"In those days," she said, "I was the wife of a rich Cuban gentleman whose name I withhold. The American officers on board the _Maine_ used to visit at our house. My husband was jealous; perhaps he had cause." The Duchesse paused. Even though the light of tragedy and romance side by side seemed suddenly to creep into the room, Sirdeller listened as one come back from a dead world. "One night," the Duchesse went on, "my husband's suspicions were changed into knowledge. He came home unexpectedly. The American--the officer--I loved him--was there on the balcony with me. My husband said nothing. The officer returned to his ship. That night my husband came into my room. He bent over my bed. 'It is not you,' he whispered, 'whom I shall destroy, for the pain of death is short. Anguish of mind may live. To-night, six hundred ghosts may hang about your pillow!'" Her voice broke. There was something grim and unnatural in that curious stillness. Even the secretary was at last breathing a little faster. The watchman at the door was leaning forward. Sirdeller simply moved his hand to the doctor, who held up his finger while he felt the pulse. The beat of his watch seemed to sound through the unnatural silence. In a minute he spoke. "The lady may proceed," he announced. "My husband," the Duchesse continued, "was an officer in charge of the Mines and Ordnance Department. He went out that night in a small boat, after a visit to the strong house. No soul has ever seen or heard of him since, or his boat. It is only I who know." Her voice died away. Sirdeller stretched out his hand and very deliberately drank a table-spoonful or two of his milk. "I believe the lady's story," he declared. "The Marsine affair is finished. Let no one be admitted to have speech with me again upon this subject." He had half turned towards his secretary. The young man bowed. The doctor pointed towards the door. The Duchesse, Peter, and Sogrange filed slowly out. In the bright sunlight the Duchesse burst into a peal of hysterical laughter. Even Peter felt, for a moment, unnerved. Suddenly he, too, laughed. "I think," he said, "that you and I had better get out of the way, Sogrange, when the Count von Hern meets us at New York!" CHAPTER VIII AN ALIEN SOCIETY Sogrange and Peter, Baron de Grost, standing upon the threshold of their hotel, gazed out upon New York and liked the look of it. They had landed from the steamer a few hours before, had already enjoyed the luxury of a bath, a visit to an American barber's, and a genuine cocktail. "I see no reason," Sogrange declared, "why we should not take a week's holiday." Peter, glancing up into the blue sky and down into the faces of the well-dressed and beautiful women who were streaming up Fifth Avenue, was wholly of the same mind.