d at the same moment (for it was very late) the dazzling illumination
of the Casino terrace was dimmed, as if half the diamonds had been shut
up in velvet cases.

A great peace fell upon the night, as though the throbbing of a
passionate heart had ceased.

X

Vanno Della Robbia wished to think no more of the false stars that he
had followed; for there was every reason now to believe them false
stars. Yet something deep down in him refused to believe this; and he
could not help thinking of them as before. But he would not give way to
what seemed like weakness, and so he fought against the memory.

If he had come to Monte Carlo only for the sake of the girl, he would
have left again next morning. Having come for other things, however, it
would have been weaker to go than stay. His brother and sister-in-law
had not arrived yet at their villa at Cap Martin, and were not due for
some days, as Angelo had taken his bride to Ireland, to show her to a
much loved cousin, the Duchess of Clare. Also there was the week of
aviation, to which Vanno had been looking forward with interest during
the voyage from Alexandria to Marseilles. A parachute which he had
invented was to be used for the first time.

Though he could not help thinking of the eyes which haunted him with
their lure of purity and innocence, he would not concern himself further
with the comings and goings of Miss M. Grant of London. He went instead
about his own affairs. He slept badly; but Vanno was accustomed to
taking little sleep, therefore it did not occur to him to be tired
because he woke finally at seven, after having lain awake till the
ringing of Ste. Devote's five o'clock bells, down in the ravine.
Instead, he felt a kind of burning energy which forced him to activity
of some sort. After his cold bath he dressed quickly, and went out to
walk, wishing himself back in the Libyan desert, where he had not seen
or thought of any woman.

It was only half-past seven, and the sun was still low in the east, just
rising above the mountains of Italy. It shone through a slit in two long
purple clouds, and its shining lit the sea. Vanno ran down the steps to
the Casino terrace, coming upon it near the clump of nymphlike palms,
and the marble bust of Berlioz that Mary could see from her window.
Hercules' Rock was on fire with sunrise, and the Prince's palace looked
in the magic flame like a strange Valhalla.

Not a soul was to be seen, not even a gardener e