"What appeal do you wish to make to me?" asked Leone, quite ignoring all the compliments which the countess paid her. Lady Lanswell looked as she felt--embarrassed; it was one thing to carry this interview through in fancy, but still another when face to face with the foe, and that foe a beautiful, haughty woman, with right on her side. My lady was less at ease than she had ever been in her life before, her eyes fell, her lips trembled, her gemmed fingers played nervously with her laces and ribbons. "That I should come to you at all, Leone, proves that I think you a noble woman," she said; "my trouble is great--the happiness of many lives lies in your hands." "I do not understand how," said Leone. "I will tell you," continued the countess. "You are going to Berlin, are you not?" She saw a quiver of pain pass over the beautiful face as she asked the question. "Yes," replied Leone; "I have an engagement there." "And Lord Chandos, my son, has said something about going there, too?" "Yes," replied Leone; "and I hope he will; he knows the city well, and I shall be glad to see a familiar face." There was a minute's silence, during which Lady Lanswell brought all her wit and courage to bear on the situation. She continued: "Lady Chandos does not wish my son to go to Berlin. I suppose it is no secret from you that she entirely disapproves of her husband's friendship with you?" Leone bowed her proud, beautiful head. "That is a matter of little moment to me," she said. My lady's face flushed at the words. "I may tell you," she went on, "that since Lady Chandos heard of this friendship, she has been very unhappy." "No one cared when I was unhappy," said Leone; "no one pleaded for me." "I do plead for Lady Marion," said the countess, "whatever you may think of me. She has done you no harm; why should you make mischief between her and her husband?" "Why did you make mischief between me and mine?" retorted Leone; and my lady shrunk as she spoke. "Listen to me, Leone," she said; "you must help me, you must be my friend. If my son goes to Berlin against his wife's prayers and wishes, she has declared that she will never speak to him or see him again." "That cannot concern me," said Leone. "For Heaven's sake listen, and do not speak to me so heartlessly. If he goes to Berlin, Lady Chandos will appeal to the Duke of Lester, who has just obtained for my son the greatest honor that can be conferred on an English gentleman--the Order of the Garter. In plain words, Leone, if my son follows you to Berlin, he will lose his wife, he will lose his good name, he will lose caste, his social position, his chance of courtly honors, the respect of his own class. He will be laughed at as a dupe, as a man who has given up all the honors of life to dance attendance on an actress; in short, if he goes either with you, or after you, to Berlin, he is, in every sense of the word, a ruined man!" and my lady's voice faltered as she said the words.