"Just a little, although I blush for them. But don't let us think of this. Ah, here comes lunch." They sat down to the meal. She was a very abstemious woman, and rarely partook of stimulants. But, in honour of Contraras' visit, she had ordered a bottle of champagne. Under its exhilarating influence, her jangled nerves readjusted themselves, and she became her natural self. The colour returned to her cheeks. She raised her glass and nodded to her guest. "To the new world, born upon the ruins of the old." "Amen to that wish!" cried Contraras fervently, as he drank his wine in one long draught. There was a long pause, which she broke abruptly. "I think I have told you I made my will in London last year." Contraras nodded. "Yes, you told me that." "But I did not tell you the details. I have left all my money in the hands of the Public Trustee, to divide amongst certain charities. As private fortunes go, it is a fair one--but what a small sum to go to the alleviation of this vast amount of human misery!" "You could not have made a better use of it," said Contraras appreciatively. "To you, my dear friend, I have left twenty thousand pounds to devote to whatever purpose you think fit. Of course you will apply that money to the spreading of the propaganda." "I much appreciate your kind thought, my dear Valerie; it is just like you. But may the day be far distant when--" She raised her hand. "We will speak no more of that, please. I wonder what will be the result of to-night?" "Success!" cried Contraras confidently. "Success!" A few minutes later he rose to go. "The Duchess will call for you in her carriage. Once arrived at the Palace, keep under her wing for some time, so as to avoid suspicion. Then seize your time and opportunity. Would you like me to come round and see you before you start? But I shall look out for you at the Palace." For a moment she did not answer him, she was pursuing the train of her own thoughts. "I never told you I had my fortune told by a gipsy when I was sixteen. Would you like to know what she predicted?" "If you wish," replied Contraras politely. He had no respect for gipsies or their prophecies. "Ah, I see it won't interest you. I don't think you believe much in the spiritual side of existence. Still, I will tell it; it will not take a moment. Up to the present, it has come remarkably true. This gipsy, she was a very old woman, predicted that I should have a very hard life for some years, then would come some years of great good fortune, and then--equally great tribulation." Contraras smiled. "My dear child, she probably predicted precisely the same things hundreds of times to her clients. The veil of the future is not to be lifted by a wandering beggar-woman." "Of course, I knew you would not be impressed, or perhaps you just say it to cheer me." She had forgotten his question--should he come and see her again before she started for the Palace? He repeated it.