tepped towards
the embrasure of a window where a lady stood.

The Countess von Rosen had hitherto been silent, and a thought depressed,
but on the approach of Otto she began to brighten. She was tall, slim as
a nymph, and of a very airy carriage; and her face, which was already
beautiful in repose, lightened and changed, flashed into smiles, and
glowed with lovely colour at the touch of animation. She was a good
vocalist; and, even in speech, her voice commanded a great range of
changes, the low notes rich with tenor quality, the upper ringing, on the
brink of laughter, into music. A gem of many facets and variable hues of
fire; a woman who withheld the better portion of her beauty, and then, in
a caressing second, flashed it like a weapon full on the beholder; now
merely a tall figure and a sallow handsome face, with the evidences of a
reckless temper; anon opening like a flower to life and colour, mirth and
tenderness:--Madame von Rosen had always a dagger in reserve for the
despatch of ill-assured admirers. She met Otto with the dart of tender
gaiety.

'You have come to me at last, Prince Cruel,' she said. 'Butterfly!
Well, and am I not to kiss your hand?' she added.

'Madam, it is I who must kiss yours.' And Otto bowed and kissed it.

'You deny me every indulgence,' she said, smiling.

'And now what news in Court?' inquired the Prince. 'I come to you for my
gazette.'

'Ditch-water!' she replied. 'The world is all asleep, grown grey in
slumber; I do not remember any waking movement since quite an eternity;
and the last thing in the nature of a sensation was the last time my
governess was allowed to box my ears. But yet I do myself and your
unfortunate enchanted palace some injustice. Here is the last--O
positively!' And she told him the story from behind her fan, with many
glances, many cunning strokes of the narrator's art. The others had
drawn away, for it was understood that Madame von Rosen was in favour
with the Prince. None the less, however, did the Countess lower her
voice at times to within a semitone of whispering; and the pair leaned
together over the narrative.

'Do you know,' said Otto, laughing, 'you are the only entertaining woman
on this earth!'

'O, you have found out so much,' she cried.

'Yes, madam, I grow wiser with advancing years,' he returned.

'Years,' she repeated. 'Do you name the traitors? I do not believe in
years; the calendar is a delusion.'

'You must be ri