"And that is the secret of his fury," said Madame Brion, when her friend had repeated the brutal discourse of the Prince. "It is very unjust. But I am glad it is only that. I was so afraid he had heard of your play last night, and especially that imprudence. You are going to cancel your invitation to Miss Florence?" "I?" said the Baroness, shrugging her shoulders, and her noble face wore an expression of disgust. "There was a time when this boorishness crushed me; a time when it revolted me. To-day I care no more than that for this brute and all his rage." While saying this she had lit a Russian cigarette, with a long paper stem, at a little lamp used for this purpose, and from her contemptuous lips she blew a ring of smoke, which rose, opening and stretching out till it was dissipated in the warm and perfumed atmosphere of the little room. It was an atmosphere of intimacy surrounding the two friends, in this bright parlor, with the soft shades of its tapestry, the old paintings, the precious furniture, the vague green of the conservatory behind one of the glass doors, and everywhere flowers--the beautiful living flowers of the South, interwoven with threads of sunlight. Lamps, large and small, veiled in shades of supple silk, radiated through this retreat an attenuated light which blended with the clear, gay fire. Ah, the unfortunate would little envy these surroundings of the rich, if they but knew the secret agony for which these surroundings so often serve as a theatre! Ely de Carlsberg had sunk upon a lounge; she was saying:-- "What do you suppose these wretched things matter to me, with the pain you know is in my heart? I shall receive Flossie Marsh to-morrow, and for several days after, and the Archduke may be as angry as he likes. He says he knows the place to attack me. There is only one, and I am going to strike it myself. It is as though he should threaten to fight a duel with some one who has determined to commit suicide." "But do you not think he is right about Marsh's calculations?" asked Madame Brion to arrest the crisis of the revolt which she saw approaching. "It is quite possible," said the Baroness. "He is an American, and for those people a sentiment is a fact like any other, and is to be utilized as much as possible. But admitting that he speculates on Flossie's passion for a savant and an inventor, does the uncle's speculation prove that the sentiment of the niece is not sincere? Poor Flossie," she added in a tone that once more vibrated with her inward torment. "I hope she will not allow herself to be separated from the man she loves. She would suffer too much, and if it is necessary to help her not to lose him, I will help her."