A new personage entered the lives of the dwellers in Villa Sirena. The Colonel announced with enthusiasm this friend whom DoÑa Clorinda had introduced.

"He is a Spanish Lieutenant in the Foreign Legion. He lives in the hotel which the Prince of Monaco gave up for convalescent officers. His name is Antonio Martinez, a very common name which reveals nothing of his character; but he is a great soldier, a hero, and I don't know how he manages to survive his wounds."

The "General" who kept track of all the soldiers of a certain reputation, as soon as they arrived in Monte Carlo, had been anxious to meet this Lieutenant, and had taken him under her protection. The Duchess de Delille was also interested in him, and the two women, proud of being his marraines, showed him off in the anteroom of the Casino, rented carriages to promenade him around to the most beautiful spots on the Riviera, and treated him to the finest war-time foods and pastry that they could find. With his lungs injured by German poison gases, he had also received a hand grenade wound on his head, and suffered from time to time from nervous trouble, which caused him to fall to the ground unconscious. The doctors talked despairingly of his condition. Perhaps he would live for years, perhaps he would die in one of these crises; the important thing was that he should live a quiet life, without any deep emotion. And the two ladies, who knew the real state of his health, lamented it when he was not present. He was so young, so affectionate, and so timid? On the breast of his mustard-colored uniform, attached by red ribbons, as a symbol of bravery given to the foreign battalions, were the War Cross and the Legion of Honor.

Clorinda, who considered that she had greater rights over him because of having "discovered" him, thought for awhile of taking him to live with her in order to be able to take better care of him. But as she was at the HÔtel de Paris, she did not, like Alicia, have an entire villa at her disposal. And the latter, although tempted by her friend's suggestions, did not dare to take the convalescent into her home. People liked to talk, and she, without saying why, was afraid of their gossip.

In the meantime, they both took the Lieutenant everywhere, protesting that, because of his uniform, he was not allowed to enter the rooms of the Casino. One afternoon, DoÑa Clorinda, with all the natural boldness of her character, took him to Villa Sirena. It was a shame that the handsome building and its vast gardens should be given over to five men who did nothing for humanity at all. Often in her imagination, she had converted it into a Sanitarium filled with invalid soldiers, with herself at the head of it as director and patroness. But her suggestions had no effect whatever on the Prince. "A selfish fellow," she said to herself, returning to her former opinion.

As long as it was impossible to occupy the Villa with a band of convalescents, she took the Spanish officer to show him the gardens, without first asking Lubimoff's permission.

The latter was able to see at first hand the hero of whom Don Marcos, during the last few days, had talked so much. He saw nothing in him to indicate extraordinary deeds. Martinez was a youth, ready to blush when forced to tell what he had done in the war. Without his uniform and his insignia of honor, he would have seemed like a poor office clerk, modest and resigned and incapable of being anything else. His appearance contrasted with the deeds which, after much pleading, he would finally be persuaded to confess. He was twenty-six years old, and seemed much younger, but it was a sickly sort of youthfulness, undermined by wounds and hardships.

Lubimoff, who hated the swagger of boastful heroes, felt at first disconcerted, and then attracted by the simplicity of this officer. If he had not known from Don Marcos the authenticity of his prowess, he would have taken no stock in it.

Somewhat intimidated in the presence of the famous owner of Villa Sirena, Martinez confessed his humble birth with neither pride nor timidity. He was poor, the son of poor people. He had tried to study for a career, but the necessity of earning his living had caused him to abandon books, trying the most diverse occupations, one after the other. It was so difficult to earn one's bread in Spain! After fighting in the Spanish campaign in Morocco, he had wandered through various South American Republics, struggling all the while against poverty and ill luck.

"There where so many common rough people get rich," he said, "all I found was poverty, like that in my own country. When this war broke out, like many other people, I was indignant at the conduct of the Germans, and their atrocities in the invaded countries. At the time I was in Madrid. One night some of my cafÉ acquaintances agreed to go and fight for France. The person who backed down was to pay ten dollars. They all repented their decision, except myself. Don't imagine that it was to avoid paying the wager. I have my own ideas, and have read more or less. I believe in republics—and France is the country of the Great Revolution. I entered a battalion of the Foreign Legion, which, composed for the most part of Spaniards, was being organized in Bayonne. There are a very few left by this time; most of them are dead; the rest are living scattered throughout the various hospitals, or else are crippled for life. I knew what war was like from mountain warfare against the Moors in the Riff country, and without seeking the honor I had gotten as far as being a Lieutenant of Reserves in my own country. Perhaps that is why they made me a Sergeant in the Legion after a few weeks. But it certainly was hard! I had never imagined they would receive us with a brass band! France has too many other things to think of; but it was sad to see how badly our enthusiasm was interpreted. Men called to arms by the laws of their country, and who were obliged to fight, looked at us with jealousy and suspicion. The other regiments considered us adventurers; or even escaped convicts. 'How hungry you must have been at home,' they said to me at the front, 'to have come here to be able to get something to eat!' And among us there were students, newspaper men, young men from wealthy families, fellows who had enlisted with enthusiasm—but let's not talk about that. In every country there are vulgar minded people incapable of understanding anything beyond their selfish, material wants."

His military experience was confined to trench warfare, endless and monotonous, and to short distance attacks. He had arrived late at the Battle of the Marne; and he, who imagined that he would take part in gigantic combat, involving millions of men and the firing of immense cannon, merely witnessed a series of struggles between small forces hidden in the earth, and hand-to-hand encounters to win a few yards of ground. Life at the Dardanelles was the worst of his memories. He hated to think of that horrible campaign. The struggles in France seemed rather placid compared to that fighting on a few miles of coast, with the sea at their backs and unconquerable lines ahead of them.

After saying this he fell silent, and the Colonel had to insist, with a certain paternal pride, that Martinez go on talking.

"Wounds, many wounds," he added simply. "I have lost count of the hospitals that I have known in three years, and of the trips I have made through France in Red Cross ambulances. When we are not killed outright, we are like the horses in bull fights. They patch up our skins outside the ring, strengthen us a bit and back we go into the arena, until we get the final goring."

Toledo, becoming impatient at the young man's modesty, told the story of his wounds. He received some in every period of the fighting. Some belonged to modern warfare, produced by fragments of high explosive shells, others came from machine guns, and even that cough which interrupted his speech from time to time was caused by asphyxiating gases. Others were made by knives, by clubbings from gun stocks, by flying stones, and even by the teeth of the Germans in night encounters and surprise attacks, in which men fought as they did in the infancy of human life on this planet.

Prince Lubimoff could not help admiring this slight, dark young man, who looked so insignificant. It seemed impossible that a human organism could resist so many blows, and that his weak body could sustain so many shocks without succumbing.

But Martinez, with the solidarity of all those who face danger, refused all personal glory. He talked about the Legion as a soldier talks about his regiment, as a sailor talks about his ship, considering it the finest of all. He saw the entire war in terms of the Legion. The French were all brave. Besides, no one could guess where the enemy would attack, and wherever the latter assumed the offensive, they found troops that withstood them and kept them from passing. But the Foreign Legion!

"The soldiers who fight at the front are men," he said, "men torn from their families through the needs of the country. But we are fighters. That is why in the difficult operations, when flesh and blood have to be sacrificed, they send us forward. I am always, of course, only one of many. But the Legion!... Every six months a new Colonel: He is killed and another takes his place, he, too, is destined to die. And how the enemy hates us! There is one thing we are proud of. Among the prisoners that there are in Germany, there is not a single one from the Foreign Legion. Any one of us who ever falls into the hands of the Boches knows that he is a dead man: we are outlawed. And for our part, well, we do our best too!... Even when they insult us from trench to trench, we are proud of belonging to the Legion. One night, the enemy opposite, hearing us speak Spanish, began to shout in our language. They must have been Germans from South America. 'Hey, Macabros! Wait till we get hold of you, and then!...' They threatened us with the most terrible tortures. And they always nicknamed us 'Macabros!' I don't know why."

The Duchess de Delille admired the hero, feeling at the same time a certain sense of uneasiness at the horrors which she guessed from his words. "The war! When would the war be over?"

The Lieutenant shrugged his shoulders, smiling. People who live far from the front were more impatient for peace than those who risked their lives in the front lines. They had become accustomed to contact with death. The war would last as long as was necessary: five years, ten years; the main thing was to win the victory.

But Toledo, fearing that the conversation would get away from his hero, insisted once more on his great deeds.

"I'm only one of many," said Martinez. "But as far as brave men are concerned, I can recommend the Legion. That is where you'll find them. And all have died!... At first we had men from every country. But the Americans left as soon as their Republic intervened in the war; and it was the same with the Italians and Poles. On the other hand, many Russians, when their regiments were disbanded, joined the Legion. There is nothing extraordinary to tell about myself. And they have rewarded me so highly for the little I have done! Being a foreigner I have two ribbons. Besides, I shall never forget the moment when the Colonel, a week before they killed him, called me, and said, 'Martinez, the General has given me four Crosses of the Legion of Honor for our Legion. One of them is yours.' And he put it on my breast in front of a whole battalion of brave men presenting arms. It was unforgettable: it was worth a life time."

It was the truth. Colonel Toledo affirmed it, nodding his head, his eyes wet with tears. Later, with selfish jealousy, Don Marcos tore him away from the ladies, who were busy for the moment, talking with the Prince and his friend.

Walking through the gardens, the Colonel gazed at his hero with a look of tender protection, such as an artist who has exhausted his talents gazes at the increasing triumph of a younger, fresher, and more successful colleague.

"Youth, youth!" he said. "You, Martinez, belong to the Spain of the future; I belong to the Spain of past days, the Spain that will never return again. I am convinced that the world is progressing in new directions."

The Colonel kept up a frequent correspondence with many Spanish volunteers in the Legion. He looked after them with all the affection of a marraine, sending them chocolate, select edibles, everything that he could spare from the Villa Sirena pantry, without impairing the service. Some of the letters which came from the front made him weep and laugh. One volunteer asked him to send a good Spanish knife, having broken his own in a night attack. Another dreamt of a Browning revolver. Who would give him a Browning? He had only an ordnance revolver, an undependable weapon that had failed him twice in an attack on a trench and had prevented him from killing the German who finally wounded him.

With Lieutenant Martinez, the Colonel could let go all his enthusiasm and give free rein to prophesies in favor of the Allies.

In the presence of Atilio and Novoa he was less talkative as he feared their ridicule.

In order to tease him and make him mad they recalled the enthusiasm of the Carlist party in Spain for Germany. Castro even pretended that he was surprised that the Colonel was not a pro-German, the same as his political friends.

"I am where I belong," said Don Marcos with dignity. "I am a gentleman, and belong with decent people."

This was his supreme argument. Humanity was divided, according to him, into two classes—the decent and the indecent. It was the same with nations, and Germany was not to be counted among the decent.

