“‘Ah, madame!’ he sighed. ‘You know so little of the world! So little of the world!’ “‘Mr. Anglesea, you distress me. Has anything happened to Saviola?’ “‘Ah, madame, you were but a child when you went off to marry the Italian. I—knowing full well that I could not prevent that mad act which was sure to take place—went with you, for your sake, for your brother, my friend’s sake, to prevent any fatal error from being committed. I thought I had prevented calamity to you. I know better now. Ah, yes!’ “‘Mr. Anglesea,’ I said, ‘you frighten me. What has happened? I implore you to tell me.’ “‘Not now! I cannot! But do not be alarmed! Take courage! I am your friend! I will see you through this trouble.’ “‘No! you must tell me—now! Has—has—has——’ I could scarcely bear to put the question; but I nerved myself to do it. ‘Has Luigi left me—deserted me?’ And I sank back and covered my burning face with my hands. “‘How shall I answer your question, madame? But put the question rather to your own intelligence. He left here six weeks ago. He has not returned or written to you since. Any one less youthful, innocent and inexperienced than yourself would draw inferences from these circumstances. Will you excuse me now? I will see you this evening. May I?’ “‘Yes,’ I answered, mechanically. “He bowed and left the room. “I was alone again. I wished to be alone to collect my thoughts. It had never occurred to me that Saviola would desert me—never! “He had ceased to be my king, my hero, my idol. He had revealed himself to be a gambler, a sharper, an adventurer. I had long ceased to love, trust, or respect him. Still, I knew that he was fond of me, in his way, and so I never imagined that he could forsake me. And, now that the possibility was presented to me, it filled me with more wonder than sorrow or mortification. “I was not nearly so much troubled by the possible desertion of Saviola as I had been by the long silence and fancied implacability of my father. I was sorry for Saviola only because, though I had ceased to love, or trust, or respect the man, I had begun to compassionate him. He seemed so much weaker than I was. “With this feeling of pity and regret was mingled one of intense relief. I had so little to lose in losing the man whose life was a constant source of shame and fear to me! But, whatever he may have been, his rank was unquestionable. I had been lawfully married to him, and I was the Princess Saviola. And my son was Prince Rolando Saviola. No one could deprive us of these old and honorable, though now empty, titles. “I soon reconciled myself to my desertion, even if I did not rejoice in my deliverance. I made up my mind to take my child and go directly to Weirdwaste, my own inheritance from my mother, and there await my father’s return to England; then confess the whole truth to him and throw myself upon his love and his protection. “But, ah, Heaven! I did not yet know the worst!”