gilded tip of the obelisk glittered like a living flame.

Neeland turned and looked up the Champs Elysees.

Far away on the surface of the immense avenue a tiny dark speck was
speeding--increasing in size, coming nearer.

"A taxi," he said with a quick breath of relief. "We'll be all right
now."

Nearer and nearer came the speeding vehicle, rushing toward them
between the motionless green ranks of trees. Neeland walked forward
across the square to signal it, waited, watching its approach with a
slight uneasiness.

Now it sped between the rearing stone horses, and now, swerving, swung
to the left toward the rue Royale. And to his disgust and
disappointment he saw it was a private automobile.

"The devil!" he muttered, turning on his heel.

At the same moment, as though the chauffeur had suddenly caught an
order from within the limousine, the car swung directly toward him
once more.

As he rejoined Ilse, who stood clasping the homeless cat to her
breast, listlessly regarding the approaching automobile, the car swept
in a swift circle around the fountain where they stood, stopped short
beside them; and a woman flung open the door and sprang out to the
pavement.

And Ilse Dumont, standing there in the rags of her frail gown,
cuddling to her breast the purring cat, looked up to meet her doom in
the steady gaze of the Princess Naia Mistchenka.

Every atom of colour left her face, and her ashy lips parted.
Otherwise, she made no sign of fear, no movement.

There was a second's absolute silence; then the dark eyes of the
Princess turned on Neeland.

"Good heavens, James!" she said. "What has happened to you?"

"Nothing," he said gaily, "thanks to Miss Dumont----"

"To _whom_?" interrupted the Princess sharply.

"To Miss Dumont. We got into a silly place where it began to look as
though we'd get our heads knocked off, Sengoun and I. I'm really quite
serious, Princess. If it hadn't been for Miss Dumont--" he shrugged;
"--and that is twice she has saved my idiotic head for me," he added
cheerfully.

The Princess Naia's dark eyes reverted to Ilse Dumont, and the pallid
girl met them steadily enough. There was no supplication in her own
eyes, no shrinking, only the hopeless tranquillity that looks Destiny
in the face--the gaze riveted unflinchingly upon the descending blow.

"What are _you_ doing in Paris at such a time as this?" said the
Princess.

The girl's white lips parted stiffly:

"Do you need to ask