As a patriot he suffered at seeing Spain outside the struggle, making an effort to remain unaware of what was going on in the rest of the world, putting its head under its wing, like certain long-legged birds that imagine they can avoid danger by not seeing it. Happily, his country did not figure among the indecent nations, nor was it any too decent either. It was allowing a chance for glory to escape, and this stirred the Colonel's wrath deeply.

For the last three months a fixed idea has been disturbing his happiest moments. The Allies had entered Jerusalem. What a great joy for an old Catholic soldier! But his joy afterwards made him smile bitterly. A Protestant nation freeing the sepulcher of Christ for the third time!...

"Imagine, Martinez, if only Spain had been with the decent nations! We have missed the chance of obtaining this glory, we who belong to the nation that has showed the greatest faith. Even I, in spite of my years, would have gone on the crusade. The Spanish entering Jerusalem victorious! What do you think of that?"

But the officer replied, with a vague smile, "Yes, perhaps." It was evident that the entry into Jerusalem and the empty tomb of Christ made very little difference to him. Don Marcos was somewhat disappointed with his hero, but he consoled himself with the thought that after all his own ideas belonged to the Middle Ages. Decidedly, he and Martinez were men of two different periods. "Youth, youth! You belong to the Spain of the future; I to the Spain" ... and so on.

Yes; the world was progressing in new directions. He, himself, a few days later, worried by the gloomy aspect of the war on the Western Front, had forgotten all about Jerusalem. The Germans, freed from the peril presented by Russia at their backs, after making peace with the Bolsheviki, were concentrating all their troops in France, in order to make a drive on Paris. The Allies, facing this overwhelming offensive, could count only on their regular forces and those which the recent intervention of the United States might bring.

In regard to aid from this latter source Don Marcos held a fixed and decided opinion. In the first place he had felt towards the United States a certain antipathy which dated back to the Cuban war. They might possess a large fleet, because anybody can buy ships if he has money enough, and the Americans were immensely rich: but how about an army? Toledo believed only in armies belonging to monarchies, with the exception of that of France, since in the latter country the glory of military tradition was attached to the history of the first Republic.

At the beginning of the war, he had even been irritated by the importance which every one had given President Wilson. Both sides had turned to him, appealing to his judgment, and protesting against the barbarities of the respective adversary. Even Wilhelm II cabled him frequently to make a show of sincerity for his frauds, as though he considered it important to gain Wilson's good opinion.

"Just as though this man were the center of the Universe! The President of a Republic that had only a few thousand soldiers, a professor, a dreamer!..."

He understood only heads of States in uniform, their breasts covered with decorations, with both hands on the hilt of a sword, and with an immense army before them, ready to fight in obedience to orders. And this gentleman in a cut-away coat and stiff hat, with eyeglasses and a smile like that of a learned clergyman, was now the man on whom the eyes of half the world were focused with looks of hope, and he was the deciding power that some were anxious to win over and others were afraid of arguing with!

Atilio Castro laughed at Don Marcos. He was always out of sympathy with the Colonel's opinions, and seemed impressed by this new marvel in history.

"Times have changed since your day, Don Marcos. We are going to see something new. America, which a century ago was merely a European colony, will perhaps protect and save Europe now. In the meantime, we are witnessing the curious spectacle of a former University professor being the arbiter of the world. What would Napoleon say if he were to see this ninety-four years after his death?"

Toledo gloomily assented. Yes; his days had passed. Democracy, Republicanism, all these things that had made him smile, as though they were something transitory, ineffectual and out of date, were very powerful in the present world, and perhaps would finally take charge of directing its affairs. Even he felt their irresistible influence. When he saw how the President of the great American Republic protested against the torpedoing of defenseless ships, the crimes of the submarines, and finally declared war on the German Empire, Don Marcos affirmed, stammering out a confession:

"This man Wilson ... this Wilson is a decent sort of a fellow."

For him it was impossible to say more.

He approved of the man through instinctive worship of personal power, but refused to believe in the military strength of the United States. It was a land of liberty, according to him, where all considered themselves equals and this made it impossible to create a real army.

The Prince and Castro occasionally talked in his presence of the war of secession, the first war in which millions of men had taken part, applying, moreover, innumerable inventions, in which all the progress in modern armament found its source. Toledo listened, with a doubt inspired by distant events. This struggle had been among themselves: militia warfare; but to raise an army of millions of men in a country that did not have compulsory military service; to transport this army across the ocean with all the immense quantity of supplies and munitions, and to get them there, besides, in time to save Europe from the great danger.... Mere dreams! "What they call over there 'bluff'!"

Don Marcos clung to this word in order to maintain his incredulity. This race is accustomed to accomplishing tremendous things; Americans conceive of everything on a large scale: cities, buildings, industries, wealth; but afterwards they exaggerate considerably when they come to advertising and describing what they do. Everybody knew that, and the American military forces which were to crush German militarism and re-establish peace on earth, although well-intentioned, were nothing but one bluff more.

Castro approved of the Colonel's words for the first time, without any intention of making fun of him. The President had declared war, but the country did not seem disposed to follow him.

"They will probably send money, munitions, supplies, all the immense power of their wealth and production. But a big army? Where can they get one? How is an immense people accustomed to the volunteer system, and living amid the greatest prosperity, going to take up arms? What would they gain by doing so?"

But the Prince, who had often been over there, replied with an ambiguous gesture:

"Perhaps! But if they really want to enter the war, who knows! Anything might happen in that country, no matter how impossible it seems!"

The Colonel was gradually won over by the irrational enthusiasm of the general public. Since the beginning of the war, the masses, who believe in mysterious predictions and supernatural interventions, had always had some favorite people, some nation that it had been the fashion to regard as invincible and in which all hopes could be concentrated.

At the beginning it had been Russia, with its millions and millions of men, the Russian "steam roller" that had only to advance in order to crush Germany. Poor steam roller! When it had fallen to pieces, the fickle enthusiasm of the public had turned toward England. Now it was America, all the more miraculous and omnipotent because little known.

In all conversations one heard the name of an American, both at elegant teas and in humble cafÉs; the one American well known in Europe: Edison, the inventor. He would settle everything. Up to the present time he had remained out of sight and silent, but now that his country had entered the war they would see something miraculous. In a few hours, invisible and implacable powers would crush to bits the invading armies; the submarines would burst like shells under a sort of frozen light which would pursue them in the ocean depths; the aeroplanes that bombarded defenseless cities would be forced to descend, drawn by electric magnetism, as a bird is drawn toward the mouth of a boa constrictor. Edison, the wonder-worker, meant more to the popular imagination of Europe than all the soldiers and all the ships of his country.

And Toledo, who decorated his bedroom with pictures of Joffre and Foch, but believed at the same time that St. Genevieve, the patron saint of Paris, had intervened in the victory of the Marne, felt attracted by all the miracles of the American wizard, announced by every one as something sure. Science, being somewhat apart from religion, inspired in him a feeling of respect and fear. For this reason he believed blindly in its wonders, much as a zealot believes in the immense powers of the devil.

At other times his incredulity was renewed. The war could only be determined by troops. Up to that time the forces of both sides had been equal; but now Germany was bringing new divisions—those from the Eastern Front,—and was preparing the decisive blow. On the side of the Allies an equivalent or greater number of soldiers was lacking; they needed the last few drops which would fill the glass, cause it to overflow and tip the scales. America might do this. But their forces were arriving so slowly! The obstacles were so great! A few battalions of the regular American army had already marched through Paris. After that months went by without the constant tiny stream of reËnforcements becoming a torrent.

Everywhere on the Riviera, Toledo observed wounded soldiers from various countries. Only from time to time was he able to distinguish a few American uniforms, worn by men of the Medical Corps, who did not seem to have much to do. The newspapers talked about forces from the United States that occupied a sector on the front, but they were so few!

"All that talk about a million or two million men before the end of the year is mere bluff," said the Colonel. "I know something about such things, and it is easier to build a skyscraper with a hundred stories than to transport a million soldiers from one hemisphere to the other. And how about the great drive that is beginning! And France is worn out, after four years of heroism that has drained her blood!"

Every day he walked up and down in the ante-room of the Casino, waiting impatiently for the big bulletins which were written out by hand in large letters and posted on the panels by the employees. In scanning the latest telegraphic dispatches he was looking only for the beginning of the offensive announced by the enemy. This menace had shaken his faith in the victory, and kept him in a state of constant worry. Oh! If only the Americans would come in time, and in enormous numbers.

He felt it his duty to lie unblushingly to the friends who surrounded him in the ante-room, asking his opinion as a soldier.

"We will triumph; and William will have to shoot himself."

The question of his shooting himself was the one thing that will be his end, in case of a defeat.

"I know the Kaiser very well," he continued. "He is only a Lieutenant, a Lieutenant that has grown old, keeping the cracked brain swagger of youth. But he has the sense of honor of an officer who, finding himself defeated, raises his revolver to his head. You will see that that will be his end, in case of a defeat."

"He writes verse, music, and paints pictures, giving his opinion on every matter, and making people accept it, like one of those young officers who on entering a drawing room of civilians monopolize attention with their insolence and conceit, emboldened by the silence of the guests, who are afraid of provoking a duel. He is the eternal twenty-two-year-old Lieutenant whose hair has grown gray under the imperial crown, whose head has been turned a bit by the constant triumphs of his personal vanity. But once Fate turns her back on him, he will act in the same decisive manner as an officer who has gambled away the funds entrusted to his care, or committed other crimes against his honor.

"Never fear; the Lieutenant will know how to act when the hour of adversity arises. He is a mad man, a vain comedian, but he has the sense of shame of a warrior. Let me repeat: He will shoot himself."

And in his imagination he could hear the Imperial revolver-shot.

What disgusted Don Marcos was not to be able to talk about this, nor about the danger of the offensive, when he was in Villa Sirena. The friends of the Prince lived like guests at a hotel. They never were all together except during the early morning hours. They rarely sat down together at table. Some power from the outside seemed to attract them away from the Villa, driving them toward Monte Carlo. Even the Prince often lunched or dined at the HÔtel de Paris, sending word at the last minute by telephone.

This domestic disorder was accepted by Toledo as providential.

The service had suffered an unavoidable decline through the departure of Estola and Pistola. One morning they appeared, stammering and filled with emotion, minus the dress suits which were too large for them. They were going away. They were to cross the frontier that very afternoon to appear at the Barracks. They had received orders from their Consul.

They did not seem filled with enthusiasm for their new profession; but Don Marcos, through a sense of professional duty, tried to buck them up with a bit of a speech. He, too, at their age, had gone off to war of his own accord. "Respect for your officers ... love them as you would your father ... for honor ... for the flag."

