“I told you the Princess was not a proper person! Now it is proved I am right! To think I should have brought Dolly and Muriel here! I shall really never forgive myself! Come, Sir Chetwynd,--let us leave this place instantly!” And stout Sir Chetwynd, gloating on the exquisite beauty of the Princess Ziska’s form as she still danced on in her snowy white attire, her lovely face alight with mirth at the surprise she had made for her guests, tried his best to look sanctimonious and signally failed in the attempt as he answered: “Certainly! Certainly, my dear! Most improper … most astonishing!” While Lady Fulkeward answered innocently: “Is it? Do you really think so? Oh, dear! I suppose it is improper,--it must be, you know; but it is most delightful and original!” And while the Chetwynd Lyles thus moved to depart in a cloud of outraged propriety, followed by others who likewise thought it well to pretend to be shocked at the proceedings, Gervase, dizzy, breathless, and torn by such conflicting passions as he could never express, was in a condition more mad than sane. “My God!” he muttered under his breath. “This--this is love! This is the beginning and end of life! To possess her,--to hold her in my arms--heart to heart, lips to lips … this is what all the eternal forces of Nature meant when they made me man!” And he watched with strained, passionate eyes the movements of the Princess Ziska as they grew slower and slower, till she seemed floating merely like a foam-bell on a wave, and then … from some unseen quarter of the room a rich throbbing voice began to sing:-- “Oh, for the passionless peace of the Lotus-Lily! It floats in a waking dream on the waters chilly, With its leaves unfurled To the wondering world, Knowing naught of the sorrow and restless pain That burns and tortures the human brain; Oh, for the passionless peace of the Lotus-Lily! Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily! Bared to the moon on the waters dark and chilly. A star above Is its only love, And one brief sigh of its scented breath Is all it will ever know of Death; Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily!” As the sound died away in a sigh rather than a note, the Princess Ziska’s dancing ceased altogether. A shout of applause broke from all assembled, and in the midst of it there was a sudden commotion and excitement, and Dr. Dean was seen bending over a man’s prostrate figure. The great French painter, Armand Gervase, had suddenly fainted. CHAPTER XII. /A curious/ yet very general feeling of superstitious uneasiness and discomfort pervaded the Gezireh Palace Hotel the day after the Princess Ziska’s reception. Something had happened, and no one knew what. The proprieties had been outraged, but no one knew why. It was certainly not the custom for a hostess, and a Princess to boot, to dance like a wild bacchante before a crowd of her invited guests, yet, as Dr. Dean blandly observed,--