the non-arrival of some expected lady.
There was quite a buzz of inquiries about
her, and great disappointment seemed felt
at the answers to these inquiries.

"Who are they expecting?" I asked of
Caradoc, as I stood beside him for a moment.

"The Mermaid, of course." He passed
on without saying anything more.

The large windows of the reception room
were open to the ground, and I strolled out
into the beautifully illuminated gardens.

I sauntered about for a while and
followed a side path which was less lighted
than the rest of the garden. It was
bordered by beautiful plants, and I found
myself walking on out of the region of light
into a realm of soft darkness through which
the moonshiny face of some white rose
appeared with misty and ghost-like aspect.
The stars were gleaming with a veiled
lustre through the interlaced branches
overhead. I came at last to a gate. It
was open. I passed through into a path,
at the end of which was a kiosk. As I
walked towards it a dog suddenly rushed
out from the interior, barking furiously,
and making a most noisy demonstration by
way of defence against my aggression.

I tried to quiet him, but it was in vain.
Every step I made in advance he became
more and more enraged, and would
certainly have attacked me more energetically
still, when a bell rang hastily from the
interior of the little summerhouse, which
I had now reached. The dog stopped his
barks and growls, listened, and as the bell
was heard again sprang back, and nestled
down by a low couch which I could now
distinguish as I stood on the threshold.

A small alabaster lamp hung from the
pointed roof of the kiosk, and its light fell on
a face of great beauty below it. Supported
by pillows, in almost a sitting attitude, a
lady was propped up on this couch. Over
the couch, and completely concealing her
limbs from the waist, was a coverlet of
shining bluish-white satin embroidered in
crescents of mother of pearl. Soft glittering
golden hair hung loose and bright over
the pillows, and framed a pale but lovely
face. In the lamplight the face looked
like one of the white roses I had passed.

"Pardon, Madame," I said.

"I must beg yours," she said, in correct
but foreign English. "I am afraid my
dog attacked you."

"He is a very good guardian," I replied;
"but I had no idea I was intruding on any
one as I was pursuing my solitary walk."

"I came here for a little fresh air; when
I am not well there is something soothing in this silence and
solitude, listening to the echoes from the
voices and music yonder.

At that moment, even as she spoke, a
burst of joyous melody was wafted on the
night breeze to our ears.

"Is it not lovely?" she said, as she
clasped her white hands together with
delight like a child's. "Yes, music is the best
part of all our festivals. Do you like
music?"

"Yes, do you?"

"I love it too much," she sighed, and
leaned back; "but then I have been
deprived of it for years."

"You would hear it better from the
house."

"No, I am best here."

By this time the dog crept out from
under the couch, and judging from the
length of our dialogue that my presence
was not hateful to his mistress, began
reconnoitering me from a little distance, and
then trotted up and licked my hand.

"He has made friends with you."

"He feels that I am not so suspicious
a character as I seem."

"He has great physiognomical quickness,
and if he trusts you, you may take it as
a compliment."

"I hope, therefore, that with the
certificate of his approval you will pardon my
intrusion."

"Certainly."

I made my bow, for I heard steps
approaching. The French secretary bustled
by me as I passed on to the house, and as
I turned round I saw he was making his
way through the garden to the kiosk. I
did not see Caradoc again that evening,
but as we were breakfasting the next
morning, I asked him if he knew the lady I had
been talking with the previous evening. I
described her appearance and her dog.

"What," said he, "have you already
made acquaintance with the Countess
Irene?"

I could not for the life of me help a
slight quickening of the pulse as I asked,
"Who is the Countess Irene?"

"She is a lady staying with the Mertons,
a rich American family here. They live
next door to the Austrian Minister, or
rather the gardens are side by side."

"She is a foreigner?"

"Yes, a Swede, or may be a Russian,
bless her. Her family name is Vassilli.
It tells nothing of her nationality. She
calls herself a cosmopolitan."

"She seems a great invalid."