The appearance of the Prince cut short his harangue. The two boys kissed their master's hand as though they were taking leave of him for eternity, and in their confusion they did not know where to put the bank notes which were given them. Imagine Estola and Pistola converted into soldiers! Even these two boys were being driven along the road of death! And the whole thing seemed so extraordinary to Michael, so absurd, that while he felt sorry for them, he also felt like laughing.

Half an hour later he had forgotten all about them. The Colonel would manage to organize new service with women, now that owing to the war it was impossible to get other servants. Besides, he was bored at Villa Sirena, and living at Monte Carlo would be something of a novelty for him.

The idlers who promenaded around the "Camembert" frequently saw him enter the Casino with an absent-minded air, like a gambler who has just thought of a new combination. The crowd in the gambling room had also seen him approach the tables as though interested in the fluctuation of chance, but they waited in vain to see him place a bet, imagining that he would play nothing save enormous sums.

His eyes seemed to see in all directions, and no sooner did the Duchess de Delille leave her seat to go over to another table, than the Prince came forward to meet her, extended his hand and smiled youthfully.

They remained motionless in the spot where they greeted each other, gazing into each other's eyes, until, warned instinctively of prying glances behind their backs, they went and sat down on a divan in a corner, and continued their conversation there. Suddenly, a murmur from the crowd around a table would cause her out of professional curiosity to leave Lubimoff and to hasten thither.

Alicia would smile the proud bitter smile of a dethroned queen. During the preceding day people had talked of nothing save her. Her name had traveled as far as Nice and Menton. In the evenings, at the dinner hour, families who dwelt permanently in Monaco and who are forbidden to enter the Casino, asked for news of her luck. In the cafÉs and restaurants, her name resounded, mingled with those of the Generals who were directing the war. In front of the bulletins giving the latest news, people interrupted their comments on the coming offensive, asking one another, "How did the Duchess de Delille come out yesterday?" Afternoons, when she arrived at the Casino, sightseers crowded about her to get a better view, and her friends greeted her, proudly kissing her hand. It was a silent ovation, consisting of glances and smiles, like that which greets the entry of a famous soprano on the stage which has witnessed her triumphs.

Her battle with the Casino lasted about two weeks; she won, lost, and won again. She began her "work" at three o'clock in the afternoon, and remained at it until midnight. The tea hour passed, then the dinner hour, without her being aware of it. When the gambling was closed she came away, leaning on Valeria's arm, greeting every one amiably, exhausted and victorious. Sometimes, like an invalid fed against her will, she accepted the sandwiches and a cup of tea which her companions brought her at the gambling table.

One night—a memorable one—she had won continuously up to the closing hour of the Casino. She counted the bank notes that the head employees had given her with a hard, enigmatic smile. There were four hundred of them, each of a thousand francs. They protruded from her hand bag and from Valeria's. Even her friend, "the General," was obliged to help her, by taking care of several packages of them.

"If they hadn't closed I would have broken the bank," she said with the vanity of a conqueror.

Clorinda accompanied her in the carriage as far as her house, repeating prudent advice: "Don't go on; keep the money. It is impossible to go any higher." Valeria, during the course of the evening, kept repeating the same words: "It is tempting God to keep on."

But Alicia refused to listen to her. Her inspiration was not exhausted. There still remained great things for her to do; and when the time came for her to stop, she would be aware of it sooner than the rest.

Michael had been present at this struggle, which had been annoying to him. Every afternoon, when he entered the Casino, he called himself names, as though he were doing something cowardly. Why did he come to witness the acts of that mad woman? She did not seem to be aware of his presence! At first a look, a smile, and during the remaining hours she had eyes for nothing save the gambling and the croupiers. In spite of this, the Prince kept coming regularly.

To excuse himself, he recalled certain words which the Duchess had said. The day following her first famous winning, she had arisen on seeing him enter the room, taken both his hands in hers to speak to him privately.

"You bring me good luck," she murmured in his ear. "I am sure that this is so. I have been winning since we became friends. Come, come all the time! Let me see you every time I raise my eyes."

She raised them, however, very, very seldom. She had other more urgent things to think of. But Michael, to quiet his angry conscience, told himself that he was there to keep his word. Besides, who knew but what she was telling the truth! The tendency to superstition, common to all gamblers, the Casino's surroundings and even Alicia's luck itself, had finally influenced the credulity of the Prince.

He tried to avenge himself for these long waits and her indifference by looking at her with scornful eyes.

"How ugly she looks!"

Yes, she was ugly, like all the women who gamble and seem to suffer at an ever increasing rate, the weight of years crushing out their youth under the stress of emotion. Every loss meant another year, every winning meant a look of tenseness which spoiled the regularity of their features. Michael took a certain joy in noting the wrinkles which fixed attention formed about her eyes. Her nose seemed to grow sharp, and two deep furrows drew down the corners of her mouth, giving her an expression of premature old age. All the little feminine attentions disappeared as the hours went by. Her hat tilted to one side; locks of hair made an effort to escape, as though disarranged by currents of human electricity darting among their roots. She seemed ten years older.

But a second voice within gave forth a different opinion. "Yes, she was very ugly, but so interesting!" Surely when she arose from the table she would be once more the same Alicia as ever.

One afternoon, on entering the Casino, he had a sense of something extraordinary happening. People were talking together, asking news, all of them hurrying toward the same table.

His friend Lewis passed him without stopping.

"It was bound to happen. She doesn't know how to play. I expected it."

A little farther on Spadoni came forward to greet him.

"She would never listen to me. She acts on her whims. She doesn't follow any system. She is done for."

All the gamblers were talking as though they were lamenting somebody's death; but it was a question of hypocritical compunction, inwardly they felt a sense of envious triumph on seeing at an end that absurd run of luck, which had embittered their evenings.

Lubimoff, thrusting his head between the shoulders of two onlookers, saw Alicia at the same time that she raised her eyes. Their glances met. She looked at him with dismay, as though lamenting, making him responsible for her misfortune. "Why did you abandon me?"

The Prince fled: it hurt him to see her with that humble look of rage, like that of a cornered sheep, bleating in pain and defending itself.

At nightfall he returned to the Casino. A few people were still talking about the Duchess, but in low tones, with sad gestures, as though referring to a dying person. The crowd had thinned about the table. He saw Alicia in the same place. Valeria stood behind her chair, with a sad face, while DoÑa Clorinda bent over her friend, talking in her ear. He guessed her words. She was pleading with her to come away: next day she would have better luck. But she did not seem to hear, and remained with her eyes fixed on the few five hundred and a thousand franc chips, which were all that remained. Suddenly she lost her patience, and turning her head she said one word, nothing more, something very strong, but nothing without precedent in that intimate friendship which was broken off at least once every week. DoÑa Clorinda immediately retorted, looking daggers, and went away, haughtily and disdainfully, while Valeria looked at the ceiling in despair.

Michael fled once more. He was frightened by the expression on Alicia's face and the nervous hostility in her voice, which he had not been able to hear, but which was easily guessed from the trembling of her lips. He wandered about the rooms for half an hour, listening at a distance to the words of those who were still talking about the Duchess. One afternoon had been sufficient to sweep away all that she had won in many successful days. Her misfortune was as extraordinary as her good luck had been. She had not won a single bet.

Suddenly he felt the contact of a nervous hand on his shoulder. He turned his eyes. It was Alicia, but with an eager gesture, and with an expression which was both bold and imploring.

"Have you any money?"

Her voice and the expression on her face were not unknown to Michael. Before the war, the Casino had been the scene of his most unexpected and dazzling conquests. Women who were very cold and treated him with visible antipathy, and women of well-known virtue whose very looks repelled all audacity, had approached him with an air of sudden decision, requesting a loan, and immediately asking point blank at what hour the Prince might offer them a cup of tea at Villa Sirena. He thought of the Colonel, who considered gambling the worst of women's enemies. It caused them to lose all sense of shame. In a few hours the standards built up during an entire lifetime were suddenly demolished. In order to go on gambling, they offered of their own free will what they had never thought of granting.

The Prince replied, with surprise, at this sudden request. He carried very little money on his person: he was not a gambler. How much did she want?

"Twenty thousand francs."

She mentioned the figure in the same manner as she might have said a hundred thousand or five thousand. It was the same to her at that moment. Besides, during the last few days she had lost all sense of values.

Michael replied with a laugh. Did she imagine, by any chance, that he came to the Casino with twenty thousand francs in his pocketbook, as though he were a money lender or a pawn broker?

"Ask for a loan," said the Duchess. "They will give you anything you ask for."

He went on laughing at this absurd proposition, but was won over immediately by the simplicity with which Alicia formulated her request.

"How about you? Why don't you ask for one?"

Oh, as for her!... In the midst of her proud triumph, she had forgotten to pay various debts contracted before her sudden burst of luck. At present it was useless to ask. It was a difficult moment for her; every one considered her ruined, and incapable of recouping.

"And they are mistaken, Michael; I feel the inspiration of luck. You shall see how I get on my feet again after a few days. It is my secret. If I tell it to you, fortune will abandon me. Do me this favor! Ask for the twenty thousand from that little old man over there who is looking at us. He can't refuse you; you are Prince Lubimoff. If you like we will form a partnership: I shall share half my winnings with you."

Michael kept on smiling, while inwardly he was scandalized by this proposition. Imagine the things in which this woman was trying to involve him! He, asking for money from a money lender in the Casino!

But, like certain invalids who do things most contrary to their will, no sooner did he leave Alicia with gestures of protest, than his legs mechanically took him in the direction of the divan where the old man with the short beard, and the badge of the Sacred Heart on his lapel, was squatting, with his hat in one hand and a silk cap on his bald head.

"I need twenty thousand francs."

The Prince seemed to be in doubt as he faced this little man, who had arisen, surprised and suspicious on seeing that he was talking with so lofty a personage. Was it really his own voice that he heard? Yes, it was his voice, but he felt a sensation of immense surprise, as though it were some one else who was talking. He felt a desire to withdraw without waiting for the gnome's reply; but the latter had already responded, stammering:

"Prince ... such an amount! I am a poor man. From time to time I do favors to distinguished people, two or three thousand francs ... but twenty thousand! Twenty thousand!"

He muttered this sum with a groan of torture, but meanwhile his shrewd eyes were penetrating Lubimoff like a probe. This look irritated Michael, causing him to take an interest in the operation as though his honor were at stake. Doubtless, the usurer was thinking about Russia, and the disaster of the revolution and of the impossibility of being paid this loan even though the great man were to offer all his fortune.

"You must know me," he said in an irritated tone. "I am Prince Lubimoff; I am the owner of Villa Sirena. I need twenty thousand francs; not a franc less. If you are unable...."

He was about to turn his back on him, but the dwarf humbly restrained him, considering useless on this occasion all the excuses and delays which he usually made his clients endure, like a slow torture. He slipped out between the groups of people, begging "His Highness" to wait an instant. Perhaps he did not have the entire sum with him, and was obliged to ask for aid from the Cashier of the Casino; perhaps he was going to secrete himself for a moment in the lavatories, to take bank notes from various hiding places in his clothes, even from his shoes.

