The Promenade was bright as day beneath the full moon, the feathery palms waved lazily in the breeze, and the dark waves broke with musical monotony upon the pebbly beach. They had alighted at the gate of the pension where the Captain had taken up his quarters, when the Prince suggested to Liane that they should go for a stroll, as it was still early. To this she assented, and the Captain went indoors and sat alone, silent and wondering, while they crossed the deserted esplanade together and walked in the moonlight by the shore. "So you have enjoyed yourself to-night, _ma petite_?" Zertho said, after they had been chatting some time. "Immensely," she answered. "Carnival is not fresh to me, but it is always amusing. Every Nicois enjoys it so thoroughly. I love these gay, happy, contented people who are still Italian although French. They are so different from the English." "You hated them once, I remember," he observed, with a smile, pausing to light a cigarette. "Ah! that was in the evil days. One's enjoyment is always gauged by one's pocket." "Then according to that theory I ought to have a larger measure of this world's pleasures than the majority of people--eh?" "You have." "Ah, no, Liane," he sighed, becoming suddenly grave. "True, I have wealth, a house in Brussels, an estate in Luxembourg, a yacht in yonder port, and a villa here upon this promenade, yet there is one thing I lack to render my happiness complete." "What's that?" she asked, rather surprised at the unusual tone of sadness in his voice. Her smiling lips suddenly quivered with a momentary dread--a dread of something she could not quite define. He had paused at one of the seats at the end of the plage, and with a alight courteous wave of the hand invited her to sit. Slowly she did as she was bid, and awaited his reply. "I have not yet found any woman to sufficiently care for me," he answered at last, in a quiet impressive tone. "You will surely have no difficulty," she said with a strange ring in her voice. She had not suspected that he possessed a grain of sentiment, for long ago she had noticed that he was entirely unimpressionable where the charms of women were concerned. His manner suddenly changed. He sank into the seat beside her, saying,-- "There is something, Liane, I want to say to you I've said it so often to myself that I feel as if you must know it." She sat quite still. He had grasped her small hand in his, and she let him keep it, questioning his face with a bewildered gaze. "You must know--you must have guessed--" She turned pale, but outwardly quelled the panic that sent the blood to her heart. "I must tell you the truth now--I love you." With a sudden movement she freed her hand and drew away from him. "Me!" she gasped. Whatever potential complicity had lurked in her heart, his words brought her only immeasurable dismay. He bent towards her again. "Yes, you!"