The portrait that seemed to smile mockingly at me was a reproduction of a photograph of Ella. The handsome, regular features were unmistakable. With the exception of the magnificent tiara, the ornaments she wore I recognised as belonging to her. All were now in my possession, alas! for on leaving me she had discarded them, and with ineffable sadness I had locked them away in a small cabinet. The jewel-case containing her wedding-ring was a veritable skeleton in my cupboard that I dare not gaze upon. The picture was undoubtedly that of my lost wife, yet beneath was printed in French the words,-- "Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Elizaveta Nicolayevna of Russia." "Look!" I cried, my eye still upon the page. "Surely there's some mistake! That can't be the Grand Duchess!" Allender and Cargill bent simultaneously over the little table, and both declared that there was no mistake. "She's very well-known here," exclaimed the attache. "I've seen her driving her Orloff ponies in the Bois dozens of times. Besides, one never forgets such a face as hers." "Does she live here?" I inquired breathlessly. "Sometimes," he answered; and smiling behind the veil of tobacco smoke, he added, "She's been away a long time now. I suppose you want an introduction to her--eh? Well, I don't expect you'll be successful, as her circle is the most select in Paris. She never invites any of the `corps diplomatique.'" "No," I answered huskily, "I desire no introduction." A sudden giddiness had seized me. The jingle of glasses, the incessant chatter, the loud laughter, and the heavy smoke of cigars had combined with this sudden and bewildering discovery to produce a slight faintness. I took up a glass of ice-water at my elbow and gulped it down. "Do you know her?" inquired Allender, with a pronounced American accent, at the same time regarding me curiously. "Yes," I answered, not without hesitation. "She is--I mean we have already met." "Well, you're to be congratulated," he answered, smiling. "I reckon she's the finest looking woman in Paris, and that's a solid fact." Without replying I slowly turned over the page, and there saw a brief article with the same heading as the legend beneath the portrait. Cargill and Allender were attracted at that moment by the entry of one of their friends, a wealthy young man who, with his wife, had forsaken Ohio for residence in the French capital, and while they chatted I eagerly scanned the article, which ran as follows,--