Michael felt a discreet hand touch his own, thrusting between his fingers a roll of paper. The old man had returned without his seeing him come; bobbing up between two groups, small and sprightly, like an imp from a trap door on the stage.

"You know the Colonel? To-morrow he will interview you about the payment and the interest."

And the Prince turned his back without more words, leaving the usurer satisfied with his discourteous brevity. A great gentleman could not talk in any other way. He liked to have dealings with men of that sort.

Alicia, who had followed the scene from a distance, came forward to meet him, holding out her hands inconspicuously.

"Take it!" Michael's right hand thrust the bank notes forward so rudely that the offer was almost a blow.

His shame for what he had just done expressed itself in a confusion of protests.

"Women! Of all the fool things I have ever done!"

But Alicia, with the bank notes in her hand, was already thinking of nothing but the tables.

"You will see great things. You know we have formed a partnership: you get half."

Mastered once more by the invisible demon that was singing numbers and colors in her ear, she went away without thanking him.

He also left. He was afraid of meeting the money lender again, and having him bow familiarly; he imagined the entire crowd in the rooms had followed attentively his interview with the old man and had smiled when he received the money.

He left the Casino. He would never come back again: he swore it!

Castro, whom he had seen from a distance gambling at one of the tables, returned to Villa Sirena at the dinner hour. He was in a bad humor; but he forgot his own misfortune long enough to console himself by relating Alicia's mishaps:

"After losing everything in trente et quarante, she appeared at a last minute with more money: a roll of thousand franc notes. And she, who never felt any special inclination for roulette, began to play the wheel. And how she played! At first she won a few long shots, two or three; but after that nothing: she kept losing and losing! She left everything on the table. I did not see her go out, but they told me she looked like a corpse, leaning on Valeria's arm. They say she suffers from heart trouble. All I say is: it isn't every one who pretends to be a gambler that is one; you need a strong constitution. The 'General' doesn't play so much, but she is cooler and doesn't lose her head."

Michael slept badly. He was angry with Alicia. Instead of lamenting her misfortune he considered it logical. Imagine a woman trying to make money! Women can only get it from men's hands, and it is useless for them to try and get it for themselves, even by appealing to gambling. Gambling also is an enterprise for men.

In the mental twilight when one is half asleep and half awake, the Prince, lying on his bed, remembered a scene from his happier days, when his yacht was anchored in the harbor of Monaco. It was one night when he was coming from a banquet in the HÔtel de Paris. He was slightly intoxicated and was leaning in a sort of a mental haze on the arms of two pretty women, who, smiling and unsuccessful, were competing to see which one would get him. Behind him, like a retinue, came his friends, his brilliant parasites, and various women guests, his entire court. They had entered the Casino. He was not a gambler; it bored him to sit motionless at a table; he considered it childish to get interested in the whirling of a little ball of bone, or the combinations of little colored cards. There were so many more interesting pleasures in life! But that night, proud of his power, he felt a desire to fight a battle with fortune. Fortune is a woman, and he was determined to conquer it by the power of wealth, as he had conquered many another woman. The rich finally defeat even destiny with all its mysteries. He placed in front of him an enormous quantity of money to begin the struggle, and fortune refused it; or rather, began to give him money of her own, with scornful prodigality. The multi-millionaire wanted to lose and he could not. He varied his game capriciously, committed voluntary errors, and success always came forward to meet him. Finally he grew tired. It was before the war, and instead of with bone chips representing a hundred francs, they played with handsome gold coins of the same value. In front of him he had numerous and dazzling columns of this metal; and packages of bank notes.

"Who wants money?"

He began to fling it about in an enchanting rain. All except the most aristocratic women came running, tense and pale, swarming around the table, struggling for a single louis. They shoved one another, rolled on the carpet, bruising each other with hands and feet, to gain a single drop of this golden manna. Some of them struck and scratched each other, while their right hands clutched the same thousand franc note, tearing it. Hats rolled about on the ground; the hair of some of the women fell down their back, or was scattered in a cloud of false curls.

"Me, Prince! Me!"

And with clutching fingers they danced about him, in a body, as though possessed.

"Who wants money?"

The head employees intervened, angry but smiling, seeing who was the cause of the disturbance. "Your Highness, please! You are interrupting the play! Such a thing has never happened here before." But he continued flinging his money, until he had exhausted his winnings—more than sixty thousand francs—and the games went on again, with more players than before. Every one who had gathered something from the floor or caught it in the air, ran to risk it on a card or a number.

Michael dwelt on this memory which was like a triumph. He could repeat it any time he pleased; he was sure of it. He recognized that in the end every gambler finally loses, and he did not consider himself an exception to this rule. But his will dominated fortune at first, and—by withdrawing in time before the latter had a chance to recoup with the perverse cunning of an untamable female!...

The Prince finally went to sleep thinking of Alicia.

"Poor woman! She doesn't know how to play; Lewis is right: She doesn't know how.... How should a beautiful woman know, who has never thought about anything save her own person! I must help her. I am a man. Perhaps to-morrow ... to-morrow!" ...

The following day, at the breakfast hour, Don Marcos had a great surprise which worried him considerably. The Prince, who never bothered about money, allowing his "Chamberlain" to make negotiations directly with his Paris manager for the house expenses, asked him what amount he had at his disposal.

The Colonel made a mental calculation. He did not think he kept just then any more than fifteen thousand francs. He was expecting a check from the agent.

"Give it to me," Lubimoff commanded.

And immediately, as though suddenly recalling something, he calmly mentioned the debt he had contracted the afternoon before. Toledo was thoughtful for a moment on learning that he was to come to an understanding with the old money lender to return the twenty thousand francs and the payment of extraordinary interest, which might double in a few days. He recalled the luncheon during which the Prince had proposed their present solitary life. Where were the ferocious "enemies of women" now? For the Colonel suspected that behind these squanderings of the Prince and this sudden passion for gambling, lay the influence of some woman. And he who never dared stake more than a few odd coins from time to time, thinking of the enormous sums entrusted to his loyalty, was deeply worried.

While Don Marcos was on his way to the bank where the house money was deposited, the Prince walked about in the neighborhood of the Casino, waiting impatiently for the rooms to open. In the morning the crowd was very slight and very few tables were operating. Only the most desperate gamblers, after spending a sleepless night, anxious to try their new combinations as soon as possible, and sickly people who hoped to find a good seat vacant, came at that early hour.

Impatiently Lubimoff entered the anteroom, after secretly thrusting into a pocket a roll of bills which Toledo handed to him. The employees of the first shift were arriving slowly, like clerks entering an office. The cleaning women and porters in shirt sleeves had just swept up the sawdust scattered on the floor. They all looked at him from the corner of their eyes, pointing him out to one another by discreet nudges. Imagine the Prince there at that hour, when people of his station in life were still in bed! Instinctively they looked all about expecting to see some coyly dressed lady waiting to meet him unobserved at that early hour. His well-known reputation did not permit them to imagine anything save a rendezvous.

It was ten o'clock. The curtains were opened, and Michael entered brushing against the first gamblers to arrive, modest timid folk. He felt the same nervousness, impatience, and dull anger that he felt on the mornings when he had fought duels. He walked with a heavy step; his hands kept contracting as though ready to strangle the empty air. At the same time he felt the same proud confidence of a marksman, sure of hitting the bull's-eye. He defied Lady Fortune before facing her, the wench whom he had once conquered. "By God! She would see she was dealing with a man this time!"

He jerked a chair away from a hand already stretched out to take it, and sat down at a roulette table, between two dirty, badly dressed old women, who looked like witches. The employees exchanged looks of amazement, eyeing one another discreetly. The Prince betting, and at such an hour!...

"Faites vos jeux!"

The game began. Michael had no particular combination and had not thought of any. His eyes wandered over the thirty-six numbers, but only for an instant.

"That's the one," he thought. And he placed all that he could, nine louis, the maximum, on thirteen.

The ball spun about the mahogany border, and when it finally came to rest was greeted with a murmur of amazement. "Number thirteen."

A few thousand franc notes thrust in his direction by the rake of the croupier remained in front of the Prince, who sat there impassively, retaining a hard willful look. He knew it; he was sure he was making no mistake. Thirteen once more.

People looked in amazement. What folly to bet twice on the same number! But when thirteen won a second time and the Prince was paid the maximum again, a murmur from the crowd applauded the victor. Onlookers came hurrying, leaving the other tables devoid of spectators. This was going to be as famous a morning in the Casino, in spite of the smallness of the crowd, as the most celebrated afternoon and evening, when wealthy players fought with luck.

Lubimoff changed his number. It was absurd to go on with thirteen. And he placed nine louis on seventeen. The ball spun around. It was thirteen once more. He lost.

His look became harder and more aggressive. Dame Fortune was beginning to laugh at him for his lack of will power. A conqueror should feel no vacillation; it was his fault, for having given up his number. Men like him should go ahead, and impose their will, or perish without abandoning their first attitude. Thirteen as before!... And it was seventeen that won.

For a moment he thought the ground was falling away beneath his feet; he seemed to be floating in air, surrounded by mysterious forces that were weakening and finally breaking his will. He passed his hand over his forehead, as though trying to brush away, far away, his momentary weakness.

"The she-devil," he exclaimed, mentally, insulting Fortune, sure once more that he was going to enslave her.

And he went on playing.

At three o'clock in the afternoon he came out of the HÔtel de Paris. He had lunched alone, without paying any attention to the glances he had received from other tables, avoiding friendly greetings that might have started a conversation.

In his mouth was a fat cigar, and his legs, although perfectly steady, inwardly felt a certain voluptuous sensation. The food had been bad; he had scarcely touched the dishes; on the other hand he had drunk a bottle of famous Burgundy, and several glasses of cordials immediately after finishing two cups of coffee.

From the hotel steps he gave a glance of destructive hate at the square, the Casino and the Gardens. He thought with satisfaction of the possibility of a cruiser belonging to one of the nations which were carrying on war on the seas of Europe anchoring in front of that gingerbread house, and firing a few shells at it. What a wonderful sight! Then, in his imagination, he had a landing party with their machine guns disembark, to take prisoner all the people who were filling the square, men, women and even children. The world would lose nothing by it. What a city of corruption! Why the devil had his mother taken it into her head to buy the promontory of Villa Sirena, obliging him to live near this den of thieves? He even upbraided the dead Princess, with the stern uncompromising morality of every gambler who has just found himself tricked.

As he glanced over the gay, well-dressed crowd that he was condemning to slavery, he saw Alicia, alone and on foot, on the edge of the sidewalk around the "Camembert," looking at the Casino.

"Are you going in?" he said, approaching her.

