Count Mellikoff crossed the room with noiseless footsteps, bent down and picked up the dainty morsel; it proved to be a lady's handkerchief, and in the corner were an embroidered crest, and the initials _A. de L._ The Count gave one long-drawn sigh, almost a gasp, and then with dexterous fingers folded the delicate article neatly and placed it in an inner pocket of his waistcoat. He smiled as he did so, and said, half aloud: "There's treason in every inch of that cambric and lace! Ah, madame, how we overreach ourselves sometimes, and how the odour of violets clings to every thread of this little traitor!" Then he turned and walked down the empty room, and as he reached the heavily-draped doors dividing the drawing-rooms from the music-hall, one of the curtains was pulled further aside, and he came face to face with Miss Rosalie James. CHAPTER IX. THE IMPERIAL CHANCELLERIE. Three months before that meeting between Patricia Hildreth and Mr. Tremain--out of which had grown such cynical disillusion on his part, and which had called forth such cogent reasons for his disenchantment--winter still held captive the great metropolis of Petersburg. But a winter of such dazzling brilliancy, such blue skies, such clear and glittering frost and snow, such floods of sunshine, such ringing out of joyful sleigh-bells, such flashing past of fair women robed _cap-à-pie_ in costly furs, and such a constant round of gaiety and frivolity, as to rob the ice-king of his usual hardships and terrors.