“I thought I knew all there was to know about pictures, antiques, and all that sort of lumber,” continued Colonel Deacon in his rapid and off-hand manner. “Thought there weren't many men in London could teach me anything; certainly never suspected a woman could. But I've met one, boy! Gad! What a splendid creature! You know there isn't much in the world I haven't seen--north, south, east and west. I know all the advertised beauties of Europe and Asia--stage, opera, and ballet, and all the rest of them. But this one--Gad!” He dropped into an arm-chair, clapping both his hands upon his knees. Rene stood at the farther end of the library, in the shadow, watching him. “She's coming here to-morrow, boy--coming here. Gad! you dog! You'll fall in love with her the moment you see her--sure to, sure to! I did, and I'm three times your age!” “Who is this lady, sir?” asked Rene, very quietly. “God knows, boy! Everybody's mad to meet her, but nobody knows who she is. But wait till you see her. Lady Dascot seems to be acquainted with her, but you will see when they come to-morrow--see for yourself. Gad, boy!... what did you say?” “I did not speak.” “Thought you did. Have a whisky-and-soda?” “No, thank you, sir--good night.” “Good night, boy!” cried the Colonel. “Good night. Don't forget to be in to-morrow afternoon or you'll miss meeting the loveliest woman in London, and the most brilliant.” “What is her name?” “Eh? She calls herself Madame de Medici. She's a mystery, but what a splendid creature!” Rene Deacon walked slowly upstairs, entered his bedroom, and for fully an hour sat in the darkness, thinking--thinking. “Am I going mad?” he murmured. “Or is this witch driving all London mad?” He strove to recover something of the glamour which had mastered him when in the presence of Madame de Medici, but failed. Yet he knew that, once near her again, it would all return. His reflections were bitter, and when at last wearily he undressed and went to bed it was to toss restlessly far into the small hours ere sleep came to soothe his troubled mind. But his sleep was disturbed: a series of dreadfully realistic dreams danced through his brain. First he seemed to be standing upon a high mountain peak with eternal snows stretched all about him. He looked down, past the snow line, past the fir woods, into the depths of a lovely lake, far down in the valley below. It was a lake of liquid amber, and as he looked it seemed to become two lakes, and they were like two great eyes looking up at him and summoning him to leap. He thought that he leaped, a prodigious leap, far out into space; then fell--fell--fell. When he splashed into the amber deeps they became churned up in a milky foam, and this closed about him with a strangle grip. But it was no longer foam, but the clinging arms of Madame de Medici!...