nde; "meanwhile, let nothing of what we have been saying escape
you. By the way," added he, half carelessly, "what name did she travel
under?"

"The passport was made out 'Die Graefin von Dalton;' but she has a
Spanish name, for I heard it once from the intendant."

"Was it Lola de Seviglia?"

"That was it. I remember it well."

"We are very old friends indeed!" said the Abbe; "and now be cautious;
let none know that we have spoken together, and I can serve your fortune
hereafter."

The German scarcely looked quite satisfied with himself for the
confidence he had been unwittingly led into; "but, after all," thought
he, "the priest knew more than I could tell him;" and so he resumed his
search without further thought of the matter.

As for D'Esmonde, his first care was to inquire for Monsieur de Grasse,
the Prince's chief secretary, with whom he remained closeted for nigh
an hour. It will not be necessary to inflict all the detail of that
interview on the reader; enough that we state its substance to have
been a pressing entreaty on the part of D'Esmonde to be admitted to
an audience of the Prince, as firmly resisted by the secretary, whose
orders were not to admit any one, nor, indeed, acknowledge that his
Highness was then there.

"You must wait upon him at the Crocetto, Monsignore," said De Grasse.
"Your presence here will simply cause the dismissal of those who have
admitted you, and yet never advance your own wishes in the least."

"My business is too urgent, sir, to be combated by reasons so weak as
these," replied D'Esmonde; "nor am I much accustomed to the air of an
antechamber."

"You must yet be aware, Monsignore, that the orders of Prince Midchekoff
are absolute in his own house." The secretary dropped his voice almost
to a whisper as he finished this sentence, for he had just overheard
the Prince speaking to some one without, and could detect his step as he
came along the corridor.

With a look of most meaning entreaty he besought the Abbe to keep
silence, while he crept noiselessly over and turned the key. D'Esmonde
uttered an exclamation of anger, and, sweeping past a window, within
which stood a magnificent vase of malachite, he caught the costly object
in the wide folds of his gown, and dashed it to the ground in a thousand
pieces. De Grasse gave a sudden cry of horror, and at the same instant
Midchekoff knocked at the door, and demanded admittance. With faltering
hand the secretary turned th