"And, by their looks, many of these young men are dying of the same complaint; so suppose we go into the salon," said the Prince, offering his arm to Sophie. It was nearly half-an-hour before Victor found Adelaide disengaged in the ball-room. The first waltz that she had saved for him was just beginning, and, as he slipped his arm round her waist, he whispered under cover of the music: "If you please, we will just take a couple of turns, and then you will give me a few precious minutes of your company in the winter garden." She glanced up swiftly at him with a look of keen inquiry, and whispered in reply: "Of course, my Victor, if you wish it; especially as it is getting a little warm here--and no doubt you have something more interesting for me than dancing." "I think you will find it so," he said, as they glided away into the shining, smoothly-swirling throng which filled the great salon. After two or three turns they stopped at the curtained entrance of the vast conservatory, whose tropical trees and flowers and warm scented air formed a delicious contrast to the cold, black, Russian winter's night. Almost at the same moment Sophie Valdemar said to her partner, a smart young officer of the Imperial Guard: "I think that will do for the present, if you don't mind; I don't feel very vigorous to-night, somehow: suppose you find me a seat in the garden, and then go and tell one of the men to bring me an ice." They stopped just as Victor and Adelaide passed through the curtains. They followed a couple of yards behind them, and Sophie quickened her step a little, her teeth came together with a little snap, and her eyes darkened again as she saw Adelaide look up at her companion and heard her say softly: "Well, what is your news--for I am sure you have some?" "Yes, I have," he replied; "and the greatest of good news; you know from whom?" "Ah," said Adelaide, with a little catch in her voice, "from him; and has he----" "Succeeded? Yes; and to the fullest of his expectations. He goes to Paris to-morrow, and then----" The rest of the sentence was lost to Sophie as they turned away into the garden. Her companion found her a seat under a tree-fern, and left her leaning back in her long-cushioned chair of Russian wicker, looking across the winter garden, through the palms and ferns, at Victor and Adelaide, as they moved along, obviously looking for a secluded corner. During those few moments her whole nature had, for the time being, completely changed. The jealous, passionate woman had vanished, and in her place remained the cold, clear-headed, highly-trained intriguer, with incarnate and unemotional intellect, thinking swiftly and logically, trying to find some meaning in the words that she had just heard, words which, if she had only known their import, she would have found pregnant with the fate of Europe.