The Duchess became indignant, as though he was proposing something humiliating, something that she had never done before. She enter the Casino?

"It's a rotten den, and the employees are rotters, and those who gamble—rotters too."

It was all rotten! After saying this they took each other's hands as though they had just suddenly recognized each other.

When Michael, still harping on his kind wishes, told her about the bombardment and landing party with machine guns that he had been enjoying in his imagination, the Duchess almost applauded. As far as she was concerned, she would be very glad if they destroyed everything, if they even took the sovereign Prince himself prisoner, and if, into the bargain, the invaders returned the money she had lost, she could want nothing better.

Suddenly, as if these charitable fantasies of Lubimoff told her of something, her eyes scrutinized him closely, much like those of a suspicious invalid who is able to recognize his own symptoms in those of a neighbor.

"You have been gambling."

Michael nodded sadly.

"And you have lost," she continued; "that goes without saying: I don't need to ask you. You, gambling!"

But her surprise was short.

"You have been gambling for my sake: I have guessed it. You said to yourself: 'I'm going to win what that crazy woman loses; men know more than women.' Oh, my poor boy, my poor boy, how grateful I am for your friendly intention!... How much was it?"

On hearing the sum she gave him a look of compassion, but smiled immediately, as though the comradeship of misfortune made her own losses easier to bear.

They remained silent for a moment. Then she explained her presence on the square. The night before she had sworn she would never again come near the Casino, but habit...!

"I'm alone. Valeria went away immediately after lunch. She goes around like a crazy woman on account of that scientist you have at your house. They must have made an engagement somewhere. All she talks about is Spain, because the women there marry without dowries. As for 'the General,' don't talk to me about her: I don't want to hear her name; she is dead—dead forever, as far as I am concerned! And I'm so bored all by myself; I think of things that make me weep; I go out, and my feet take me here without my realizing it."

Then she added with a graceful entreaty:

"Take me somewhere, wherever you feel like. Let's go a long ways from here. Where can we go?"

The Prince showed the same hesitation. They continually moved in the same circle, from their houses to the center of Monte Carlo, the Casino, and seemed lost if they tried to go any farther. The war had done away with private automobiles; to go on an excursion it was necessary to get a permit in advance. One could find nothing save carriages drawn by feeble horses, rejected by the Army.

"Suppose we go to Monaco?" Alicia proposed.

Monaco was in sight, on the other side of the harbor; a street car ran from there to Monte Carlo every twenty minutes, and nevertheless she made this proposal as though speaking of some remote country.

They had both spent some twenty years there, continually seeing the rock which bore on its crest the old city of the Princes; but, as though those places were painted on a back drop in the theater, it had never entered their heads to go that far. Alicia vaguely recalled a visit to the Palace of the Sovereign and another to the Museum of Oceanography, without being able to formulate her impressions. Lubimoff also from his automobile had seen the garden, the old houses, and a large square, the one day that he had visited the Prince of Monaco in his old castle.

They decided on the trip with the glee of school children, and when the Duchess went to call a cab, Michael showed a certain hesitation as he searched through various pockets.

He had no money. He had dropped it all in the roulette, absolutely all. At the hotel he had asked them to charge his lunch, handing over his last few francs to the waiter as a tip.

Alicia greeted his worried look with bursts of laughter. Lubimoff unable to pay a cabman! Monte Carlo was the only place where you could see things like that.

"Poor boy, I'll pay. You can deduct it from the twenty thousand I owe you. No; not that, no; it will be a gift. You have given women so much money, let me be the first to pay a bill for you. What a luxury! I 'keeping' Prince Lubimoff."

They had gotten into the carriage, which was beginning to descend the slope toward La Condamine harbor.

"How people stare at us!" said Alicia. "They will think I am carrying you off by force. The Duchess de Delille, ruined, seduces a multi-millionaire Prince to make him her lover and get money out of him ... and they don't know that I am the one that is paying! Come laugh a little. Are you annoyed that I should pay? Don't you think it is amusing?"

She talked of her lack of foresight and her folly with a certain pride, as though it were something which placed her above people of regular habits. The evening before she had been afraid of not having enough money left to buy food for the next day. But Valeria had spent the morning making valuable discoveries in the closets! Bank notes lost among the clothes, Casino chips forgotten among the books, and even a thousand franc bill used to wrap up an old cake of soap.

She suddenly stopped enumerating these finds.

"Look! Look!"

They were beside the harbor. She pointed out a lady who was walking along the shore, among the tall rose-bay bushes trimmed in the shape of trees. It was Clorinda. A gentleman who seemed to be waiting for her rose from the bench, and came forward to meet her. They both recognized Atilio Castro, and observed how he and "the General" greeted each other, and how they continued their promenade together, so absorbed in mutual contemplation, that they did not notice the carriage.

Michael smiled slightly. Himself there, beside Alicia, who was causing him to commit every sort of folly; and the other man waiting there for DoÑa Clorinda's arrival with all the emotion of a youth! Poor enemies of women!

"Don't talk to me about her!" Alicia exclaimed in a rage, in spite of the fact that her companion had said nothing. "I hate her.... Think of poor Martinez forgotten. She quarrels with me to get him, takes him away from me, and then comes in search of Castro, while the other unhappy fellow is wandering about Monte Carlo. What a woman! She has done me so much harm! She is to blame for everything."

And as the Prince looked at her with a questioning air she explained her complaints with a tone of conviction. Her losses which had been so rapid and so complete, could not be explained logically. She had won for two weeks, and in a few hours had lost everything. How could that be? The evening before, as she was leaving the Casino, a respectable friend, an Italian Marchioness, a former dancer, who was very wise in matters of luck, and who had been gambling for the last thirty years in Monte Carlo, had revealed to her the cruel truth: "Duchess, there is some one who hates you; an envious friend who comes to your house and has cast an evil spell over you. That is the only way to explain what has happened. You must drive out the evil luck, turning it back on the person who gave it to you.

"So you see it couldn't be clearer: an envious friend who comes to my house—Clorinda; it can't be any one else. And no later than to-morrow I am going to drive away my bad luck, in the way the Marchioness recommended. Other gamblers follow her advice and are very successful."

It was the Three Wise Kings who possessed the power of undoing evil spells. It was necessary to cleanse away the rooms which "the General" had entered by burning in a small pan gold, incense and myrrh, the three presents of the monarchs who had come from afar. She had no gold; it was inaccessible on account of the war; but, according to the Witch-Marchioness, it would be the same if she burned wheat.

"And at the same time recite a prayer in Italian, a very pretty entreaty to the Three Kings, that sounds like a song, that says—that says——"

Unable to remember it, she opened her hand bag. She kept the prayer in her coin purse, written in lead pencil on one of the cards furnished by the Casino to keep track of bets. Michael looked at the contents of the purse with the curiosity always inspired by every object belonging to a woman who interests a man. Beside the mussed handkerchief he saw a little leather case, and hanging from it a gambler's fetish, a hand with the index and little finger extended like horns, to ward off bad luck. But beside the hand there hung another golden fetish, of such an unexpected, unheard of form, that Michael refused to believe what had passed before his eyes like a rapid vision.

Alicia drew back, pushing aside his inquisitive hand: "No, no!" And she closed the purse so rapidly that the silver rings almost caught his fingers. Blushing and smiling, she held him off, giving him a sly look, and at the same time shrinking like a naughty child.

"It is a gift from the Marchioness. The best she knows, to bring luck. Mine has gone. That is all you need to know. How curious you are!"

And while she pretended to be somewhat angry in order to avoid new explanations, Michael recalled the Rosary of Satan belonging to his friend Lewis and its strange ornaments.

The carriage began to ascend the slope towards Monaco. The ships and the harbor seemed to sink with each turn of the wheel. Verdant shades cooled the road, within sight of the luminous sea and of the yellowish mountains, that were taking on a rosy color under the afternoon sun.

Michael explained to his companion the strange features of the promontory that serves as a base for old Monaco. On the Southern part, among the rocks covered with century plants and prickly pear, the vegetation of the warm countries becomes acclimated with a facility that if one takes the latitude into account is truly extraordinary. On his visit to the palace of the Prince he had found in the warmer moats of the fortress, which are like natural hothouses, the same damp sticky heat that one finds in the forests of Equador, with their Brazilian palm trees that rise many yards in quest of light. On the other hand, without leaving the rock, one finds on the northern side, where there is little sunlight, ferns from the cold countries, vegetation from the Vosges Mountains, which got here no one knows how, and took root beside the Mediterranean.

Alicia, not wishing to seem less informed, talked about the San Martino Gardens. She had not seen them, but she imagined that they were between the Museum of Oceanography and the Cathedral. Valeria had not been able to talk about anything else during the last few weeks, and described them as though they were the most interesting gardens in the world. She had seen them in good company, and this had exerted a strong influence on her powers of vision. It was doubtless Novoa who had revealed to her this Paradise.

"Supposing we were to meet them!" said Alicia, laughingly.

The carriage passed between two little towers, capped with tiles, that marked the entrance to the walled enclosure of Monaco. The harbor lay far below, with its boats that seemed so tiny. On the other side of the sheet of water shone the cupolas of the Casino and the many Monte Carlo hotels, with their multi-colored faÇades, the windows of their balconies and belvideres. It was impossible to make out the people. Automobiles were gliding along like tiny insects on the slope that descended to La Condamine.

They followed the asphalt avenue, between two narrow dense gardens, leading to the Museum of Oceanography.

"Look at them!" said Alicia with an expression of triumph, as she nudged the Prince at the same time.

When the latter turned his head all he could see were two indistinct forms hiding in a side path.

"It is they, you may be sure," continued the Duchess, laughing. "They were walking in the middle of the avenue. Valeria is very quick; she turned when she heard the sound of a carriage, and recognized me immediately. She hurried the scientist away as though she were dragging him along."

She stopped laughing, and her features took on a look of sad solemnity.

"Happy pair! What dreams! We have all gone through the same thing. The worst of it is that we want to keep on going in quest of something further, when we ought to remain satisfied with what we have."

The Prince nodded, repeating briefly:

"Happy pair!"

His voice sounded like a requiem. These successive meetings had made him think of the end of the community of which he was the ridiculous head. First of all, Castro; then, Novoa. Even the Colonel at that very moment was walking up and down in front of a millinery shop waiting for the gardener's little girl. Spadoni was the only one left, but his loyalty counted for little. As far as the latter was concerned, nothing feminine existed except the roulette wheel.

The carriage stopped beyond the Museum of Oceanography, where the San Martino Garden began. Alicia paid the driver.

"We must economize," she said gravely. "We shall return on foot."

