At the sound of an approaching carriage he turned. The approaching equipage was obviously patrician. It pertained to a lady of the High Nobility. Save the two men in livery on the box and the Breath of Scandal, this Countess was traveling alone. She and the Breath of Scandal were boon companions. This intimacy bore no resemblance to the corresponding intimacy among common people where purity is defiled, homes ruined and good names besmeared. With the Countess the Breath of Scandal became a sweet perfume--wafting around her person an intriguing atmosphere of mystery, romance and patrician vice. Friendly greetings passed between the lady and the doctor. Then the lady asked for information. She suspected from something she had heard that the Diva was in this vicinity. "Now, tell me, Doctor. Where is she?" "She? In this vicinity?" "Come now, I am not to be deceived. You may as well tell me at once. Where is she? You are one of her intimates and I saw you come down that avenue. As the only truthful man in Austria, you may as well confess that she lives at the end of it." The truthful man raised his Mephistophelean eyebrows, smiled and slowly shook his head. "Alas, I wish, indeed, she were there! There is a villa, Countess, but no Diva in it." The lady frowned. "Who then?" "Nobody you know, or are likely to know. The occupant is a deservedly prosperous manufacturer of excellent chocolate." "Are you sure?" In her manner was suspicion, not quite allayed. "Well--I have spent the last hour there--and many previous hours." "Very likely. But I don't believe you." "Am I a liar?" "I really don't know." "But you just said I was the only truthful man in Austria." "Merely a form of speech. I meant relatively. You might be the most truthful man in Austria and yet have no standing in heaven--or any other honest resort." Dr. Cervini smiled. "True, too true! But who told you our Diva was here about?" "A connoisseur. A judge of voices. One who could not be mistaken. He heard her voice one evening, here, along this road." "Was he sure it was the Diva?" "Absolutely." "Ah, now I understand. Delicious! Really, it's too good to keep to ourselves. If we could only interview him together, you and I!" "What do you mean?" "I mean my chocolate king has a young daughter, who sings. And she sings--yes--she sings well. But, vocally, she bears about the same resemblance to our Diva as a guinea chicken to a skylark." "Could our connoisseur be quite such a fool as that?" "A real connoisseur can be anything. But possibly he had dined too well on that particular night. However, even when sober a musical critic can----" He stopped abruptly, with a gesture of annoyance. "Oh, what a memory! My humblest apologies to our connoisseur. He was right, absolutely right. He made no mistake." "Then she is here, after all?"