautiful things, should consent to have so ill-omened a curiosity in
your house."

"I do not fear the evil charm of this little ivory image," said Colonel
Deacon, "although its history goes far to bear out the truth of the
legend. Its last possessor lost his most cherished possession a month
after the Buddha came into his hands. He fell down his own stairs--and
lost his life!"

Madame de Medici languidly surveyed the figure through the upraised
emerald.

"Really!" she murmured. "And the one from whom he procured it?"

"A Hindu usurer of Simla," replied the Colonel. "His daughter stole it
from her father together with many other things, and took them to her
lover, with whom she fled!"

Madame de Medici seemed to be slightly interested.

"I should love to possess so weird a thing," she said softly.

"It is yours!" exclaimed the Colonel, and placed it in her hands.

"Oh, but really," she protested.