They followed a network of winding paths, ascending and descending the gulleys of the slope. The tiny plateaus had been converted into stone lookouts, from which the view embraced an immense expanse of sea. Occasionally at dawn one could distinguish the distant profile of the Mountain of Corsica. Since the gardens were far above the Mediterranean, the horizon line was so high that one seemed to be looking upwards when viewing it. The pine trees rose in slender black colonnades and between the thin trunks one could see the dark Mediterranean suspended like a curtain. Only the murmuring tops of the sharp trees emerged in the diaphanous azure of the skies. Below the vegetation was composed of wild hardy plants breathing out strong odors, plants that were unaffected by the salty exhalations of the sea; prickly pear, lobes of which were surmounted by red fruit; small century plants whose twisted blades intertwined like tentacles of green pulp.

Alicia admired this garden. According to her it was a maritime garden, in harmony with the nearby Museum and the landscape. The trunks of the trees seemed like the masts of ships; the plants amassed at their feet had the radiating enveloping form of the monsters of the ocean depths. Other vegetation of a foreign origin recalled images of warm countries, and of distant parts, filled with odors and swarming with crowds of yellow and copper-colored men. Through the straight trunks of the trees, one could see five schooners, motionless on the horizon with their sails hanging.

A train of smoke followed the evolutions of a slim torpedo boat steaming around the white, timid flock, like a watch dog.

Looking over the stone balconies one could peer into the ocean to enormous depths. The bold red cliff buried itself vertically in the waters darkened by shadows, or took shelter behind landslides of rocks continually surrounded by foam. On one side Cap-Martin advanced, repelling the onrush of the waves, circles of white caps that constantly succeeded one another, rising from the azure meadows; still farther on lay the Italian coast, showing rose-colored through the melancholy afternoon mist, and on the opposite side lay Cap-d'Ail and Cap-Ferrat, above whose backs embossed with the green of the seas, and dotted with the white of the villas—the golden winding sheet, which was to enshroud the dying sun, began to rise.

"Beautiful! very beautiful!"

Alicia displayed a girlish delight. They sat down in view of the sea, slowly drinking in the vibrant calm, in which mingled the trembling of the pines, the deep churning of the invisible foam, the breath of the azure plain, and the rustling of the earth, grazed by rosaries of ants, by chains of caterpillars, and by the busy work of the black beetle, and at the same time deeply stirred by the awakening of the roots.

From time to time human footsteps sounded on the sand of the winding path. They came from invalids or convalescents who were passing through the gardens on coming out of the Museum; people from Monaco returning to their homes after having taken the sun on a bench; fat housewives who kept their knitting in a bag; old men leaning on canes, who perhaps had never gone to sea, but who looked like old Genoese sailors. Also a few pairs of lovers passed slowly. They would appear at a turning of the path with their arms around each other's waists, silent, looking at each other, and observing that there was another couple on the bench, they unclasped, and suddenly pretended to be carrying on a conversation. As soon as possible they gained the nearest turning to resume their tender entwining, not without having first greeted the Prince and the Duchess with a smile, as though they saw in them another pair of lovers.

"And just to think that we have never come here before!" said Alicia. "You, at least, own magnificent gardens; but I, living in a villa which is simply a house with a few trees around it and has no other views than the opposite building, have been so stupid to have spent the afternoon in the Casino, dark and shut in like a wine cellar. How awful!"

She shuddered on thinking of the Casino. It seemed impossible to her now that during the very hours when this garden lay stretched out beside the sea, with its luminous sylvan splendor she should have been able to live in that half light of artificial illumination or in that nasty, unwholesome atmosphere.

"There are many beautiful things in the world," she continued, "for which money is not necessary. Just to think that if we had not lost we would not be here! It is almost better to be poor."

Michael laughed at her earnestness. No; it was not pleasant to be poor; but she was right in saying that to enjoy many beautiful things it was not necessary to have money.

"We, ourselves," she added, after a long pause, "have known each other only since we lost our wealth. Who knows but what if we had been born poor we would have understood each other better when we were young! I have often thought so."

Of course! And since Michael had been there on the bench, beside her, he had been thinking the same thing. Alicia's joy at the splendor of the afternoon, her enthusiasm on seeing this rustic garden overlooking the sea, far from certain people, without whom she formerly would have thought life intolerable, far from gambling, which was the only remedy to fill the emptiness of her life—all this flattered and delighted the Prince, like a discovery in harmony with his desires. At present he saw her in a very different light from that in which he had imagined her in former years. And he, too, surely seemed like a very different person in her eyes than he had in the past. Before, they had been separated by an enormous wall, wealth, that gave rise to pride and eagerness for domineering.

He felt the need of going on talking. Something was surging within him, causing words to rise to his lips in an irresistible tide.

A voice within seemed to warn him. "You are going to commit some monstrous folly. Look out!—You are on the road to mixing up your life again——" It was the old Lubimoff in him that was talking; the Lubimoff who had recently arrived from Paris to take refuge in his Ark, far from the vain longings that make up the happiness of the majority of men; it was the stern chief of the "enemies of women."

But the harsh, mournful inner voice awoke no echoing response. The Prince despised this phantom that still remained within him, lamenting over the ruins it found there.

Up to that moment he had been inhaling with delight the perfume of that woman. It seemed to mingle with the perfumes of the afternoon, communicating its essence to all Nature. He saw the sky, the sea, the trees, and everything in fact in terms of her, as though she filled all space.

He, too, had made a discovery that afternoon. He thought with horror of the loneliness of Villa Sirena, just as she had been thinking of the Casino. These gardens which every one might enjoy, seemed to him more beautiful than those he owned, and which every one envied him. How had he ever been able to walk around his villa, through its magnificent and lonely avenues, when there existed in the world the marvelous pleasures of sitting on a public bench beside a woman, or walking close to her, with an arm around her waist, like those poor soldiers and sailors?

Once more he heard the voice: "Fine, Prince! In love like a school-boy when you're over forty. Go on with your foolishness, if it amuses you!... What would the other 'enemies of women' say?"

But he refused to listen to this last protest from the other hostile and forgotten half of his personality.

"Our life has been a mistake," he said aloud, with a certain vehemence, in order not to show his emotion. "You, too, must realize that I think the same—that I acknowledge my error—because I—because I, for some time—have been in love with you!... Well, I have said it! Now laugh if you like."

She did not feel like laughing. She gave a slight exclamation, looked at him for a moment, and turned away as though avoiding the questioning glance in his eyes. She had had a presentiment that this was coming, sooner or later, but her breath was taken away on actually hearing it!

There was a long silence.

"What is your answer?" the famous Prince Lubimoff, adored by so many women, finally asked with timidity.

Alicia looked at him again.

"Aren't you joking? Isn't it a mere whim inspired by the beauty of this afternoon—so poetic?"

Michael protested with a gesture. How could she take as a caprice the grave decision that he had finally reached after so long and difficult a debate within, the way one evolves a truly great decision!

"If I were like most women, I would reply: 'How many women have you said the same thing to?' But such a question is stupid. One may have said: 'I love you,' to a woman, in all sincerity and some time later repeat the same words to another, with still more sincerity. I'm not going to ask you to how many you have said what you have just said to me. Perhaps you never said it to any one before. To fulfill your desires it wasn't necessary to exert yourself, playing a comedy of deep affection: they sought you passionately; like a Sultan, you needed only to throw your handkerchief as a signal.... But when it comes to me! Remember, Michael: as children we hated each other; later on, when I was willing, you were not. And now we are beginning to grow old! Now that I possess only the remains of what I once was and haven't the same freedom any longer, since I have—you know what...! It is absurd, and that is why I laugh. No: never!"

It was the Prince's turn to speak. They had hated each other, that was true, and now he considered that hate as fortunate. What a misfortune for both of them if marriage had united their two enormous fortunes and their two prides, more enormous still.

"We would have separated a week later; perhaps the same day," Michael continued. "I even suspect that I would have beaten you."

"And I you," said the Duchess. "No place would have been large enough to hold us both. It would have been necessary for one of us to give in to the other. And neither one of us would have thought of making such a sacrifice."

"I might say the same," he continued, "about the night when we dined together. I am glad of my absurd and ridiculous conduct on that occasion. Had I given in, there would be an invincible barrier between us now; we would never have met again, and we would not be here saying to each other what we are saying now."

She assented.

"We would not be here, that is certain. You would have kept a frightful memory of me; I know very well what I was like then. Neither would I have sought you out, even though my life depended on it. Thanks to your flight that evening we can still be friends, eternal friends, brothers if you like; but why do you talk to me about love? It doesn't belong to our age. The time has passed. What do you see in me now that you did not when I was young?"

"I see your misfortune."

The voice of the Prince sounded grave and deeply sincere as he said this.

He had reflected for a long time, before answering, when he had asked himself the same question as Alicia's. He was sure that he had begun to love her the day when she had come to Villa Sirena to confess her ruin and to ask him to forget her debt to him. Poor Duchess de Delille, accustomed to spending millions each year, the proprietress of precious mines, and having to live by gambling like an adventuress!... Afterwards, beside her bed, seeing her tears, and listening to the great secret of her life, the hidden motherhood that had made her weep, he had become definitely conscious of this love. During the last few days, seeing her victorious in the Casino, his love had been clouded; he cared less for her. Later, finding her ruined and sick with sadness, his affection was renewed; and to help her, he had even become a gambler, he, who was incapable of doing this even for his own salvation!

"You can't understand me; you are a woman. Often in my life, other women have said to me, after some unexplainable act of theirs: 'It is useless to try: men can never succeed in understanding us.' I say the same: A woman cannot understand a man either. I love you now because you inspire pity in me, and pity leads to tenderness and tenderness is true love, love such as I have never felt before. Each one loves in his own way. The majority of women need to feel proud when they love; the person they love must arouse the envy of others through being brave, handsome, wealthy or talented. Man almost always loves through pity, through tender compassion inspired by woman. He never feels more in love than when a woman's head reclines against his breast with the abandon of weakness; and when his hand is buried in her hair, it finds a tiny delicate head—smaller than he had ever imagined—a head that is filled with divine words, irresistible charms, and noble impulses, but which rarely has that force of thought which makes man superior to her. Her adorable arms are not strong enough to protect her. And man, seeing her so lovely and so weak, feels his passion increase with pity and the desire to protect her."

"No," she said. "Woman, too, knows the meaning of compassionate love. A man for whom she feels indifference suddenly interests her, when she sees that he is unhappy; and a woman, who hates her lover one day, returns to him the next, when she feels that he is in danger. She never speaks more tenderly than when she says, 'My poor little boy!'"

The Prince assented with a gesture. That was all very well. But immediately he returned to the subject which interested him.

"To-day we both know misfortune; I, as well as you, since I have lost what distinguished me from other men, and which I shall never perhaps recover. But your situation is still worse; you are a woman, you are poorer, and I feel attracted to you and tell you what I never would have told you if, shut up within our own pride, we had both kept our former places in the world."

