desire to welcome me," she said, gracefully, "is the greatest
inducement you can offer me."

And Madame de Chandalle smiled at her victory.

Madame de Chandalle was the widow of an eminent French general. She
preferred London to Paris. She was mistress of a large fortune, and gave
the best entertainments of the season.

She knew that the beautiful singer accepted but few of the many
invitations sent to her. Last week she had declined the invitations of a
duchess and the wife of an American millionaire. She was doubly
delighted that her own was accepted. The same was for Tuesday evening.
On that evening Leone was free, and she had some idea that madame had
chosen it purposely.

At last she was to see Lance's wife, the woman whom the laws of man, of
society, and the world had placed in her place, given her position, her
name, her love--the woman whom a mere legal quibble had put in her
place.

The hours seemed long until Tuesday evening came. It struck her that if
Lady Chandos were there Lord Chandos would be there too; he would see
her at last in the regal position her own genius had won for herself; a
position that seemed to her a thousand times grander than the one
derived from the mere accident of birth. He would see then the world's
estimation of the woman he had forsaken. She was pleased, yet half
frightened, to know that at last she and her rival would meet face to
face.

She had so noble a soul that vanity was not among her faults, but on
this evening she was more than usually particular. Never had the
matchless beauty of the great actress shown to greater advantage. She
wore a dress of faint cream-colored brocade, half hidden in fine, costly
lace, in the beautiful waves of her hair a large, cream-colored rose
nestled, and with that she wore a set of diamonds a princess might have
envied. The superb beauty, the half stately, half-languid grace, the
southern eyes, the full, sweet lips, the wondrous beauty of her white
neck and arms, the inexpressible charm of her attitudes, the play of her
superb features--all made her marvelous to look upon. A dainty, delicate
perfume came from the folds of her dress. She had a richly jeweled fan,
made from the delicate amber plumage of some rare tropical bird; the
radiance and light of her beauty would have made a whole room bright.
She reached Madame de Chandalle's rather late. She gave one hasty glance
round the superb reception-room as she passed to where madame was
r