As the little funeral procession passed this carriage, the young swell who was driving bared his head, with its smoothly parted blond hair, remaining uncovered until the procession had passed, his servant imitating his act. This little tribute of homage to death which the French take the pains to perform always touched and pleased Martha. She thought of the absurdity of this man’s uncovering his head to that pauper baby alive; but the mystery of death imparted to it a majesty which the equal mystery of life could not. This child was a partaker of the knowledge of the unknown, into which Napoleon, lying near by, had also entered, and was, with him, divided from the merely mortal. Martha thought of this as she watched the showy carriage, which had relaxed its speed for a moment, whirling rapidly away toward the outskirts of the city. She wondered where that handsome, prosperous-looking, well-bred man was going at this early hour. Probably to fight a duel, she thought, in her romantic way! Perhaps in a few hours’ time he might be as dead as the poor little baby; and perhaps there was some one who loved and adored him as she did Harold! These were the ideas which filled her mind as she reached the atelier, there to learn that there was a disappointment about the model, who had failed to come. She was about to take off her wraps, and go to work on some drawings from casts, when an exquisite voice behind her said suddenly, “Pardon, mademoiselle,” and she turned to meet the gaze of the princess fixed upon her with a smile of lovely friendliness. “What are you going to do?” she said in that faultless French which Martha had already admired. For a moment the girl was quite overcome at such unexpected graciousness. Then she managed to say in her own faulty though perfectly fluent French, that she had thought she would go on and do what she could without a model. “It is so dull, after having that glorious Antonio to pose for one,” said the princess. “I am not in the humor, and my carriage is gone. Yours, perhaps, is gone also. Do you feel like drawing to-day? Or do you, perhaps, feel more like calling a cab, and taking a drive with me? I should like it. Will you go?” Martha crimsoned with pleasure as she accepted the invitation. There was no mistaking her delight at the suggestion. “You are very good to go,” said the other, “especially as you know nothing of me, I suppose.” “I know only that you are the princess--the Russian princess,” said Martha. Her companion frowned slightly, and, Martha thought, looked a little annoyed. She reflected that she ought not, perhaps, to have told her that her secret had been discovered. The little frown soon passed, however, and the princess smiled genially as she said: “I am living incognito in Paris to study painting, and I do not go into the world. When I am not working I am often bored, and I frequently long for companionship. You make me very grateful by giving me yours this morning.”