He went on talking in a soothing tone almost in her ear, coming closer to her, and breathing the perfume of the fur boa around her neck, which seemed to have concentrated in itself the perfume of her whole body.

He repeated what he had thought in the nights when he had struggled with his former dread; thoughts that he had vigorously resumed shortly before, as he was sitting silently by her side in the carriage. He talked of the future. They might still be happy; the love he offered her was of the quiet, lasting kind; an autumnal love, a love that would be for all time, with no dramatic complications, peaceful, tranquil, sweetly uneventful, like the long winter evenings beside a fire.

She laughed with a pained expression.

"You forget who I am; you talk as though the past did not exist, as though you were not yourself and as though all the stories that weigh against my name did not exist. If some one else were to make me this proposal, who knows!... I am weary and the thought of a quiet future attracts me. But you!... With you it would be impossible: It would end disastrously. I prefer that we be friends, without any thought of love. It is safer and more lasting."

On seeing his look of dismay, Alicia went on talking. She was not afraid of living with him because of what people might say. It is true that she had a husband, who now in the throes of a senile passion would refuse to grant her a divorce. But what did she care for an obstacle like that, or for what people would say about it!... She had done more daring things in her life!

"It is simply that I do not want to. Don't ask me why: I could not explain it to you; or I should say, you would not understand me. I repeat what other women have said to you: 'You are a man, and cannot understand women.' No, I don't want to. I shall speak more plainly: Another man might succeed in interesting me—I don't know. We are so weak! Our wills play us such strange tricks! But with you, no.... We know each other too well: It is impossible."

Michael spoke in a tone of sadness and chagrin.

"I don't interest you: that is easy to see."

Alicia once more laughed heartily and with one of her hands she tapped those of the Prince which were clasped together.

"Silly! Do you really think I don't care for you at all. If I felt indifferent toward you would I have sought you formerly, and would I be here with you now?"

He was disconcerted. "Well, then?" And he made an effort to discover what obstacle stood in the way of his desire. If it was on account of what had happened in her past life, he had forgotten it. He, Prince Lubimoff, had had many affairs that it was better not to recall."Let's not talk about the past at all. You are a different woman. I know what your life has been during the last few years; besides, the other morning you told me what you have been since your son began to live by your side. I take you from the time you recognized the seriousness of life, on seeing beside you a man formed from your own flesh and blood. I have forgotten the Venus of former years, the Helen of the 'old man on the wall.' I desire you, seeing you as you are to-day, the Venus Sorrowful, weeping, suffering and in need of consolation and care that will sustain and sweeten life."

She stopped smiling. Her lips trembled with a pitiful expression of gratitude; her eyes were moist with tears.

"No," she said in a humble voice. "It is impossible for that very reason. My son! How my son has changed me! I know what all this love means. We are not two children to be deceived by dreams of purity and talk about the soul and heaven, while our bodies are drawn together by a natural impulse. If I accept your love, I know what that means at once, perhaps before the dawning of a new day. Can you imagine such a thing? My son,—I don't know where he is, perhaps he is dead. At least he is suffering at the present moment hardships which a beggar woman would not allow a son of hers to suffer, and I, in the meantime, abandoning myself to a great love, to a passion such that it would absorb all my time and thoughts, as though I were still in my early youth.... Oh, no! How shameful! I know what love between us fatally demands, and it frightens me. I feel powerless in the face of things which formerly seemed to me as nothing. You have spoken the truth: I am a different woman."

The Prince regained hope on learning the nature of the obstacle. Her son was still alive: he was sure of it, He had written to the King of Spain and to influential friends of his in Paris; he had even sent letters to Germany through diplomatic channels. They might find him any moment; he would succeed in returning him to his mother's side. Why should the poor boy stand in the way of both their futures? Her son knew life; the years that he had spent with his mother had familiarized him with the irregularities which are so common in the world of the fortunate. He would not consider it unusual for her, submitting to a marriage that was not a lie, to rebuild her life discreetly with a man whom she had known since her youth. Besides, he would love him like a younger brother. He could count on influential friends capable of helping the boy if he wanted to work. When he died what was left of his fortune would go to him.

Alicia clasped one of his hands with the tenderness of gratitude. "How good you are!" But suddenly she dried her tears, and her eyes shone with a glow of energy that seemed to reflect her struggle with herself, and she continued, in a firm tone:

"No, no. I don't want to. I am looking to the immediate future: to what would happen to us if I gave in to your glowing words; I can see my son—or I should say, I cannot see him, I don't know what has become of him, I don't know whether or not he is alive. I tell you no. It is useless for you to insist."

There was a long silence. A soldier passed with his head bandaged beneath his kepis and a flower behind his ear. He was smiling at a red-faced girl, who was leaning on his arm. They were both humming a tune. The Prince and the Duchess separated slightly on the bench, and remained in silence, he, looking on the ground, absorbed and frowning, she, with her eyes on the horizon line, following the slow progress of the schooners, the sails of which were filling with the breeze that announced the coming twilight.

The obstinacy with which Michael kept his eyes riveted on the ground caused Alicia to make a mistake. Her ankles showed somewhat owing to her posture and her short skirt; trim ankles with the whiteness of her skin visible through the meshes of snuff-colored silk.

"You are looking at my stockings?" she asked, her mood suddenly changing from sadness to gaiety. "Look. What you see on the side there is not embroidery, it is darning. My maid mends them nicely. What can you expect? We are poor."

And doubtless, for the sake of amusing her frowning companion, she went on to enumerate in gay tones the various difficulties arising from her poverty. Oh, the war, with the terrible cost of living! Silk stockings were so bad! One got holes in them after putting them on once, and they came only at fabulous prices. She preferred to prolong the existence of those that she had kept since the days of her wealth, because they were stronger. She might say the same of her dresses. It had been two years since her wardrobe had received any replenishing, so frequent before.

"We are poor," she repeated, with mock solemnity. "Besides, we are fond of gambling, and, like all gamblers, we lose thousands of francs and economize on the little things that make life pleasant."

She had been waiting for an enormous stroke of luck after which she would stop playing and begin to think again of the wardrobe.

But the Prince, by his gestures and the expression on his face gave her to understand how little he was interested in these confidences. It was useless for her to try and change the conversation. Michael, offended by Alicia's negative reply, was still absorbed in his question. Perhaps with another man she would have shown herself more clement.

She realized that she must return to the subject which interested her companion, and said with masculine frankness:

"I know what is the matter with you. I am going to forget we belong to different sexes and talk to you like a comrade, just as I talked to you that night in my study. I know the life you are leading; I know also all about the 'enemies of women': a silly idea. What you need, after several months of living alone like a maniac, is a woman. Choose from those about you; you can find them whenever you like, younger and more beautiful than I, who am beginning to see myself as I am. Why do you choose me? Why do you disturb my tranquillity, now that I have forgotten all about such things?"

The Prince smiled bitterly at the suggested remedy. He had often thought of it. The censor that he kept within had repeated the same advice: "Find a female, and it will all pass away immediately; a woman who inspires only a momentary interest; no women and no love complications. Do what you recommended to Castro." He had frequented the Casino with the resolute air of a slaughter-house man about to choose his prey from the flock. He would glance over the troop of girls in the gambling rooms, who kept one eye on the green baize, while with the other they watched the men who were walking about behind them.

He felt physically attracted by certain women; by one, because of her features, by another, because of her figure or stature, and by some, because of their strange ugliness or stimulating irregularity of form and feature, which affected his nerves much as sharp or biting food affects the palate. He had had only to make a sign or say a brief word to many who, seeing themselves noticed by that famous person, smiled ready to follow him. But suddenly he felt the dislike which is inspired by things repeated to the point of satiety, and by the emptiness of what is familiar to the point of weariness. He could not expect anything new; he was horrified at the thought of the vain prattle of an unknown woman desirous of appearing interesting; of the lies inspired by a sudden and false sentimentality; and by the gross animalism of the pairing which would end the tiresome preliminaries. No; he couldn't. Only once, with a desperate energy of a patient gulping down a disgusting medicine, he had followed one of these beautiful animals, and shortly afterwards he felt disgusted with his baseness and ashamed of his backsliding.

"It is you; you and no one else," he said gloomily. "You, or no one."

Alicia replied in the same grave tone. She knew by experience what this meant "We desire with greater eagerness what is impossible for us to obtain; we single out as unique whatever is beyond our grasp."

But these reasonings exasperated Lubimoff to the extent of making him unjust.

"I know you," he said, drawing nearer on the bench, as he gazed at her more closely, with angry, passionate eyes. "I know what you women are like; you're all vain and revengeful. You can't forget the evening you wanted me and I was not willing, and now you are taking delight in my torment; you enjoy making me suffer."

"Oh, Michael!" she interrupted, in a tone of protest.

The Prince continued to express his rancour, and his indignation stirred Alicia more than the humble question of a few moments before. It was the desperate pleading of a patient who is past recovery and desires to return to normal life.

"I love you.... I need you. I'll get you!"

Above the promontory of Cap-d'Ail the orange-colored globe of the sun was descending. Its lower edge was already touching the undulating line of garden and buildings. For a moment its rays were concentrated in a sheaf seen through the colonnade of a pergola, as though showing itself through an arch of triumph before dying. A dark azure light seemed to emerge from the sea driving the fading gold of the afternoon from the gardens.

"No!... No, I won't!"

Alicia's voice suddenly broke the vibrant silence with the tremulousness of surprise, and immediately changed to a long gasp, as though something were weighing on her lips. Michael had thrown both his arms around her shoulders, mastering her, drawing her breast forward, pressing it against his own. His lips sought hers, but she made an effort to resist, by turning away with a violent straining of her neck. Finally the moan of protest ceased. Both heads remained motionless.

"Michael ... Michael!" she sighed, freeing herself for a moment from the caress. But a moment later she submitted again to those lips which pursued hers so eagerly.

She spoke in a tone of surrender. She was suddenly back in her past life, trembling at the contact of all those foreign things which seemed absolutely new through long continence. His ardent lips had overpowered her, awakened her from a dream that had lasted for years, in a sleep longer and deeper than Michael's.

She forgot everything around her. Her eyes were still open but the vision of the sea, the golden sunset in the sky, and even the pine boughs forming a canopy above their heads, had disappeared from her gaze.

Suddenly she saw them all once more, and at the same time she drew back her shoulders repelling him.

"No, I won't.... Stop! They might see us. How crazy of us!"

The Prince was an athlete, but his emotion weakened him. Besides, his energy was scattered in the double effort of trying to master the woman and at the same time of enjoying her caress in the overwhelming fury of passion. She bent and straightened several times, with all the suppleness of a reptile, finally succeeding in escaping from the chain of his arms, as she gave a sigh of weariness and relief.

Lubimoff, coming to himself again, saw Alicia standing in front of him, smoothing her disordered clothing, and raising her hands to her hair, to her tilted hat and her boa, which was slipping from her shoulders.

