peak with any certainty. Your brother has certain
suspicions of him, but I have no means of knowing whether they are
well- or ill-founded. One thing is certain, Prince Boris goes in fear
of him and meditates harm to him."

"You are sure of his intentions?" asked Nada.

Madame Quero shrugged her shapely shoulders. "Should I be here, if I
were not?"

The Princess questioned her a little more closely. "You will not tell
me more than you wish, I know, but I think I am entitled to put this
question. How did you learn his intentions, from himself or a third
party?"

And the singer answered truthfully. "From his own lips."

Nada was silent for some seconds. She was working it out in her own
mind, on the somewhat scanty data that had been furnished her.

"You mean that the Prince intends to get Signor Corsini out of the way
by some treacherous means?"

"That is the idea that is forming in his mind, Princess."

"When will he put that idea into action, do you think?" was Nada's
next question.

"Corsini plays here at the Prince's request to-morrow evening--is that
not so?"

Yes, it was true. She had written the invitation herself at Zouroff's
request.

"Well, the Prince is a man who acts very rapidly when he has once made
up his mind. It is my belief that whatever project he has formed will
be put into execution to-morrow night."

Nada put her hand to her brow. "It is horrible, Madame, unthinkable,
that a brother of mine should stoop so low. Why should he have a
secret so guilty, that he cannot afford to have it dragged forth into
the light?"

Madame Quero did not answer the question directly. "I fear, Princess,
your brother is not a man easily to be read even by those who have
lived in the same house with him."

"What is it you suggest that I should do?" asked the Princess after a
long pause. "Shall I meet him at the entrance and entreat him to go
away at once, on some pretext or another? And what might follow if I
took such a strange step? I cannot bring myself to confess to him that
I suspect my own brother of base designs against him."

It was a puzzling question, which Madame Quero could not answer at
once. For some moments the two women, their mutual hostility suspended
for the time being, put their wits together. Suddenly an idea
occurred to the singer.

"That maid of yours, who interviewed me on your behalf. Can you trust
her?"

"She is devoted to me," was the Princess's answer.

"Your brother, I