ry fatigue. You
have your carriage waiting?"

"No, Princess, I have never any carriage waiting. I nearly always walk
to my hotel--the longer the distance, the better, because I have a
longer time for inspiration."

"I know, I know," answered Nada quietly. "I fully appreciate all this,
but one may sometimes overdo it. I do not think you are looking very
well to-night, Signor. You have put too great a strain upon yourself
lately. You say you have no carriage waiting. Permit me to supply you
with one. The courtyard is choked up with vehicles. You have only to
say the word and my maid will bring you one to the side door of the
Palace. You can get in there and be driven home at once, without any
tedious delay."

A delightful thought crossed his brain. Was it possible that the
Princess had appreciated his respectful homage, his silent devotion?
Or was this solicitude for his welfare merely the expression of a
womanly compassion for the man outside her world, but claiming the
common kinship of art?

His voice broke as he declined her offer. "Ten thousand thanks, but I
would not put you to such trouble. You have so many guests to see to.
I have already taken up too much of your time. I will walk home as
usual and seek my inspiration under the stars."

Her troubled gaze sought his. If he would only prove amenable, she
could still save him--at any rate for a time--from her ruthless
brother, with the aid of her faithful maid, Katerina, out of the reach
of those scoundrels who were waiting to convey him--she hoped into the
arms of General Beilski's police.

But Corsini was not to be saved to-night, although two women had done
their best for him. He took the hand that the Princess offered him.

"You have been so very kind. I shall always cherish you in a warm
corner of my heart, for were you not one of my earliest friends? At
that time, I had not many friends, Heaven knows."

"I shall always be your friend, Signor Corsini. I only wish you would
allow me to order the carriage to take you home." The concluding words
almost sounded like an entreaty.

But Corsini would pay no attention. He was resolved on walking home to
seek inspiration from the clear skies and the silent streets.

At the top of the great staircase the Prince was standing, to all
appearances cordiality itself. But, from a far corner of the
music-salon, he had been watching with angry eyes the conversation
between his sister and Corsini.

But he could aff