A bit advanced were such ideas for the shell-pink ear of her infant, yet to the wee-shade she murmured them this late afternoon while out for a stroll. Although Adeline accompanied her, she herself carried the spirit-child to save the maid’s pride. Their practice had been to take their evening walks through the Garden of Bad Luck. To-day, for the first time Dolores chose the Avenue of Locusts, which led from the palace direct to the Limbian Gates. The ex-great lady protested against walking beside her mistress, even when ordered to do so, on the plea that she must work out her term of degradation. The young mother’s hopeful adjurations to the instinct-fretted babe seemed only to increase her bitterness. How could m’lady benefit, Adeline demanded in French, even though her lover did come through the gates that eventide? Her own husband’s pretense to care for her was only the last-lingering impulse of self-protection. He was assuming the virtue of constancy though he had it not. But he would rue the attempt, since he was insulting, not only her intelligence but that of the Mind Prince as well. M’lady must remember the rule of the realm; must clear her mind of the heresy of earthly ideals, lest they become known and she punished therefor. She would be saved a shock could she but realize beforehand that the lover she had loved would hate her even as she him. In Gehenna he and she who had caused each other’s fall would be, indeed, bad met. “See yonder warehouse beyond the wall?” Adeline pointed out a low structure. “There is checked all such superfluous baggage as love. Only hate may be brought within.” Dolores wondered that so small a building could store the lingering loves of the Hadean hordes. Before she could comment, there came to them from the entrance of the wireless station just inside the gate a high shriek rent by a deeper staccato of laughter. Down the steps and directly into her path came rolling what looked an oversized foot-ball. Close followed His Evil Majesty himself. In one hand he waved a knout with snapping lashes. The laughter was his and more cruel than his instrument of torture. After handing over her babe to Adeline and commanding a quick retreat, Dolores hurried toward the ball, which was unwinding as it rolled. Its arms, legs and head proved to belong to a male _manes_, terrified beyond coherency. By the time Satan reached them with knout upraised, she had pushed the wretch behind her and started him after the noble-maid. Beyond a stinging of her consciousness, she did not feel the blow that fell. Almost at once she recovered; was able to face His Highness with calm inquiry. “What has he done to deserve this attack?” “_Done?_” Satan’s voice crackled as had the whip. “Shouldn’t the chief inter-world operator know better than to retail me bad tidings? Out of my way--I’m highly charged!” “No.” Dolores stood firm. “You’d rather I’d experiment on you?” “Yes.”