She smiles at her reflection in the glass. She knows "the fatal gift of beauty." It is another woman than the "queen of the gambling hell" who smiles back at her. The pearls on her neck rise and fall. Hardin! Ah, yes; his possible treachery! Would he dare to take the convent pupil away from her? Perhaps. A devilish smile plays on her lips. She will let him steal his own child; the other, the REAL Lady of Lagunitas, he never shall know. Gods! If he should be aware of it. It must be prevented. Whom can she trust? No one. Villa Rocca? Triumph shines in her eyes! She must definitely promise him marriage in these happy years, and give him the child as a gage. He can hide her in his Italian hills. He really has a bit of a castle under the olive-clad hills of Tuscany. But Marie B‚rard. She must outwit that maid. When the child is gone, Marie's power ceases. No one will ever believe her. A few thousand francs extra will satisfy the greedy soubrette. Seizing her pen, she sends a note to the club where baccarat and billiards claim Villa Rocca's idle hours. He meets her in the Bois de Boulogne, now splendid in transplanted foliage. His coup‚ dismissed, they wander in the alleys so dear to lovers. There is triumph in her face as they separate. A night for preparation; next day, armed with credentials in "billets de banque," Villa Rocca will lure the girl to her mysterious guardian who will be "sick" near Paris. Once under way, Villa Rocca will not stop till the girl is in his Italian manor. With bounding heart, he assents. He has now Natalie's promise to marry him. They are one in heart. "I am yours to the death," he says. While Natalie sips her chocolate next morning, a carriage draws up before Aristide Dauvray's home. Josephine is busied with the household. Louise, singing like a lark, gayly aids her foster-mother. Aristide is far away. He toils at the new structures of beauty. Arm in arm, the young artists are taking a long stroll. A gentleman of elegant appearance descends, with anxious visage. The peal of the bell indicates haste. Josephine receives her visitor. He curtly explains his visit. The guardian of Louise Moreau needs her instant presence. She is ill, perhaps dying. In her excitement, Josephine's prudence is forgotten. To lose the income from the child, to hazard the child's chances of property. "But the child must go: at once!" Josephine is awed and flurried. As she hastily makes preparation, a ray of suspicion darts through her mind. Who is this messenger? "I think I had better accompany you," cries Josephine. Then, "her house," to be left to only one feeble old servant. "Ah, ciel! It is terrible." "Madame, we have no time to lose. It is near the train time. We will telegraph. You can follow in two hours," the stranger remarks, in silken voice. The visitor urges. The girl is cloaked and bonneted. Josephine loses her head. "One moment,"--she rushes for her hat and wrap; she will go at once, herself.