h
the despairing violence of some trapped, wild thing.

"Camille! Camille!"

It seemed to her that if he did not hear her this must be the end of
all, and she suffered an agony of terror. She thanked God as the door
below was flung to and he came running up the stairs.

The Prince let her go and half turned to meet him, but Camille was not
inclined to parley. He struck, and struck hard. Filippo slipped on the
polished floor, tried to recover himself, and fell heavily at the
girl's feet.

He got up at once, and the two men stood glaring at each other. Olive
looked from one to the other. "It was nothing. I am sorry," she said
breathlessly. "He was trying to--I was frightened. It was nothing,
really, but--but I am glad you came."

"So am I," the Frenchman said grimly. His blue eyes were grown grey as
steel. "I am waiting, Prince."

A little blood had sprung from Filippo's cut lip and run down his
chin. He wiped it with his handkerchief and looked thoughtfully at
the stain on the white linen before he spoke.

"Who is your friend?"

"Rene Gontrand."

"No, no!" cried the girl. "Filippo, it was your fault. Can't you be
sorry and forget? Camille!"

"Hush, child," he said, "you do not understand."

Tor di Rocca was looking at her now with the old insolent smile in his
red-brown eyes. "Ah, you said 'Never!' but presently you will come."

So he left them.

Olive expected to be "poored," but Camille, as it seemed, deliberately
took no notice of her. She watched him picking a stick of charcoal
from the accumulation of odd brushes, pens and pencils on the table.

"What a handsome devil it is. Lean, lithe and brown. He should go
naked as a faun; such things roamed about the primeval woods seeking
what they might devour. I wish I had asked him to sit for me."

He went to his easel and began to sketch a head on the canvas he had
prepared for the Rosamund. "He has the short Neronic upper lip," he
murmured.

Olive lost patience. "I wonder you had the heart to risk spoiling its
contour," she said resentfully.

"With my fist, you mean?"

"I--I am very sorry--" she began. He saw that she was crying, and he
was perplexed, not quite understanding what she wanted of him.

"What am I to say to you?" He came over and sat down beside her, and
she let him hold her hand. "I know so little--not even your name. I
have asked no questions, but of course I saw-- Why do you not go back
to your friends?"

She dried her eyes. "I