ery of their existence, half of it perhaps
spent in a house of correction. They have, as a rule, magnificent eyes
and incredible hair. I adore them also.

"Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses, elegant, mature, and
still beautiful. Charming feline creatures, you feel that they are
vicious to the marrow of their bones. You find them very amusing when
you visit them; they give card-parties; they have dances and suppers; in
short, they offer you all the pleasures of social life.

"And she had a daughter--a tall, fine-looking girl, always ready for
entertainments, always full of laughter and reckless gayety--a true
adventuress's daughter--but, at the same time, an innocent,
unsophisticated, artless girl, who saw nothing, knew nothing, understood
nothing of all the things that happened in her father's house."

"How do you know about him?"

"How do I know? That's the funniest part of the business! One morning,
there was a ring at my door, and my valet came up to tell me that M.
Joseph Bonenthal wanted to speak to me. I said directly: 'And who is
this gentleman?' My valet replied: 'I don't know, monsieur; perhaps
'tis someone that wants employment.' And so it was. The man wanted me to
take him as a servant. I asked him where he had been last. He answered:
'With the Comtesse Samoris.' 'Ah!' said I, 'but my house is not a bit
like hers.' 'I know that well, monsieur,' he said, 'and that's the very
reason I want to take service with monsieur. I've had enough of these
people: a man may stay a little while with them, but he won't remain
long with them.' I required an additional man servant at the time, and
so I took him.

"A month later, Mademoiselle Yveline Samoris died mysteriously, and here
are all the details of her death I could gather from Joseph, who got
them from his sweetheart, the Comtesse's chambermaid:

"It was a ball-night, and two newly-arrived guests were chatting behind
a door. Mademoiselle Yveline, who had just been dancing, leaned against
this door to get a little air.

"They did not see her approaching; but she heard what they were saying.
And this was what they said:

"'But who is the father of the girl?'

"'A Russian, it appears, Count Rouvaloff. He never comes near the mother
now.'

"'And who is the reigning prince to-day?'

"'That English prince standing near the window; Madame Samoris adores
him. But her adoration of anyone never lasts longer than a month or six
weeks. Nevertheless,