untess, still nonchalantly
seated.

'You have discharged your errand,' was the reply; 'I will not detain
you.'

'O no, madam,' said the Countess, 'with your permission, I have not yet
done. I have borne much this evening in your service. I have suffered.
I was made to suffer in your service.' She unfolded her fan as she
spoke. Quick as her pulses beat, the fan waved languidly. She betrayed
her emotion only by the brightness of her eyes and face, and by the
almost insolent triumph with which she looked down upon the Princess.
There were old scores of rivalry between them in more than one field; so
at least von Rosen felt; and now she was to have her hour of victory in
them all.

'You are no servant, Madame von Rosen, of mine,' said Seraphina.

'No, madam, indeed,' returned the Countess; 'but we both serve the same
person, as you know--or if you do not, then I have the pleasure of
informing you. Your conduct is so light--so light,' she repeated, the
fan wavering higher like a butterfly, 'that perhaps you do not truly
understand.' The Countess rolled her fan together, laid it in her lap,
and rose to a less languorous position. 'Indeed,' she continued, 'I
should be sorry to see any young woman in your situation. You began with
every advantage--birth, a suitable marriage--quite pretty too--and see
what you have come to! My poor girl, to think of it! But there is
nothing that does so much harm,' observed the Countess finely, 'as
giddiness of mind.' And she once more unfurled the fan, and approvingly
fanned herself.

'I will no longer permit you to forget yourself,' cried Seraphina. 'I
think you are mad.'

'Not mad,' returned von Rosen. 'Sane enough to know you dare not break
with me to-night, and to profit by the knowledge. I left my poor, pretty
Prince Charming crying his eyes out for a wooden doll. My heart is soft;
I love my pretty Prince; you will never understand it, but I long to give
my Prince his doll, dry his poor eyes, and send him off happy. O, you
immature fool!' the Countess cried, rising to her feet, and pointing at
the Princess the closed fan that now began to tremble in her hand. 'O
wooden doll!' she cried, 'have you a heart, or blood, of any nature?
This is a man, child--a man who loves you. O, it will not happen twice!
it is not common; beautiful and clever women look in vain for it. And
you, you pitiful schoolgirl, tread this jewel under foot! you, stupid
with your vanity! Befor