ed his civil
recognition of her presence with a slight smile.

As he appeared inclined to linger, she said with pleasant
self-possession:

"These newspaper rumours, monsieur, are becoming too persistent to
amuse us much longer. War talk is becoming _vieux jeu_."

"Why read them?" inquired Neeland with a smile.

"Why?" She made a slight gesture. "One reads what is printed, I
suppose."

"Written and printed by people who know no more about the matter in
question than you and I, mademoiselle," he remarked, still smiling.

"That is perfectly true. Why is it worth while for anyone to search
for truth in these days when everyone is paid to conceal it?"

"Oh," he said, "not everyone."

"No; some lie naturally and without pay," she admitted indifferently.

"But there are still others. For example, mademoiselle, yourself."

"I?" She laughed, not troubling to refute the suggestion of her
possible truthfulness.

He said:

"This--club--is furnished in excellent taste."

"Yes; it is quite new."

"Has it a name?"

"I believe it is called the Cercle Extranationale. Would monsieur also
like to know the name of the club cat?"

They both laughed easily, but he could make nothing of her.

"Thank you," he said; "and I fear I have interrupted your
reading----"

"I have read enough lies; I am quite ready to tell you a few. Shall
I?"

"You are most amiable. I have been wondering what the other floors in
this building are used for."

"Private apartments," she replied smiling, looking him straight in the
eyes. "Now you don't know whether I've told you the truth or not; do
you?"

"Of course I know."

"Which, then?"

"The truth."

She laughed and indicated a chair; and he seated himself.

"Who is the dark, nice-looking gentleman accompanying you?" she
enquired.

"How could you see him at all through your newspaper?"

"I poked a hole, of course."

"To look at him or at me?"

"Your mirror ought to reassure you. However, as an afterthought, who
is he?"

"Prince Erlik, of Mongolia," replied Neeland solemnly.

"I supposed so. We of the infernal aristocracy belong together. I am
the Contessa Diabletta d'Enfer."

He inclined gravely:

"I'm afraid I don't belong here," he said. "I'm only a Yankee."

"Hell is full of them," she said, smiling. "All Yankees belong where
Prince Erlik and I are at home.... Do you play?"

"No. Do you?"

"It depends on chance."

"It would give me much pleasure----"

"Thank