"Well, Miss Plumer, it seems to me the serene sweetness of that picture is the expression of the perfect happiness of entire admiration--that is to say, of love; whoever loves is like those cherubs--perfectly happy." He looks attentively at the picture, as if he had forgotten his own existence in the happiness of the cherubs. Grace Plumer glances at him for a few moments with a peculiar expression. It is full of admiration, but it is not the look with which she would say, as she just now said to Sligo Moultrie, "You always speak sincerely." She is still looking at the Prince, when Mr. Moultrie begins again: "I ought to be allowed to explain that I only meant that as a cage is a home, so it is often used as a snare. Do you know, Miss Grace, that the prettiest birds are often put into the prettiest cages to entice other birds? By-the-by, how lovely Laura Magot is this evening!" He cuts a small piece of the peach with his silver knife and puts it into his mouth, "Peaches are luxuries in June," he says, quietly. This time it is at Sligo Moultrie that Miss Grace Plumer looks fixedly. "What kind of birds, Mr. Moultrie?" she says, at length. "Miss Grace, do you know the story of the old Prince of Este?" answers he, as he lays a bunch of grapes upon her plate. She pulls one carelessly and lets it drop again. He takes it and puts it in his mouth. "No; what is the story?" "There was an old Prince of Este who had a beautiful villa and a beautiful sister, and nothing else in the world but a fiery eye and an eloquent tongue." Sligo Moultrie flushes a little, and drinks a glass of wine. Grace Plumer is a little paler, and more serious. Prince Abel plies Madame Plumer with fruit and compliments, and hears every word. "Well." "Well, Miss Grace, she was so beautiful that many a lady became her friend, and many of those friends sighed for the brother's fiery eyes and blushed as they heard his honeyed tongue. But he was looking for a queen. At length came the Princess of Sheba--" "Are you talking of King Solomon?" "No, Miss Plumer, only of Alcibiades. And when the Princess of Sheba came near the villa the Prince of Este entreated her to visit him, promising that the sister should be there. It was a pretty cage, I think; the sister was a lovely bird. And the Princess came." He stops and drinks more wine. "Very well! And then?" "Why, then, she had a very pleasant visit," he says, gayly. "Mr. Moultrie, is that the whole of the story?" "No, indeed, Miss Plumer; but that is as far as we have got." "I want to hear the rest." "Don't be in such a hurry; you won't like the rest so well." "Yes; but that is my risk." "It _is_ your risk," says Sligo Moultrie, looking at her; "will you take it?" "Of course I will," is the clear-eyed answer. "Very well. The Princess came; but she did not go away." "How curious! Did she die of a peach-stone at the banquet?" "Not at all. She became Princess of Este instead of Sheba."