ed the brutal and
truculent Prince.

"I think I have got a word to say in this: If he does disappear, I
shall go to the Emperor and tell him the whole truth."

"You have fallen in love with this young man, eh?" inquired the Prince
in a jeering voice.

"No, I will not say that. And besides, he is in love with somebody
else. But understand me, if you please"--she spoke with her old
imperiousness--"I will not have a hair of this young man's head
harmed. He is young, he is innocent; he shall not fall a victim to
your dastardly schemes."

Boris regarded her with his cold, hard glance. "Suppose I said that,
in that case, even La Belle Quero herself must disappear. What then?"

Tears came into the beautiful woman's eyes. She looked at him, more
compassionate than angry.

"Oh, Boris, have you sunk so low, have you let your ambitions overcome
all the softer impulses of your nature? Would you really murder me for
fear I should tell, and frustrate your schemes?"

She looked very beautiful as she appealed to him. For a moment the old
love for her, the old infatuation surged up in his heart. He clasped
her to his breast, and murmured softly the words: "Why are you not
heart and soul with me, as you used to be?"

She disengaged herself gently from his embrace; it no longer thrilled
her. "You are no longer the same to me, Boris," she whispered, with
the usual subterfuge of the woman. "You have had other loves besides
La Belle Quero."

"I do not admit that, Inez," he answered, in his rough, hard tones, a
little shaken by his emotion. "But remember, we are bound together by
solemn ties, by solemn oaths, to the same cause. Mark my words," he
added, with a sudden access of savagery. "If you play me false in that
respect, expect no mercy."

"If I play you false, Boris, I expect no mercy; I shall get none. I
know the manner of man you are."

"Yes, you know the sort of man I am, Inez. Pursue your little
flirtations, if you will. I shall not complain. But once play me false
in other matters, and your doom is sealed."

He strode out of the room, and the face of Madame Quero went white as
she remembered the threat. The Prince loved her in his rough, brutal
way, but if she interfered with his plans, he would brush her out of
his path with as little compunction as he would kill a fly that
annoyed him with its impertinent buzzing.

And then, in a few moments, her thoughts went back to the handsome
young Italian, Corsini. She had,