into the library; "glad
you're home. I might not see you in the morning, and I want to tell you
about--er--a lady who will be coming here in the afternoon."

The words died upon Rene's lips unspoken, and he stared blankly at the
Colonel.

"I thought I knew all there was to know about pictures, antiques, and
all that sort of lumber," continued Colonel Deacon in his rapid and
off-hand manner. "Thought there weren't many men in London could teach
me anything; certainly never suspected a woman could. But I've met one,
boy! Gad! What a splendid creature! You know there isn't much in the
world I haven't seen--north, south, east and west. I know all the
advertised beauties of Europe and Asia--stage, opera, and ballet, and
all the rest of them. But this one--Gad!"

He dropped into an arm-chair, clapping both his hands upon his knees.
Rene stood at the farther end of the library, in the shadow, watching
him.

"She's coming here to-morrow, boy--coming here. Gad! you dog! You'll
fall in love with her the moment you see her--sure to, sure to! I did,
and I'm three times your age!"

"Who is this lady, sir?" asked Rene, very quietly.

"God knows, boy! Everybody's mad to meet her, but nobody knows who she
is. But wait till you see her. Lady Dascot seems to be acquainted with
her, but you will see when they come to-morrow--see for yourself. Gad,
boy!... what did you say?"

"I did not speak."

"Thought you did. Have a whisky-and-soda?"

"No, thank you, sir--good night."

"Good night, boy!" cried the Colonel. "Good night. Don't forget to be
in to-morrow afternoon or you'll miss meeting the loveliest woman in
London, and the most brilliant."

"What is her name?"

"Eh? She calls herself Madame de Medici. She's a mystery, but what a
splendid creature!"

Rene Deacon walked slowly upstairs, entered his bedroom, and for fully
an hour sat in the darkness, thinking--thinking.

"Am I going mad?" he murmured. "Or is this witch driving all London
mad?"

He strove to recover something of the glamour which had mastered him
when in the presence of Madame de Medici, but failed. Yet he knew that,
once near her again, it would all return. His reflections were bitter,
and when at last wearily he undressed and went to bed it was to toss
restlessly far into the small hours ere sleep came to soothe his
troubled mind.

But his sleep was disturbed: a series of dreadfully realistic dreams
danced through his brain. First he seemed to be sta