the change which he knew would come into Netty's eyes. And
it came.

"Yes," she said. She looked as if she would like to ask a question, but
did not give way to the temptation. She did not know that Cartoner
was in the house at that moment, and Wanda, too. She did not know that
Deulin had brought Wanda to London to stay at Lady Orlay's until Martin
effected his escape and joined his sister in England. She only knew what
the world now knew--that Price Martin Bukaty had died and been buried at
sea. It was very sad, she had said, he was so nice.

Deulin did not join in the conversation again. He seemed to be
interested in the fire, and Lady Orlay glanced at him once or twice,
seeking to recall him to a sense of his social obligations. He had taken
an envelope from his pocket, and, having torn it in two, had thrown it
on the fire, where it was smouldering now on the coals. It was a soiled
and worn envelope, as if it had passed through vicissitudes; there
seemed to be something inside it which burned and gave forth an aromatic
odor.

He was still watching the fire when Netty rose and took her leave. When
the door closed again Lady Orlay went towards the fire.

"What is that in which you are so deeply interested that you quite
forgot to be polite?" she said to Deulin. "Is it a letter?"

"It is a love-token," answered the Frenchman.

"For Netty Cahere?"

"No. For the woman that some poor fool supposed her to be."

Lady Orlay touched the envelope with the toe of a slipper which was
still neat and small, so that it fell into the glowing centre of the
fire and was there consumed.

"Perhaps you have assumed a great responsibility," she said.

"I have, and I shall carry it lightly to heaven if I get there."

"It has a smell of violets," said Lady Orlay, looking down into the
fire.

"They are violets--from Warsaw," admitted Deulin. "Wanda is in?" he
asked, gravely.

"Yes; they are in the study. I will send for her."

"I have received a letter from her father," said Deulin, with his hand
on the bell.

Wanda came into the room a few minutes later. She was, of course, in
mourning for Martin now, as well as for Poland. But she still carried
her head high and faced the world with unshrinking eyes. Cartoner
followed her into the room, his thoughtful glance reading Deulin's face.

"You have news?"

"I have heard from your father at last."

The Frenchman took the letter from his pocket, and his manner of
unfolding it