The princess threw her wrap backward over the chair, as she sat at the head of the round table, with her slender figure against a background of dark sable, and her head, in its large plumed hat, standing out from a halo of many-hued old stained-glass in the window behind. Martha, sitting opposite, fell into an unconsciously intent scrutiny of her face. It was certainly safe, Martha thought, to call this face beautiful, both for feature and character. The eyes were large, dark, brilliant, and fervidly suggestive. One wondered what those eyes had seen, were seeing, and were capable of discovering for others. The hair was a brilliant, waving brown, arranged in a loose mass that was still firm and lovely in its outline--hair, as Martha thought, that [Illustration: “HER HEAD, IN ITS LARGE PLUMED HAT.”] it must be sweet to touch with fingers and with lips. Also the girl thought one might well long to prove by touch whether that white skin was as smooth and fine as it looked. The firm, short nose was definitely pointed, and tilted upward, slightly lifting with it the short upper lip. Her chin was bewitching--at once strong and alluring. The mouth was very individual, and, as Martha studied it, she concluded that if she could tell why it was so charming, half the charm would be gone. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder how old the princess was. “You are wondering how old I am!” said the princess, almost taking the girl’s breath away. “I never knew anything so strange!” exclaimed Martha. “It was the very thought I had in my mind.” “Certainly, I read it there! I can do that, sometimes, with people who are very sympathetic to me. I fancy it would be rather dangerous for _you_ to do any very private thinking in my presence. I sometimes read, too, without reading aloud. I think I have read some of your thoughts lately, without your suspecting it.” She looked at Martha, over her cup of bouillon, and smiled. Martha felt herself blushing, as she wondered if that persistent and dominating thought about her brother, which had been so often in her mind of late, could have been perceived by this wonderful being. It frightened her so that she quickly changed the subject, and the remainder of the meal passed in less personal talk. When they were seated in the princess’s coupé, a little later, driving past the Arc de Triomphe, Martha saw her companion turning her head to look at it with lingering, earnest eyes. “I always look at the Arc whenever I can,” she said; “and it always has something to say to me. Its expression of strong beauty and repose always makes me feel that what is, is right. If I am happy, it makes me feel that joy is both good and permanent; and even when in times of unhappiness it makes me feel that sadness is permanent, it somehow seems to tell me that that too is good. Did you ever stand quite close to it and look up?” “No,” said Martha. “We must, some day, together. It will give you a new sensation.”