ot for the whole world that he should have known what caused
either the pain or the cry.

The marshal repeated:

"That is Lady Chandos, the wife of Lord Chandos, who is the rising light
of this generation."

"There are so many rising lights," she said, carelessly; but her heart
was beating fast the while.

Ah, me! so fair, so graceful, so high-bred! Was it any wonder that he
had loved her? Yet to this gorgeous woman, with her soul of fire, it
seemed that those perfect features were almost too gentle, and lacked
the fire of life. She saw several gentlemen gather round the chair on
which Lady Chandos sat, like a queen on a throne; and then the golden
head was hidden from her sight.

So at last she was face to face with her rival--at last she could see
and hear her--this fair woman who had taken her lover from her. It was
with difficulty that she was herself, that she maintained her brilliant
repartees; her fire of wit, her _bon mots_ that were repeated from one
to the other. Her powers of conversation were of the highest order. She
could enchain twenty people at once, and keep all their intellects in
active exercise. It was with difficulty she did that now; she was
thinking so entirely of the golden head, with its opal stars. Then came
another stir among the brilliant groups--the _entree_ of a prince,
beloved and revered by all who knew him. Leone, with her quick, artistic
eye, thought she had never seen a more brilliant picture than this--the
magnificent apartment, with its superb pictures, its background of
flowers, its flood of light; the splendid dresses and jewels of the
women, the blending of rich colors, the flashing of light made it a
picture never to be forgotten.

Suddenly she saw Madame de Chandalle smiling in her face, and by her
side was the beautiful rival who supplanted her.

"Madame Vanira," said their hostess, "permit me to make known to you
Lady Chandos, who greatly desires the pleasure of your acquaintance."

Then the two who had crossed each other's lives so strangely looked at
each other face to face. Leone's heart almost stood still with a great
throb of pain as she glanced steadily at the fair, lovely face of her
rival. How often had he sunned himself in those blue eyes? how often had
he kissed those sweet lips and held those white hands in his own? She
recovered herself with a violent effort and listened. Lady Chandos was
speaking to her.

"I am charmed to see you, Madame Vanira," she sa