g
cunning before he added his next words. "It's the very thing to interest
you, my fair friend. It's the story of a Mistress and a Maid. Come back
to the fire and hear it."

The Story of a Mistress and a Maid? If that meant anything, it meant the
story of Mrs. Beauly and her maid, told in disguise.

The title, and the look which had escaped him when he announced it,
revived the hope that was well-nigh dead in me. He had rallied at last.
He was again in possession of his natural foresight and his natural
cunning. Under pretense of telling Ariel her story, he was evidently
about to make the attempt to mislead me for the second time. The
conclusion was irresistible. To use his own words--Dexter was himself
again.

I took Benjamin's arm as we followed him back to the fire-place in the
middle of the room.

"There is a chance for me yet," I whispered. "Don't forget the signals."

We returned to the places which we had already occupied. Ariel cast
another threatening look at me. She had just sense enough left, after
emptying her goblet of wine, to be on the watch for a new interruption
on my part. I took care, of course, that nothing of the sort should
happen. I was now as eager as Ariel to hear the story. The subject was
full of snares for the narrator. At any moment, in the excitement of
speaking, Dexter's memory of the true events might show itself reflected
in the circumstances of the fiction. At any moment he might betray
himself.

He looked around him, and began.

"My public, are you seated? My public, are you ready?" he asked,
gayly. "Your face a little more this way," he added, in his softest
and tenderest tones, motioning to me to turn my full face toward him.
"Surely I am not asking too much? You look at the meanest creature that
crawls--look at Me. Let me find my inspiration in your eyes. Let me feed
my hungry admiration on your form. Come, have one little pitying smile
left for the man whose happiness you have wrecked. Thank you, Light of
my Life, thank you!" He kissed his hand to me, and threw himself back
luxuriously in his chair. "The story," he resumed. "The story at last!
In what form shall I cast it? In the dramatic form--the oldest way, the
truest way, the shortest way of telling a story! Title first. A
short title, a taking title: 'Mistress and Maid.' Scene, the land of
romance--Italy. Time, the age of romance--the fifteenth century. Ha!
look at Ariel. She knows no more about the fifteenth century