The woman almost ran to the road at the bottom and jumped into a waiting taxi, and once inside she brought out a gold case with mirror and powder puff, and red greases for her lips. "My goodness! I can't say that's a mosquito!" and she examined her ear. "How tiresome and imprudent of Hans! But Jingo, it was good!--if there only had been time--" Then she, too, laughed as she powdered her face, and when she alighted at the door of the Hotel du Rhin, no marks remained of conflict except the telltale ear. But on encountering her maid, she was carrying her minute Pekinese dog in her arms and was beating him well. "Regardez, Marie! la vilaine bete m'a mordu l'oreil!" "Tiens!" commented the affronted Marie, who adored Fou-Chou. "Et le cher petit chien de Madame est si doux!" * * * * * Stanislass Boleski was poring over a voluminous bundle of papers when his wife, clad in a diaphanous wrap, came into his sitting room. They had a palatial suite at the Rhin. The affairs of Poland were not prospering as he had hoped, and these papers required his supreme attention--there was German intrigue going on somewhere underneath. He longed for Harietta's sympathy which she had been so prodigal in bestowing before she had secured her divorce from that brute of a Teutonic husband, whom she hated so much. Now she hardly ever listened, and yawned in his face when he spoke of Poland and his high aims. But he must make allowances for her--she was such a child of impulse, so lovely, so fascinating! And here in Paris, admired as she was, how could he wonder at her distraction! "Stanislass! my old Stannie," she cooed in his ear, "what am I to wear to-night for the Montivacchini ball? You will want me to look my best, I know, and I just love to please you." He was all attention at once, pushing the documents aside as she put her arms around his neck and pulled his beard, then she drew his head back to kiss the part where the hair was growing thin on the top--her eyes fixed on the papers. "You don't want to bother with those tiresome old things any more; go and get into your dressing-gown, and come to my room and talk while I am polishing my nails,--we can have half an hour before I must dress. I'll wait for you here--I must be petted to-night, I am tired and cross." Stanislass Boleski rose with alacrity. She had not been kind to him for days--fretful and capricious and impossible to please. He must not lose this chance--if it could only have been when he was not so busy--but-- "Run along, do!" she commanded, tapping her foot. And putting the papers hastily in a drawer with a spring lock, he went gladly from the room. Her whole aspect changed; she lit a cigarette and hummed a tune, while she fingered a key which dangled from her bracelet.