Chandos, an injured, almost deserted wife, living with
the duke and the duchess; Lord Chandos abroad laughed at everywhere as a
dupe.

My lady writhed again in anguish as she thought of it. It must not be.
She said to herself that it would turn her hair gray, that it would
strike her with worse than paralysis. Surely her brilliant life was not
to end in such a fiasco as this. For the first time for many years hot
tears blinded those fine eyes that had hitherto looked with such
careless scorn on the world.

My lady was dispirited; she knew her son well enough to know that
another appeal to him would be useless; that the more she said to him on
the subject the more obstinate he would be. A note from Lady Chandos
completed her misery, and made her take a desperate resolve--a sad
little note, that said:

"DEAR LADY LANSWELL,--If you can do anything to help me, let it be
done soon. Lance has begun to-day his preparations for going to
Berlin. I heard him giving instructions over his traveling trunk.
We have no time to lose if anything can be done to save him."

"I must do it," said the countess, to herself, with desperation. "Appeal
to my son is worse than useless. I must appeal to the woman I fear he
loves. Who could have imagined or prophesied that I should ever have
been compelled to stoop to her, yet stoop I must, if I would save my
son!"

With Lady Lanswell, to resolve was to do; when others would have beaten
about the bush she went direct.

On the afternoon of that day she made out Leone's address, and ordered
the carriage. It was a sign of fear with her that she was so particular
with her toilet; it was seldom that she relied, even in the least, on
the advantages of dress, but to-day she made a toilet almost imperial in
its magnificence--rich silk and velvet that swept the ground in superb
folds, here and there gleaming a rich jewel.

The countess smiled as she surveyed herself in the mirror, a regal,
beautiful lady. Surely no person sprung from Leone's class would dare to
oppose her.

It was on a beautiful, bright afternoon that my lady reached the pretty
house where Madame Vanira lived. A warm afternoon, when the birds sung
in the green shade of the trees, when the bees made rich honey from the
choice carnations, and the butterflies hovered round the budding lilies.

The countess drove straight to the house. She left her carriage at the
outer gates, and walked through the pretty lawn;