Three or four new names were announced, amongst them that of the Princess Isse, who entered smiling, with funny little tottering steps, in European dress, her oval face as white and tiny as a little _netske_ figurine.

A stir of curiosity ran round the room.
'Good-night, Francesca,' said Elena, taking leave of her hostess, 'I shall see you to-morrow.' 'Going so soon ?' 'I am due at the Van Hueffels'.

I promised to go.' 'What a pity! Mary Dyce is just going to sing.' 'I must go--good-bye!' 'Well, take this, and good-bye.

Most amiable of cousins, please look after her.' The Marchesa pressed a bunch of double violets into her hand and hurried away to receive the Princess Isse very graciously.

Mary Dyce, in a red dress, slender and undulating as a tongue of fire, began to sing.
'I am so tired!' murmured Elena, leaning wearily on Andrea's arm.
'Please ask for my cloak.' He took her cloak from the attendant, and in helping her to put it on, touched her shoulder with the tips of his fingers, and felt her shiver.
The words of one of Schumann's songs was borne to them on Mary Dyce's passionate soprano, _Ich kann's nicht fassen, nicht glauben!_ They descended the stairs in silence.