orders.
It is a whim. I have whims, and I choose to pay for them. You are all
better paid than any man breathing could pay you. In return I ask only
for your implicit obedience."

He stretched out his hand and took a cigarette from a curiously carved
ivory box which stood by his side. He tapped it gently upon the table
and looked up.

"I think, sir," Henderson said respectfully, "that I can answer for the
servants. Being mostly foreigners, they see little or nothing of the
village people."

No one else made any remark. It was strange to see how dominated they
all were by that queer little fragment of humanity, whose head scarcely
reached a foot above the table before which he sat. They departed
silently, almost abjectly, dismissed with a single wave of the hand. Mr.
Fentolin beckoned his secretary to remain. She came a little nearer.

"Sit down, Lucy," he ordered.

She seated herself a few feet away from him. Mr. Fentolin watched her
for several moments. He himself had his back to the light. The woman, on
the other hand, was facing it. The windows were high, and the curtains
were drawn back to their fullest extent. A cold stream of northern
light fell upon her face. Mr. Fentolin gazed at her and nodded her head
slightly.

"My dear Lucy," he declared, "you are wonderful--a perfect cameo, a gem.
To look at you now, with your delightful white hair and your flawless
skin, one would never believe that you had ever spoken a single angry
word, that you had ever felt the blood flow through your veins, or that
your eyes had ever looked upon the gentle things of life."

She looked at him, still without speech. The immobility of her face was
indeed a marvellous thing. Mr. Fentolin's expression darkened.

"Sometimes," he murmured softly, "I think that if I had strong
fingers--really strong fingers, you know, Lucy--I should want to take
you by the throat and hold you tighter and tighter, until your breath
came fast, and your eyes came out from their shadows."

She turned over a few pages of her notebook. To all appearance she had
not heard a word.

"To-day," she announced, "is the fourth of April. Shall I send out
the various checks to those men in Paris, New York, Frankfort, St.
Petersburg, and Tokio?"

"You can send the checks," he told her. "Be sure that you draw them,
as usual, upon the Credit Lyonaise and in the name you know of. Say
to Lebonaitre of Paris that you consider his last reports faulty. No
mention wa