good thing
for you to know, Rozina, because all your servants are hired spies. Your
doorkeeper and his wife keep a regular journal of who comes in and who
goes out, what visiting-cards are left, whom you receive, where you
drive,--which they learn from your coachman,--whom you visit, and even
with whom you exchange a passing word. Your maid reads all your letters
and searches all your pockets. Even your gardener keeps an account of
all the flowers you order; for flowers, you know, have a language of
their own. Be sure you don't buy a parrot, else it will turn spy on you,
too."

"Who can it be that is so suspicious of me?" asked the princess, in
surprise.

"Have you forgotten the strict terms of your uncle's legacy, and are you
unaware how slight an indiscretion on your part might furnish your
relatives with a pretext for contesting your right to a share of the
property? Do you forget, too, how trifling an error might result in the
cutting off of your allowance from Prince Cagliari?"

"Well, let them watch me, if they wish," returned Blanka, composedly. "I
have no secrets to hide from anybody."

"A rash assertion for a woman to make," commented the other, as she
poured herself a glass of water. "How warm this water is!" she
exclaimed, after taking a sip.

Blanka sprang up and offered to bring some ice from the dining-room.

"Aren't you afraid to go for it alone?"

"Certainly not; the lamps are all lighted."

While the hostess was out of the room, her guest turned over Blanka's
portfolio of drawings, and among them found her outline sketch of the
Colosseum.

"You sketch beautifully," commented the marchioness, upon the other's
return.

"It is my only diversion," replied the princess.

"This view of the Colosseum reminds me of one I saw at the Rossis'."

"The artist may have chosen the same point of view," returned Blanka
with admirable composure.

"I called on him at his studio lately," proceeded the marchioness. "I
had heard one of his pictures very highly praised. It represents a young
woman sitting on the gallery railing in the Colosseum, with the sunlight
streaming on her through a red umbrella. The warm glow of the sunbeams
is in striking contrast with the deep melancholy on the girl's face. I
offered the artist two hundred scudi for the piece, but he said it was
not for sale at any price."

Blanka felt as powerless in the hands of this woman as a rabbit in the
clutches of a lion. The beautiful Cyr