d hand was
clenched.

The men were laughing carelessly over some argument, not noticing
that they had a listener; the people moving along the corridor, single
and in groups, hid the two who remained stationary, and whose backs
were towards them. It was most embarrassing, and the Marquise was
about to move away when she heard a voice there was no mistaking--the
voice she had not been able to forget.

"No, I don't agree with you;" he was saying, "and you would not find
half so much to admire in the work if the subject were some old
plantation mammy equally well painted. Come over and see them where
they grow. After that you will not be making celebrities of them."

"If they grow many like that I am most willing, Monsieur."

"I, too. When do we start? I can fancy no land so well worth a visit
but that of Mohammed."

The first speaker uttered an exclamation of annoyance, but the others
laughed.

"Oh, we have seen other men of your land here," remarked Dumaresque.
"They are not all so discreet as yourself. We have learned that they
do not usually build high walls between themselves and pretty
slaves."

"You are right," agreed the American. "Sorry I can't contradict you.
But these gorgeous Koras and Phrynes remind me of a wild blossom in
our country; it is exquisite in form, beautiful to the eye, but poison
if touched to the lips. It is called the yellow jasmine."

"No doubt you are right," remarked one of the men as Kora dropped her
veil over her face. "You are at all events poetical."

"And the reason of their depravity?"

"The fact that they are the outgrowth of the worst passions of both
races--at least so I have heard it said by men who make more of a
study of such questions than I."

A party of people moved between the two women and the speakers. The
Marquise heard Kora draw a sobbing breath. She hesitated an instant,
her own eyes flashing, her cheeks burning. _He_ to sit in judgment on
others--he!

Then she laid her hand on the wrist of Kora.

"Come with me," she said, softly, in English, and the girl with one
glance of tear-wet eyes, obeyed.

The Marquise opened the door beside her, a few steps further and
another door led into an ante-room belonging to a portion of the
building closed for repairs.

"Why do you weep?" she asked briefly, but the kindly clasp of her
wrist told that the questioner was not without sympathy, and the girl
strove to compose herself while staring at the other in amazement