A strange fancy seized her after a while--that this Swiss retreat was the villa and garden at Florence, where she had pursued her studies for the stage, and where she had lived until she made her escape, through the intervention of Paul Desfrayne, to Paris. But she always remained totally dumb. Not the most strenuous effort could induce her to break that terrible silence. Even in singing, which she practised with the assiduity of her early student-days, she would use no words, only the vowels employed in the chromatic and diatonic scales. Her voice was infinitely richer, fuller, sweeter than it had ever been, and frequently the prince would enjoy a melancholy pleasure in listening beneath the window to the dulcet waves of birdlike melody. She loved to deck herself with the splendor of a queen; and in this fancy the prince freely indulged her, though he never employed the slightest portion of her large fortune for this object. The horror which might have crushed his love when he was forced to believe that she might have committed the crime of which she had accused herself was tempered by the most profound pity for her distraught state. Happily, no other love came to make the life of this betrayed man a burden to him, therefore the chains with which he had been so treacherously bound did not gall as they might have done. A few were trusted with the terrible secret of Lucia’s loss of reason--the director of the London opera-house, and one or two others. When the emissaries of justice came to seek for her--to accuse her of her sacrilegious theft, they found her forever beyond the reach of earthly law. The Supreme Judge had seen fit to allot her a punishment before which her accusers drew back in solemn awe and dread. Thus ended the race upon which the lovely and gifted Lucia Guiscardini had entered with such a high heart and iron nerve. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE SOUND OF WEDDING-BELLS. It was a bright day at the seashore, and the beach was crowded. Lord and Lady Quaintree were at Eastbourne, with the Honorable Gerald and “the two girls,” as Lois and Blanche were affectionately designated. Frank Amberley had come to spend his few weeks of holiday here. Paul, by the advice of his colonel, had seen the Italian consul in London. The consul had looked grave, listened to his story, received the register, and said: “The matter shall have every attention, and in all probability we shall communicate with you shortly respecting it.” Some months, after all, elapsed before Captain Desfrayne received any communication, and then he learned the painful facts of the unhappy Lucia’s third marriage and the loss of her reason. He made every effort to find her on settling the affair at the Italian consulate--but vainly, and was obliged to relinquish the attempt. Then he repaired to Eastbourne. The agitation of these last few weeks had told terribly on his health, although he was rejoicing with unspeakable joy over his recovered liberty.