of his wasted strength, again
struggled to his feet. With those claw-like hands he held to the table for
support; while--shaking in every limb, his features twisted into a horrid,
leering grin--he looked from face to face of the hushed and silent
company; with glazed eyes in which the light that flickered so feebly was
still the light of an impotent lust.

Twice, the man essayed to speak, but could not. The room grew still as
death. Then, suddenly--as they looked--he lifted that yellow, skinny hand,
to his wrinkled, ape-like brow, and--partially loosing, thus, his
supporting grip upon the table--fell back, in a ghastly heap of diseased
flesh and fine raiment; in the midst of which blazed the great
diamond--as though the cold, pure beauty of the inanimate stone triumphed
in a life more vital than that of its wearer.

His servants carried the unconscious master of the house from the room.
Mrs. Taine, excusing herself, followed.

In the confusion that ensued, the musicians, hidden behind the floral
screen, struck up a lively air. Some of the guests made quiet preparations
for leaving. A group of those men--famous in the world of art and
letters--under the influence of the wine they had taken so freely, laughed
loudly at some coarse jest. Others, thinking, perhaps,--if they could be
said to think at all,--that their host's attack was not serious, renewed
conversations and bravely attempted to restore a semblance of animation to
the interrupted revelries.

Aaron King worked his way to the side of Conrad Lagrange, "For God's sake,
old man, let's get out of here."

"I'll find Rutlidge or Louise or some one," returned the other, and
disappeared.

As the artist waited, through the open door of an adjoining room, he
caught sight of Sibyl Andres; who, with her violin-case in her hand, was
about to leave. Obeying his impulse, he went to her.

"What in the world are you doing here?" he said almost roughly--extending
his hand to take the instrument she carried.

She seemed a little bewildered by his manner, but smiled as she retained
her violin. "I am here to earn my bread and butter, sir. What are you
doing here?"

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I did not mean to be rude."

She laughed, then, with a troubled air--"But is it not right for me to be
here? It is all right for me to play for these people, isn't it? Myra
didn't want me to come, but we needed the money, and Mrs. Taine was so
generous. I didn't tell you and Mr.