Again she became the target of his amorous attentions. His determination seemed fired anew. He catered to her every whim--made a slave of himself, but pressing his suit all the while. A few days later, to cap the climax, he gave a dinner in her honor. It was one of the most exotic revels ever held at the resort and that is saying a great deal. At this private banquet he made violent love to her. Piqued somewhat at her constant refusal to entertain his suit, and encouraged, too, by the wine he had consumed von Sarnoff kneeling at her side, suddenly reached down, grasped one of Sana’s tiny feet and quickly removed the jewel encrusted slipper. Rising to his feet, rather shakily, it is true, he filled the slipper with champagne, and holding it aloft in one hand, the other sweeping over the select assembly, he cried, “To the health of Sana, the Queen of Queens.” Then amid the cheers of the diners, he drank from the slipper. [Illustration: The eager von Sarnoff grasped the shimmering garment, buried his face into its perfumed folds and looked up with eyes of lust and passion.] Around them a group of professional dancers, scantily attired, were performing risque solo dances, but von Sarnoff, sensual though he was, had no eyes for their display. But like Herod of old begging Salome to dance, he pleaded with Sana to give them an exhibition of her dancing art. What tempestuous thoughts ran through her mind, one cannot tell, but with a wild laugh and the cry “I will” Sana sprang up on the table, and kicking off the remaining slipper sent it flying across the room. Her dinner gown was too long to allow of much freedom, so with deft hands she lowered the shoulder straps and cast it off. The eager Sarnoff grasped the shimmering garment, buried his face into its perfumed folds, and looking up with eyes full of lust and passion shouted, “This is the dance of the virtuous vampire.” Sana was dancing the dance de Rochelle had taught her while under his hypnotic influence. Wild and free! It spoke of desert nights and starry skies; of whispering winds and silent places. A dance of beauty. Suddenly she ceased dancing. The fire had died down. The coaxing, passionate creature was gone, and in its place stood just a girl. Springing from the table, she demanded her dress. With a mocking laugh von Sarnoff sprang aside, crying “No. I shall keep it always as a souvenir of passion’s maddest moment.” With a look of supreme disgust at the laughing guests, Sana pulled the cloth off an adjoining table, regardless of the flying dishes and silver, and wrapping it about her body, fled from the room, followed by von Sarnoff, pouring forth words of endearment and affection. Rushing to her rooms, she slammed the door in his face with a cry that bespoke the agony in her heart, “Keep away! I hate you!” That night, counseled by heads wiser than his own, von Sarnoff left the place. * * * * *