"Let us go," she said, with angry brevity.

And the Prince followed her, crestfallen, repenting his violence. After walking a few steps, she seemed moved by his silence, which showed his repentance, and smiled again:

"It is quite evident that from now on I must not see you alone. I forgot that you were a sailor, accustomed to making port in a hurry without caring to lose any time." They walked along slowly, in a tranquillity like that of the serene twilight.

On leaving the gardens, they found themselves cut off by the Museum. Must they return by the way they had come? Michael discovered on one side of the building a rustic stairway cut at intervals in the rock, the hollows of which were filled with brick steps. It descended to the edge of the sea in various flights of stairs, and at the farther end, a walk following the edge of the coast led to the harbor.

She hesitated for a moment at the archway of the entrance.

"I warn you," she said, shaking her finger at Michael, "that if you return to your old tricks, I shall call for help. Do you promise me you'll be good? Word of honor?... All right; go on ahead: I don't trust you."

He went ahead down the stairway to explore. The walls of the Museum seemed to expand as they continued to descend. Besides the building with its roof at their feet, there was a second building below, rising with its stone walls pierced by large windows, from the rocky slopes. At a turn of the path, the Prince faltered to wait for his companion. She was slowly descending, maintaining a distance of several steps between them. Her feet were higher than Lubimoff's head, and it was only necessary for the latter to raise his eyes slightly to see the stockings the darning in which Alicia had explained.

With the lightness of a spring released, he slipped up the various steps that separated them.

"Michael! I'll shout!" she exclaimed on seeing him coming, and she held out her hands to repel him, trying at the same time to flee.

With his arms he had embraced the lower part of that adorable body. He could not climb any further; Alicia's hands repulsed his head with a nervous violence. And he in passionate madness pressed his lips to her feet and her ankles, kissing her skirts wherever he could reach them.

She was angry at feeling that she could not stir and would be unable to escape.

"Let me go! It's ridiculous! Stop!"

The Prince's hat rolled down the steps, knocked off by a blow from her slender hands, as, blindly, she defended herself.

This incident brought him to his senses. Yes; as a matter of fact, it was ridiculous. And as he saw that Alicia intended to retrace her steps, returning to the garden, Michael to inspire her confidence ran down the stairway without turning his head, to see whether she was following him.

They met at the edge of the sea, on the wide path that wound among the loose rocks bordered with foam, and the nearly vertical walls of the cliff. The flat places and hollows in the stone had been made use of, on this promontory, that had so few soft surfaces, to construct the few houses that sheltered the families of the employees in Monaco. Along the upper edge of the cliff appeared the green line bordering the lofty gardens and cut at intervals by the old works of fortification.

They were the sloping bastions, with sentry posts, like those one sees in old engravings or in stage settings. Huge stone facings with Latin letters sang the praises of the various sovereign Princes, who had built these costly works of defense, now antiquated and worthless. Lubimoff expected to see appear from these sentry posts a grenadier in a white uniform with scarlet facings, wearing, above his black mustache and powdered wig, a golden miter.

They walked slowly along in the twilight. Above them shone the orange light of the setting sun, casting a mild red glow on the jutting rocks, the trees, and the white and yellow faÇades of the buildings. At the edge of the sea, the shadow was a deep blue shade, like moonlight shadow. The sky, blood-red in the West, was invisible for them behind the rocky cliffs of Monaco. They could see it only in the direction of Italy, and there it was growing darker and denser every minute, preparing for the first luminous piercing of the stars.

They met various fishermen who were returning home loaded down with baskets and nets.

Alicia felt worried in certain bends of the path so completely deserted. Later, on seeing a house or a passerby approaching, she resumed the conversation. What she was afraid of was stopping along the way, and sitting down with the Prince on the little parapet bordering the seashore. In the meantime they continued walking!

Without protesting, she allowed Lubimoff to put his arm in hers, leaning upon it. He expressed such deep humility! He seemed repentant for the liberties he had taken; and asked her forgiveness with a pale smile. Besides, he talked to her about her son with soothing optimism. All her fears were unfounded; her son would return: he was sure of it. She would receive good news almost any moment, perhaps that very night.

Her George was a man, and no matter how much he might love his mother, some day he would fall in love with another woman whom he would care for more deeply, and would build up a separate existence, like all the rest.

"And you, who may still consider yourself young, you, who have the right to long years of happiness, do you want to give up everything like an old woman? Why? Why be in a hurry about that?"

She bowed her head without knowing what to reply, and her emotion was such, that she made not the slightest movement when his arm freed itself from hers and encircled her waist. Thus they walked along, closely linked, forming a single body, taking step after step mechanically, without watching where they were going. With his eyes fixed on hers, he closely watched her face, hoping for a glance, or a monosyllable that would mean acceptance. Alicia was afraid of meeting those imploring eyes, and turned her own away.

"Tell me yes," Michael murmured, "tell me that you will. It isn't for nothing that we have met; it is not for nothing that you sought me out. We shall rebuild our lives that have been so nearly wrecked by our vanity and pride. Let us be, although it is rather late, what we ought to be to one another."

"No," sighed Alicia. "I can't.... My son!..."

And immediately afterwards she hastened to murmur, as though repenting:

"Yes; perhaps ... later ... but not now. How shameful! When my mind is at ease, when I don't feel this worry that is killing me. I love you; is that enough? I love you."

These two words sufficed the Prince. He, who had gone to the farthest extreme of domination with so many women without ever feeling satisfied, contented himself with these brief words, which sounded in his ears like happy music.

Instinctively, his arm dropped below her waist, while his other arm drew her head to one of his shoulders.

There was a kiss, a long kiss, without either of them pausing in their walk. Alicia offered no resistance, and shortly afterwards, her lips, animated by a feverish awakening, responded to his kiss, making it more passionate, more vibrant and endless. She no longer felt any fear; they were walking along, and it was impossible for her lover to repeat the liberties he had dared to take in the garden. Moreover, she inwardly confessed, with a certain shame, the delight aroused in her by that violence.

"I love you!" she sighed, without knowing what she was saying. "I love you; but not that, no! Let us love each other like children. It is ridiculous at our age—but so sweet."

At that moment Lubimoff's spirit was like her own. This simple kiss seemed to him the greatest pleasure he had ever known. Life opened up enchantments of which he had never dreamed. It seemed to him that he was gazing on the most beautiful landscape in the world. How interesting were the old fortifications! What a great man Albert of Monaco was to build that lonely asphalt path, so that he might walk along it with his lips pressing the lips of a woman.

They walked along as though they were intoxicated, in a continual zigzag between the parapet and the wall of the cliff, their lips pressing, their eyes almost touching, as though nothing existed beyond them, and they actually imagined that they were walking in a straight line. From a distance one would have thought they were two adversaries struggling, staggering, as they jostled each other in the fight.

Suddenly mastered by desire, he stopped and refused to go on.

"No, no!"

Her will still shaken by her recent emotion, Alicia protested at this danger, but she forced herself to reiterate her refusal.

His lips had separated from hers. There was an aggressive gleam in his half-shut eyes. His hands fell upon her hips, and clinched like claws.

"I won't: I told you I won't! Come!"

She struggled in his arms with the agility of a gymnast, and in breaking free from his grasp there was a sound of tearing clothes.

"Look, you villain! Look what you've done!"

She was standing motionless, a few steps away, with her fur boa falling from one of her shoulders, while at the other she was looking for the tear that her dress had just suffered.

Michael, behind her, saw that one sleeve was almost torn away, giving a glimpse of her white flesh, and the seductive hollow under her arm.

He repented his violence, and the clumsiness of his hands, which like those of a drunken sailor broke what he caressed.

Once more Alicia took pity on his childish embarrassment.

"No, don't worry about that. It is a dress I have had for two years: it is so old, that it tears just by looking at it. That is one of the inconveniences of walking with a beggar."

But she finally became worried by this tear which was so visible. She was going to enter Monte Carlo on foot or by street car. What would people say, seeing her in such a state!

"A pin: have you got a pin?"

This request increased the remorse of the Prince. Where could a man find a pin? While Alicia was feeling for one without avail, he thought of returning to the Museum or scaling the rocks to one of those houses where the employees of the Prince live. He would have given a hundred francs for a pin—but he remembered that his pockets were empty.

He began to search his clothes while she searched hers, although he was certain that it would be useless.

Suddenly he smiled triumphantly.

"Here is your pin."

It was from his necktie! A famous pearl, admired by the women, and which he had never been willing to give away, because it was a gift of the Princess Lubimoff.

He was obliged to mend the tear at the shoulder himself, sighing with vexation.

"You don't know how," said Alicia laughing. "Look out that you don't prick me. How clumsy!"

But he finally felt glad of his clumsiness. He had to touch her naked arm with his fingers; and he quivered as he touched the soft skin, which preserved in its velvety shadows a certain mystery of passion.

"Look out!" she called. "Don't go back to your old tricks: I shall get angry. It is all right as it is. Come on!"

She threw her scarf over the clumsy repair, and the pearl, which stood out against it, with odd magnificence. They were walking along once more, without any new attempted audacities on Michael's part. The last incident had made him circumspect. Inwardly he called himself names, considering himself a savage, incapable of living among real ladies.

As they reached the last bend they left the azure shade of the cliff. Above their heads extended the last angle of the bulwarks, and a stone sentry post; across the harbor, with its mouth flanked by two illuminated towers, and on the opposite bank rose the heights of Monte Carlo, with its huge buildings, and its glistening cupolas, which were reflecting the last rosy fire of the twilight.

They both halted instinctively. In the middle of the harbor, the yacht, the white yacht of the Prince of Monaco, lay motionless, tugging at her buoy. Beside the nearby dock a few latine rigged boats were pitching, moving their single mast, and a Spanish steamer, displaying its neutral flag, was unloading sacks of rice, and barrels of wine. The presence of various groups of men gathered in front of the boat made them prudent. They were no longer alone. Once more they had entered the life of the City.

"How short the road was!" exclaimed the Prince.

She thought the same. "Yes; how short!"

They could no longer walk together. It was necessary to say good-by there, far from the crowd.

Alicia held out both hands.

"Nothing more?" sighed Michael.

The Duchess hesitated a moment. Then, with the agility of a young girl, as though she were still the wild Amazon of the Bois de Boulogne, she sprang for his open arms.

"There, there, and there!"

There were three rapid fiery kisses, that only lasted for a second; three kisses that made Lubimoff think he had never felt one in all his life, since he had never experienced the quivering that swept his body from head to feet.

"More! Give me more!"

She laughed at his imploring look.

"Enough folly. Another time, who knows!—For the present I am worried again. I am afraid to enter my house: I feel terror and hope. Oh, the news that I may receive at any moment! Tell me; do you really think that nothing has happened to him? Do you think he may come back?"