uld make love to her in
this romantic setting; and perhaps soon she, too, would love him. When
he got thus far in his picturings he would shut his eyes, stretch out
his long limbs, and call to Jake, his solemn bulldog, and pat his
wrinkled head.

And Zara, in Paris, was more tranquil in mind than was her wont. Mirko
had not made much difficulty about going to Bournemouth. Everything was
so pretty, the day she took him there, the sun shining gayly and the sea
almost as blue as the Mediterranean, and Mrs. Morley, the doctor's wife,
had been so gentle and sweet, and had drawn him to her heart at once,
and petted him, and talked of his violin. The doctor had examined his
lungs and said they certainly might improve with plenty of the fine air
if he were very carefully fed and tended, and not allowed to catch cold.

The parting with poor Mimo had been very moving. They had said good-bye
to him in the Neville Street lodging, as Zara thought it was wiser not
to risk a scene at the station. The father and son had kissed and
clasped one another and both wept, and Mimo had promised to come to see
him soon, soon!

Then there had been another painful wrench when she herself left
Bournemouth. She had put off her departure until the afternoon of the
following day. Mirko had tried to be as brave as he could; but the
memory of the pathetic little figure, as she saw it waving a hand to her
from the window, made those rare tears brim up and splash on her glove,
as she sat in the train.

In her short life with its many moments of deep anguish she had seldom
been able to cry; there were always others to be thought of first, and
an iron self-control was one of her inheritances from her grandfather,
the Emperor, just as that voluptuous, undulating grace, and the red,
lustrous hair, came from the beautiful opera dancer and great artiste,
her grandmother.

She had cautioned Mrs. Morley, if she should often hear Mirko playing
the _Chanson Triste_, to let her know, and she would come to him. It was
a sure indication of his state of mind. And Mrs. Morley, who had read in
the _Morning Post_ the announcement of her approaching marriage, asked
her where she could be found, and Zara had stiffened suddenly and
said--at her uncle's house in Park Lane, the letters to be marked "To be
forwarded immediately."

And when she had gone, Mrs. Morley had told her sister who had come in
to tea how beautiful Countess Shulski was and how very regal looking,