beautiful woman, and she possessed the art of
dressing beautifully likewise. The countess had beautiful eyes and she
could smile beautifully with them, too. The countess had an extremely
pretty mouth, and when she spoke it was prettier still, for she had a
witty way with her. The danger of the situation was very appreciable.

"My dear, good Szilard," began the countess, with that light, natural
_naivete_ which so easily disarms the strongest of us, "do not take it
ill of me if I speak to you confidentially. The world will very soon be
saying that you are in love with me and I with you. I shall not believe
the former and you will not believe the latter. Let the world say what
it likes. I have a real blessing of a husband, whom it would be a shame
to offend, and you have quite other ideas. I know what they are. Don't
be angry, don't frown! I am not exacting. I don't want to fetch you away
from other people. I will not ask where you have buried your treasures.
I will merely say to you that I know you have treasures and that they
are buried. Is it not so? You need not be afraid of me."

Szilard was a little taken aback by this unexpected turn. Could it be
sheer curiosity, he thought?

"I have nothing to be afraid of, countess," remarked Szilard, smiling,
"I have no buried secrets. I was a young man once, that is all. I have
had my foolish illusions, like other people, and like other people I
have cured myself of them."

"Nay, nay, sir, now you are not quite sticking to the truth; you are
_not_ cured of them. But before I go any further let me tell you that
all this is not mere feminine curiosity on my part. I want you to trust
me and I will trust you equally. Believe me when I say that if I love to
make fun of empty-headed noodles, I can always respect a good heart
because it is a rarity. The lady I want to speak to you about is my
dear friend and she is very, very unhappy."

Szilard was bound to believe that this was true, for tear-drops sparkled
in the countess's eyes.

"Is it my fault?" he asked bitterly.

"It is neither your fault nor hers. I know that as a fact. The cause of
it all is money, the thirst for money. There is not a more miserable
creature in the wide world than the daughter of a rich man. But that is
the least of her misfortunes. They married her to a man who did not love
her, who only took her because her grandfather was a millionaire. Her
grandfather frightened her into the match by threatening he