r seen, and preferred that he should be
safe, whilst you sent me to the guillotine!"

All these conflicting thoughts raged through Marguerite's brain, while,
with a smile upon her lips, she glided through the graceful mazes of the
minuet. She noted--with that acute sense of hers--that she had succeeded
in completely allaying Sir Andrew's fears. Her self-control had
been absolutely perfect--she was a finer actress at this moment, and
throughout the whole of this minuet, than she had ever been upon the
boards of the Comedie Francaise; but then, a beloved brother's life had
not depended upon her histrionic powers.

She was too clever to overdo her part, and made no further allusions to
the supposed BILLET DOUX, which had caused Sir Andrew Ffoulkes such an
agonising five minutes. She watched his anxiety melting away under her
sunny smile, and soon perceived that, whatever doubt may have crossed
his mind at the moment, she had, by the time the last bars of the
minuet had been played, succeeded in completely dispelling it; he never
realised in what a fever of excitement she was, what effort it cost her
to keep up a constant ripple of BANAL conversation.

When the minuet was over, she asked Sir Andrew to take her into the next
room.

"I have promised to go down to supper with His Royal Highness," she
said, "but before we part, tell me . . . am I forgiven?"

"Forgiven?"

"Yes! Confess, I gave you a fright just now. . . . But remember, I am
not an English woman, and I do not look upon the exchanging of BILLET
DOUX as a crime, and I vow I'll not tell my little Suzanne. But now,
tell me, shall I welcome you at my water-party on Wednesday?"

"I am not sure, Lady Blakeney," he replied evasively. "I may have to
leave London to-morrow."

"I would not do that, if I were you," she said earnestly; then seeing
the anxious look reappearing in his eyes, she added gaily; "No one can
throw a ball better than you can, Sir Andrew, we should so miss you on
the bowling-green."

He had led her across the room, to one beyond, where already His Royal
Highness was waiting for the beautiful Lady Blakeney.

"Madame, supper awaits us," said the Prince, offering his arm to
Marguerite, "and I am full of hope. The goddess Fortune has frowned so
persistently on me at hazard, that I look with confidence for the smiles
of the goddess of Beauty."

"Your Highness has been unfortunate at the card tables?" asked
Marguerite, as she took the Prince's