d to attend also at the palace to give
lessons to the Grand Duchess. Her voice was only a little less
beautiful than your own." He hesitated, as though he found it
difficult to continue. At last he said almost shyly: "Thou, my child,
thou hast known love. . . . To me, too, at the palace, came that best
gift of the good God."

He paused, and Diana whispered stammeringly:

"Not--not the Grand Duchess?"

"Yes--Sonia." The old _maestro's_ eyes kindled with a soft luminance
as his whispering voice caressed the little flame. "Hers, of course,
had been merely a marriage dictated by reasons of State, and from the
time of our first meeting, our hearts were in each other's keeping.
But she never failed in duty or in loyalty. Only once, when I was
leaving Ruvania, never to return, did she give me her lips at parting."
Again he fell silent, his thoughts straying back across the years
between to that day when he had taken farewell of the woman who had
held his very soul between her hands. Presently, with an effort, he
resumed his story. "I stayed at the Ruvanian Court many years--there
was a post of Court musician which I filled--and for both of us those
years held much of sadness. The Grand Duke Anton was a domineering
man, hated by every one, and his wife's happiness counted for nothing
with him. She had failed to give him a son, and for that he never
pardoned her. I think my presence comforted her a little. That--and
the child--the little Nadine. . . . As much as Anton was disliked, so
much was his brother Boris beloved of the people. His story you know.
Of this I am sure--that he lived and died without once regretting the
step he had taken in marrying an Englishwoman. They were lovers to the
end, those two."

Listening to the little history of those two tender love tales that had
run their course side by side, Diana almost forgot for a moment how the
ripples of their influence, flowing out in ever-widening circles, had
touched, at last, even her own life, and had engulfed her happiness.

But, as Baroni ceased, the recollection of her own bitter share in the
matter returned with overwhelming force, and once more she arraigned
him for his silence.

"I still see no reason why you should not have told me the truth about
Adrienne--about Nadine Mazaroff. Max couldn't--I see that; nor Olga.
But _you_ were bound by no oath."

"My child, I was bound by something stronger than an oath."

The old man crossed the