et, I can tell you
one."

The old and the young lady flushed alike with delight at the prospect of
hearing some strange news.

"It will come well," he continued, "after my wife's prophetic remarks.
Mrs. Parflete went alone to Orange's lodgings on Wednesday last at six
o'clock."

"Is it possible?" exclaimed the Princess.

Sara, feeling the Prince's dissecting glance burning into her
countenance, grew white and red by turns.

"What a temperament! what jealousy!" thought d'Alchingen.

"How do you know all this?" she asked, thrusting her hands, which were
trembling, into her ermine muff.

"I know it for a fact. The question now is--How will Parflete endure
such conduct? Her bigamy may have been innocent, or at least, an
unavoidable accident. But the afternoon call--well, if he can swallow
that, his meekness runs a risk of being called cowardice, and his
magnanimity will bear an unpleasant resemblance to dishonour."

"Yet surely--surely----" stammered Sara.

In a second she grasped the mistake which had been made, and all its
possible disastrous consequences to herself. Loss of reputation, the
finger of scorn, and for what? Nothing, or at the worst, an
indiscretion. Scandal, had there been a romantic cause, and loss of
reputation, had there been a great passion to make it more memorable as
a sacrifice than a disgrace, would have seemed to her defiant mind
something glorious. But here was a mere unbeautiful story--sordid, if
misunderstood, and a little silly, if satisfactorily explained. And it
could not be satisfactorily explained. Sara knew life too well to
encourage herself by supposing that the real truth about her foolish
visit to Orange's lodgings could ever be told or believed. Orange
himself would never betray her she knew. But what if she had been seen
or recognised? The landlord, the men on the staircase--had they followed
her home, or been able to pierce through her thick veil? She tried to
collect her thoughts, to appear extremely interested--that was all. The
effort, however, was beyond her strength. She showed her agitation, and,
while it was fortunately attributed by the d'Alchingens to a wrong
reason, they were close observers of every change in her face, nor did
they miss the notes of alarm and nervousness in her voice.

"It will probably mean a divorce, the social ruin of Orange, and the
successful _debut_ of Madame as a comedian of the first rank," said the
Ambassador.

"Does Orange know that