“Ah then, of course some one will break her heart!” said the Princess calmly. “That is what always happens to good women.” And she smiled as she saw Gervase flush, half with anger, half with shame. The little Doctor rubbed his nose crossly. “Not always, Princess,” he said. “Sometimes it does; in fact pretty often. It is an unfortunate truth that virtue is seldom rewarded in this world. Virtue in a woman nowadays----” “Means no lovers and no fun!” said Gervase gayly. “And the possibility of a highly decorous marriage with a curate or a bank-clerk, followed by the pleasing result of a family of little curates or little bank-clerks. It is not a dazzling prospect!” The Doctor smiled grimly; then after a wavering moment of indecision, broke out into a chuckling laugh. “You have an odd way of putting things,” he said. “But I’m afraid you may be right in your estimate of the position. Quite as many women are as miserably sacrificed on the altar of virtue as of vice. It _is_ ‘a mad world,’ as Shakespeare says. I hope the next life we pass into after this one will at least be sane.” “Well, if you believe in Heaven, you have Testament authority for the fact that there will be ‘neither marriage nor giving in marriage’ there, at any rate,” laughed Gervase. “And if we wish to follow that text out truly in our present state of existence and become ‘as the angels of God’ we ought at once to abolish matrimony.” “Have done! Have done!” exclaimed the Doctor, still smiling, however, notwithstanding his protest. “You Southern Frenchmen are half barbarians,--you have neither religion nor morality.” “_Dieu merci!_” said Gervase, irreverently; then turning to the Princess Ziska, he bowed low and with a courtly grace over the hand she extended towards him in farewell. “Good-night, Princess!”--then in a whisper he added: “To-morrow I shall await your summons.” “It will come without fail, never fear!” she answered in equally soft tones. “I hope it may find you ready.” He raised his eyes and gave her one long, lingering, passionate look; then with another “Good-night,” which included Dr. Dean, left the room. The Doctor lingered a moment, studying the face and form of the Princess with a curiously inquisitive air; while she in her turn confronted him haughtily, and with a touch of defiance in her aspect. “Well,” said the _savant_ presently, after a pause: “Now you have got him, what are you going to do with him?” She smiled coldly, but answered nothing. “You need not flash your beautiful eyes at me in that eminently unpleasant fashion,” pursued the Doctor, easily. “You see I _know you_, and I am not afraid of you. I only make a stand against you in one respect: you shall not kill the boy Denzil.” “He is nothing to me!” she said, with a gesture of contempt. “I know he is nothing to you; but you are something to him. He does not recognize your nature as I do. I must get him out of the reach of your spell----”