arp sigh--and that was all. He bowed, and
turned away to speak to a man who had been waiting at his elbow for some
minutes. This also was a Frenchman, who seemed to have something special
to report, for they walked aside together.

It was quite late in the evening before Deulin succeeded in his efforts
to get a few moments' speech with Lady Orlay. He found that unmatched
hostess at leisure in the brief space elapsing between the arrival of
the latest and the departure of the earliest.

"I was looking for you," she said; "you, who always know where everybody
is. Where is Mr. Mangles? An under-secretary was asking for him a moment
ago."

"Mangles is listening to the music in the library--comparatively happy
by himself behind a barricade of flowers."

"And that preposterous woman?"

"That preposterous woman is in the refreshment-room."

Thus they spoke of the great lecturer on Prison Wrongs.

"You have seen the Bukatys?" inquired Lady Orlay. "I called on them the
moment I received your note from Paris. They are here to-night. I have
never seen such a complexion. Is it characteristic of Poland?"

"I think so," replied Deulin, with unusual shortness, looking away
across the room.

Lady Orlay's clever eyes flashed round for a moment, and she looked
grave. It was as if she had pushed open the door of another person's
room.

"I like the old man," she said, with a change of tone. "What is he?"

"He is a rebel."

"Proscribed?"

"No--they dare not do that. He was a great man in the sixties. You
remember how in the great insurrection an unfailing supply of arms and
ammunition came pouring into Poland over the Austrian frontier--more
arms than the national government could find men for."

"Yes, I remember that."

"That is the man," said Deulin, with a nod of his head in the direction
of the Prince Bukaty, who was talking and laughing near at hand.

"And the girl--it is very sad--I like her very much. She is gay and
brave."

"Ah!" said Deulin, "when a woman is gay and brave--and young--Heaven
help us."

"Thank you, Monsieur Deulin."

"And when she is gay and brave, and . . . old . . . milady--God keep
her," he said with a grave bow.

"I liked her at once. I shall be glad to do anything I can, you know.
She has a great capacity for making friends."

"She has already made a few--this evening," put in the Frenchman, with a
significant gesture of his gloved hand.

"Ah!"

"Not one who can hurt her, I think.