"I feared you might not get my note," she said. "I believe I am under constant surveillance."

He smiled. "Even the Secret Police would hesitate to tamper with my mail," he said.

"That was my hope," she answered.

He looked at her steadily, a moment.

"I am always ready to be a--hope to you," he said.

She dropped her eyes--then picked up a cigarette case from the table.

"Will Your Royal Highness smoke?" she asked.

"If you will light it for me."

(The Princess pressed my hand. I understood.)

Mrs. Spencer touched the cigarette to the tiny alcohol name; then offered it to the Duke.

"Someone has spoiled you," she said lightly.

Lotzen took her hand and, with it, put the cigarette between his lips.

"Unfortunately, no," he answered. "But I once saw a pretty woman do that for another man."

(Again Dehra pressed my fingers.)

"And did he hold her hand afterward?" she asked--freeing her own from the Duke's.

"They were not alone," he said--and tried to take it again.

But she put both hands behind her.

"Come, Your Highness, this is not the Masque," she said. But there was no reproof in her tones.

"Tell me," said he; "how did you know me, last night?"

"What matters it? Particularly, since it was only because you knew me that you spoke."

"You think I was searching for you?" he asked.

She blew a cloud of smoke under the lamp shade and watched it float out at the top.

"Were you?" she asked.

"If I said yes, would it please you?"

"Not unless I thought it true, monsieur--and, also, knew the reason."

He looked at her steadily a moment.

"What better reason could I have than that you are the most beautiful woman in Valeria?"

She put her fan before her face.

"Your Highness's compliment is very delicate," she laughed.

"It wasn't meant for a compliment," he answered. "If you have looked in your mirror, to-night, you know I speak the simple truth."

She got up and went over to a great gla.s.s, on the opposite wall.

Lotzen followed her, and they stood there, a bit, looking in it.

"You like me in black?" she asked, smiling at him in the mirror.

"I like you in anything," he answered--and made as though to put his arm around her waist.

She swung quickly away from him--just out of reach.

"Even in a gypsy dress?" she asked.

"It was charming--but, I think I prefer this," and he nodded toward her gleaming shoulders.

She made a gesture of dissent, and they went back to the table. Lotzen drew a small chair close and sat staring at her. She studied her fan and waited.

Then he hooked his hands about his knee and leaned back.

"Do you know," he said, "it's a crying shame you are married to my dear cousin."

She looked him full in the face--and smiled.

"Why didn't you make me a widow, then, last night, when you had the chance?"

Lotzen shrugged his shoulders.

"The chance was all right, but the end was bad--though you didn't stay to see it."

She laughed. "Didn't I? I stayed long enough to see your sword sticking in the turf. I took that to be the end--was there more of it, later?"

"No; that was the end--for that time."

"And for that particular method, I fancy," said she. "He wields a pretty blade."

"Had you known it?" he asked.

"He was the best swordsman in the American Army," she answered.

"Ordinarily, that does not mean much," said Lotzen. "But, as a matter of fact, so far as I know, he has got only one superior in Europe."

"Then why not get that chap to fight him?"