ry Allegre's lifetime. Other men were more
interesting, and he himself was rather reserved in his manner to me. He
was an international politician and financier--a nobody. He, like many
others, was admitted only to feed and amuse Henry Allegre's scorn of the
world, which was insatiable--I tell you."

"Yes," said Mills. "I can imagine."

"But I know. Often when we were alone Henry Allegre used to pour it into
my ears. If ever anybody saw mankind stripped of its clothes as the
child sees the king in the German fairy tale, it's I! Into my ears! A
child's! Too young to die of fright. Certainly not old enough to
understand--or even to believe. But then his arm was about me. I used
to laugh, sometimes. Laugh! At this destruction--at these ruins!"

"Yes," said Mills, very steady before her fire. "But you have at your
service the everlasting charm of life; you are a part of the
indestructible."

"Am I? . . . But there is no arm about me now. The laugh! Where is my
laugh? Give me back my laugh. . . ."

And she laughed a little on a low note. I don't know about Mills, but
the subdued shadowy vibration of it echoed in my breast which felt empty
for a moment and like a large space that makes one giddy.

"The laugh is gone out of my heart, which at any rate used to feel
protected. That feeling's gone, too. And I myself will have to die some
day."

"Certainly," said Mills in an unaltered voice. "As to this body you . . ."

"Oh, yes! Thanks. It's a very poor jest. Change from body to body as
travellers used to change horses at post houses. I've heard of this
before. . . ."

"I've no doubt you have," Mills put on a submissive air. "But are we to
hear any more about Azzolati?"

"You shall. Listen. I had heard that he was invited to shoot at
Rambouillet--a quiet party, not one of these great shoots. I hear a lot
of things. I wanted to have a certain information, also certain hints
conveyed to a diplomatic personage who was to be there, too. A personage
that would never let me get in touch with him though I had tried many
times."

"Incredible!" mocked Mills solemnly.

"The personage mistrusts his own susceptibility. Born cautious,"
explained Dona Rita crisply with the slightest possible quiver of her
lips. "Suddenly I had the inspiration to make use of Azzolati, who had
been reminding me by a constant stream of messages that he was an old
friend. I never took any notice of those pathetic a