by a famous Milan armorer three hundred years ago,
Bernheim said; and the two had been in his family ever since. And, so
far as he knew, there were no others like them in all Europe; not even
in the Museums. It was a wonderful piece of work, truly. The links
were small and yielding and so cunningly joined that it was as pliable
as knitted wool, and much less bulky. Indeed, when rolled into a ball,
it was no bigger than a man's fist. It looked quite too flimsy to
afford any protection; yet, when I saw it proof against a bullet fired
from a revolver and also turn repeated sword thrusts, I was, perforce,
convinced. And I was completely won when I donned it; it was like a
vest of silk. And I was well pleased it was so; for I was wearing it
simply to oblige good old Bernheim, who seemed so earnest about it. I
had no notion it would be of any service to me that night.

As everyone came masked, admission was, of course, only by card, after
which all were conducted singly to a small room where the mask was
removed and identification satisfactorily established by the
Ambassador's Secretary.

It chanced, when my turn came, that the Marquis de Vierle, himself, was
in the room; and, when he saw my face, his welcome was intensely
ardent. He apologized effusively that I had been received at the
regular entrance and, so, had been compelled to wait my turn for
identification--but, surely, my regrets had been noted.

I told him he was quite right--that I had regretted, and that the
apology was, really, due from me for coming, and that I had enjoyed
being pushed and jostled, once again, like an ordinary mortal. He
wanted to treat me with all the deference due me and I very firmly
declined. I told him, frankly, I was there to see and enjoy and not to
be seen nor to receive special attentions. I asked him, as a
particular favor, to tell no one of my presence and to permit me to
remain absolutely incog.; that, for this night, I was plain Armand
Dalberg and not a Royal Highness nor an Archduke.

The house was one of the largest in the Capital, standing in a park of
its own, on the edge of the inner town, and had been the residence of
the French Legation for a century. It had been improved and added to,
at various periods, until it had taken on about every known style of
architecture. And, as a result, there were queer passages and many
unexpected recesses. The furniture was as varied as the building; and
the tapestries and