by her side, but after a while she no longer
pretended any interest in them. She was a born conversationalist, a
creature of her country, entirely and absolutely feminine, to whom the
subtle and flattering deference of the other sex was as the breath of
life itself. Peter burned his homage upon her altar with a craft which
amounted to genius. In less than half an hour Madame la Duchesse was
looking many years younger. The vague look of apprehension had passed
from her face. Their voices had sunk to a confidential undertone,
punctuated often by the music of her laughter. Sogrange, with a murmured
word of apology, had slipped away long ago. Decidedly, for an
Englishman, Peter was something of a marvel!

Madame la Duchesse moved her head towards the empty chair.

"He is a great friend of yours--the Marquis de Sogrange?" she asked,
with a certain inflection in her tone which Peter was not slow to
notice.

"Indeed, no!" he answered. "A few years ago I was frequently in Paris. I
made his acquaintance then, but we have met very seldom since."

"You are not travelling together, then?" she inquired.

"By no means," Peter assured her. "I recognised him only as he boarded
the steamer at Cherbourg."

"He is not a popular man in our world," she remarked. "One speaks of him
as a schemer."

"Is there anything left to scheme for in France?" Peter asked
carelessly. "He is, perhaps, a Monarchist?"

"His ancestry alone would compel a devoted allegiance to Royalism," the
Duchesse declared; "but I do not think that he is interested in any of
these futile plots to reinstate the House of Orleans. I, Monsieur le
Baron, am Spanish."

"I have scarcely lived so far out of the world as to have heard nothing
of the Duchesse della Nermino," Peter replied with _empressement_. "The
last time I saw you, Duchesse, you were in the suite of the Infanta."

"Like all Englishmen, I see you possess a memory," she said, smiling.

"Duchesse," Peter answered, lowering his voice, "without the memories
which one is fortunate enough to collect as one passes along, life would
be a dreary place. The most beautiful things in the world cannot remain
always with us. It is well, then, that the shadow of them can be
recalled to us in the shape of dreams."

Her eyes rewarded him for his gallantry. Peter felt that he was doing
very well indeed. He indulged himself in a brief silence. Presently she
returned to the subject of Sogrange.

"I think," she remarke