quaintance entered it, tall and slim, like a cheerful Don Quixote,
with the ribbon of a great order across his shirt-front. He paused for a
moment near Lord and Lady Orlay, and his entrance caused, as it usually
did, a little stir in the room. Then he turned and greeted Joseph
Mangles. Over the large, firm hand of that gentleman's sister he bowed
in silence.

"I have nothing to say to that great woman," he sometimes said. "She is
so elevated that my voice will not reach her."

Deulin then turned to where Miss Cahere had been standing. But she had
moved away a few paces, nearer to a candelabrum, under which she was now
standing, and a young officer in full German uniform was openly admiring
her, with a sort of wonder on his foolish, Teutonic face.

"Ah! I expected you had forgotten me," she said, when Deulin presented
himself.

"Believe me--I have tried," he replied, with great earnestness; but the
complete innocence of her face clearly showed that she did not attach
any deep meaning to his remark.

"You must see so many people that you cannot be expected to remember
them all."

"I do not remember them all, mademoiselle--only a very, very few."

"Then tell me, who is that lovely girl you bowed to as you came into the
room?"

"Is there another in the room?" inquired Deulin, looking around him with
some interest.

"Over there, with the fair hair, dressed in black."

"Ah! talking to Cartoner. Yes. Do you think her beautiful?"

"I think she is perfectly lovely. But somehow she does not look like one
of us, does she?" And Miss Cahere lowered her voice in a rather youthful
and inexperienced way.

"She is not like one of us, Miss Cahere," replied Deulin.

"Why?"

"Because we are plebeians, and she is a princess."

"Oh, then she is married?" exclaimed Miss Cahere, and her voice fell
three semitones on the last word.

"No. She is a princess in her own right. She is a Pole."

Miss Cahere gave a little sigh.

"Poor thing," she said, looking at the Princess Wanda, with a soft light
of sympathy in her gentle eyes.

"Why do you pity her?" asked Deulin, glancing down sharply.

"Because princesses are always obliged to marry royalties, are they
not--for convenience, I mean--not from . . . from inclination, like
other girls?"

And Miss Cahere's eyelids fluttered, but she did not actually raise her
eyes towards her interlocutor. An odd smile flickered for an instant on
Deulin's lips.

"Ah!" he said, with a sh