the fountain
gleamed with silver on one side and there was a glow as of life on the
other. From the long casement windows, opened to the mild air of the
night, came the murmur of music. The orchestra was playing Strauss, the
dreamy waltzes from _The Queen's Lace Handkerchief_. Bright uniforms and
handsome gowns flashed by the opened windows. Sometimes a vagrant puff
of air would find its way in, and suddenly the ball-room dimmed and the
dancers moved like phantoms. The flames of the candles would struggle
and, with many a flicker, right themselves, and the radiant colors and
jewels would renew their luster.

O'Mally, half hidden behind a tree, wondered if he had not fallen asleep
over some tale by Scheherazade and was not dreaming this. But here was
old Pietro standing close by. It was all real. At odd whiles he had a
vision of Kitty in her simple white dress, of Merrihew's flushed face,
of Hillard's frowning pallor, of La Signorina wholly in black, a rare
necklace round her white throat, a star of emeralds in her hair, her
face calm and serene. Where would they all be on the morrow?

"Pietro, she is more than beautiful!" sighed O'Mally.

"But wait," said Pietro. He alone among the men knew the cause of
Worth's disappearance. "Trouble."

Leaning against the door which gave entrance to the ball-room from the
hall were two officers, negligently interested in the moving picture.
"What do you make of it?" asked one.

"Body of Bacchus, you have me there!"

"Shall we go?"

"No, no! The prince himself will be here at eleven. He was, singularly
enough, not invited; and knowing the story as I do, I am curious to
witness the scene. The women are already picking her to pieces. To give
a ball in this hurried manner, without ladies in attendance! These
Americans! But she _is_ beautiful," with evident reluctance.

Hillard, peering gloomily over their shoulders, overheard. The prince!
Oh, this must not be. There could be only one prince in a matter of this
kind. He pushed by the Italians without apology for his rudeness, edged
around the ball-room till he reached La Signorina's side. He must save
her at all hazards.

"A word," he whispered in German.

"What is it?" she asked in the same tongue.

"The prince himself will be here at eleven."

"What prince?"

"Di Monte Bianca. Come, there is no time to lose. I have been holding my
carriage ready ever since I came. Come."

"Thank you, but it is too late." She smiled, but