n himself to search for Miss Mowbray, for now,
if the Emperor should curse him for a spoil-sport, he would have the
best of excuses. Lady Mowbray was in need of her daughter.

He lifted the white curtain and peeped through a small ante-chamber
into the music room beyond. It was empty; but one of the long windows
leading into the rose garden was wide open.

The month of September was dying, and away in the Rhaetian mountains
winter had begun; yet in the lap of the low country summer lingered.
The air was soft, and sweet with the perfume of roses, roses living,
and roses dead in a potpourri of scattered petals on the grass. It
was a garden for lovers, and a night for lovers.

Egon went to the open window and looked out, but dared not let his
feet take the direction of his eyes, though he was sure that somewhere
in the garden Miss Mowbray and the Emperor were to be found.

"They will come in again this way," he said to himself, "for they will
want people to think they have never left the music room; and for that
very reason they won't stop too long. They must have some regard for
the conventions. If I wait--"

He did not finish the sentence in his mind; nevertheless he examined
the resources of the window niche with a critical eye.

There was a deep enclosure between the window frame and the long,
straight curtains of olive green satin which matched the decoration of
the music room. By drawing the curtains a few inches further forward,
one could make a screen which would hide one from observation by any
person in the room, or outside, in the garden. So Egon did draw the
curtain, and framed in his shelter like a saint in a niche, he stood
peering into the silver night.

The moon was rising over the lake, and long, pale rays of level light
were stealing up the paths, like the fingers of a blind child that
caress gropingly the features of a beloved face.

Egon could not see the whole garden, or all the paths among the roses;
but if the Emperor and his companion came back by the way they had
gone, he would know presently whether they walked in the attitude of
friends or lovers. It was so necessary for his plans to know this,
that he thought it worth while to exercise a little patience in
waiting. Of course, if they were lovers, good-by to his hopes; and he
would never have so good a chance as this to make sure.

All things in the garden that were not white were gray as a dove's
wings. Even the shadows were not black.