"No eyes but mine haf ever rested on it since it was given into my hand after her death," he said very gently. "But you, my child, you shall read it; you are hurt and unhappy, battering against fate, and believing that those who love you haf served you ill. But we were all bound in different ways. . . . Read the letter, little one, and thou wilt see that I, too, was not free." Hesitatingly Diana unfolded the thin sheet and read the few faded lines it contained. "CARLO MIO, "I think the end is coming for Anton and for me. The revolt of the people is beyond all quelling. My only fear is for Nadine; my only hope for her ultimate safety lies in Max. If ever, in the time to come, your silence or your speech can do aught for my child--in the name of the love you gave me, I beg it of you. In serving her, you will be serving me. "SONIA." Very slowly Diana handed the letter back to Baroni. "So--that was why," she whispered. Baroni bent his head. "That was why. I could not speak. But I did all that lay in my power to prevent this marriage of yours." "You did." A wan little smile tilted the corners of her mouth at the remembrance. "Afterwards--your happiness was on the knees of the gods!" "No," said Diana suddenly. "No. It was in my own hands. Had I believed in Max we should have been happy still. . . . But I failed him." A long silence followed. At last she rose, holding out her hands. "Thank you," she said simply. "Thank you for showing me the letter." Baroni stooped his head and carried her hands to his lips. "My dear, we make our mistakes and then we pay. It is always so in life. Love"--and the odd, clouded voice shook a little--"Love brings--great happiness--and great pain. Yet we would not be without it." CHAPTER XXVIII THE AWAKENING Somehow the interminable hours of the day had at last worn to evening, and Diana found herself standing in front of a big mirror, listlessly watching Milling as she bustled round her, putting the last touches to her dress for the Duchess of Linfield's reception. The same thing had to be gone through every concert night--the same patient waiting while the exquisite toilette, appropriate to a _prima donna_, was consummated by Milling's clever fingers. Only, this evening, every nerve in Diana's body was quivering in rebellion. What was it Olga had said? "_Max is leaving England to-night._" So, while she was being dressed like a doll for the pleasuring of the people who had paid to hear her sing, Max was being borne away out of her ken, out of her existence for ever.