the sky of her destiny.

"I am wishing Kenneth had come--my son, you know. Something has
detained him. I certainly would have liked him to hear that promise of
a step-father. Our Southern men are not devoid of jealousy--even of
their mothers."

Then she passed on, a glory of azure and silver, and the Marquise felt
a sense of satisfaction that the son had not come; the prejudice she
felt against that unabashed American would make his presence the one
black cloud across the evening.

While she was thinking of him the party about her separated, and she
took advantage of a moment alone to slip the alcove back of the
evergreens. It seemed the one nook unappropriated by the glittering
masses of people whose voices, near and far, suggested the murmur of
bees to her as she viewed it from her shadowy retreat, while covered
from sight herself.

The moonlight was shining through the window of the little alcove
screened by the tall palms. The music of a tender waltz movement
drifted softly across to her and made perfect her little retreat. She
was conscious that it had all been wonderfully and unexpectedly
perfect; the success, the adulation, had given her a new definite
faith in herself. How Maman would have enjoyed it. Maman, who would
want every little detail of the pleasant things said and done. She
wondered if it was yet too early to depart, she might reach home
before the dowager slept, and tell her all the glories of it.

So thinking, she turned to enter again the glare of light to find
Madame Dulac, or Madame Blanc, who had accompanied her, to tell them.

But another hand pushed aside the curtain of silk and the drooping
fronds of gigantic fern. Looking up she saw a tall, young man, wearing
a dark blue uniform, who bowed with grace, and stood aside that she
might pass if she chose. He showed no recognition, and there was the
pause of an instant. She could feel the color leave her face. Then,
with an effort, she raised her eyes, and tried to speak carelessly,
but the voice was little more than a whisper, in which she said:

"You!"

His face brightened and grew warm. The tone itself told more than she
knew; a man would be stupid who could not read it, and this one,
though youthful, did not look stupid.

"Madame Unknown," he murmured, in the voice she had not been able to
forget, "I am not so lost here as at Fontainbleau. May I ask some one
to present me to your notice?"

At that she smiled, and the smile was con