e was suddenly conscious that
something hard was being pressed into his palm. He drew his hand away at
once.

"You seem a little unsteady this evening, my dear Florence," Mr.
Fentolin remarked, peering across the round table.

She eyed him nonchalantly enough.

"The floor is slippery," she said. "I was glad, for a moment, of Mr.
Hamel's strong hand. Where are those dear puppies? Chow-Chow," she went
on, "come and sit by your mistress at once."

Hamel's fingers inside his waistcoat pocket were smoothing out the
crumpled piece of paper which she had passed to him. Soon he had it
quite flat. Mrs. Fentolin, as though freed from some anxiety, chattered
away gaily.

"I don't know that I shall apologise to Mr. Hamel at all for the young
people being away," she declared. "Just fancy what we have saved him
from--a solitary meal served by Hannah Cox! Do you know that they say
she is half-witted, Mr. Hamel?"

"So far, she has looked after me very well," Hamel observed.

"Her intellect is defective," Mr. Fentolin remarked, "on one point only.
The good woman is obsessed by the idea that her husband and sons are
still calling to her from the Dagger Rocks. It is almost pitiful to meet
her wandering about there on a stormy night. The seacoasts are full
of these little village tragedies--real tragedies, too, however
insignificant they may seem to us."

Mr. Fentolin's tone was gently sympathetic. He changed the subject a
moment or two later, however.

"Nero fiddles to-night," he said, "while Rome burns. There are hundreds
in our position, yet it certainly seems queer that we should be sitting
here so quietly when the whole country is in such a state of excitement.
I see the press this morning is preaching an immediate declaration of
war."

"Against whom?" Mrs. Fentolin asked.

Mr. Fentolin smiled.

"That does seem to be rather the trouble," he admitted. "Russia,
Austria, Germany, Italy, and France are all assisting at a Conference to
which no English representative has been bidden. In a sense, of course,
that is equivalent to an act of hostility from all these countries
towards England. The question is whether we have or have not a secret
understanding with France, and if so, how far she will be bound by it.
There is a rumour that when Monsieur Deschelles was asked formally whom
he represented, that he replied--'France and Great Britain.' There may
be something in it. It is hard to see how any English statesman could
hav