"Yes," said Mills. "I can imagine."
"But I know. Often when we were alone Henry Allegre used to pour

it into my ears. If ever anybody saw mankind stripped of its
clothes as the child sees the king in the German fairy tale, it's

I! Into my ears! A child's! Too young to die of fright.
Certainly not old enough to understand - or even to believe. But

then his arm was about me. I used to laugh, sometimes. Laugh! At
this destruction - at these ruins!"

"Yes," said Mills, very steady before her fire. "But you have at
your service the everlasting charm of life; you are a part of the

indestructible."
"Am I? . . . But there is no arm about me now. The laugh! Where

is my laugh? Give me back my laugh. . . ."
And she laughed a little on a low note. I don't know about Mills,

but the subdued shadowyvibration of it echoed in my breast which
felt empty for a moment and like a large space that makes one

giddy.
"The laugh is gone out of my heart, which at any rate used to feel

protected. That feeling's gone, too. And I myself will have to
die some day."

"Certainly," said Mills in an unaltered voice. "As to this body
you . . ."

"Oh, yes! Thanks. It's a very poor jest. Change from body to
body as travellers used to change horses at post houses. I've

heard of this before. . . ."
"I've no doubt you have," Mills put on a submissive air. "But are

we to hear any more about Azzolati?"
"You shall. Listen. I had heard that he was invited to shoot at

Rambouillet - a quiet party, not one of these great shoots. I hear
a lot of things. I wanted to have a certain information, also

certain hints conveyed to a diplomaticpersonage who was to be
there, too. A personage that would never let me get in touch with

him though I had tried many times."
"Incredible!" mocked Mills solemnly.

"The personage mistrusts his own susceptibility. Born cautious,"
explained Dona Rita crisply with the slightest possible quiver of

her lips. "Suddenly I had the inspiration to make use of Azzolati,
who had been reminding me by a constantstream of messages that he

was an old friend. I never took any notice of those pathetic
appeals before. But in this emergency I sat down and wrote a note

asking him to come and dine with me in my hotel. I suppose you
know I don't live in the Pavilion. I can't bear the Pavilion now.

When I have to go there I begin to feel after an hour or so that it
is haunted. I seem to catch sight of somebody I know behind

columns, passing through doorways, vanishing here and there. I
hear light footsteps behind closed doors. . . My own!"

Her eyes, her half-parted lips, remained fixed till Mills suggested
softly, "Yes, but Azzolati."

Her rigidity vanished like a flake of snow in the sunshine. "Oh!
Azzolati. It was a most solemn affair. It had occurred to me to

make a very elaboratetoilet. It was most successful. Azzolati
looked positively scared for a moment as though he had got into the

wrong suite of rooms. He had never before seen me en toilette, you
understand. In the old days once out of my riding habit I would

never dress. I draped myself, you remember, Monsieur Mills. To go
about like that suited my indolence, my longing to feel free in my

body, as at that time when I used to herd goats. . . But never
mind. My aim was to impress Azzolati. I wanted to talk to him

seriously."
There was something whimsical in the quick beat of her eyelids and

in the subtle quiver of her lips. "And behold! the same notion had
occurred to Azzolati. Imagine that for this tete-e-tete dinner the

creature had got himself up as if for a reception at court. He
displayed a brochette of all sorts of decorations on the lapel of

his frac and had a broad ribbon of some order across his shirt
front. An orange ribbon. Bavarian, I should say. Great Roman

Catholic, Azzolati. It was always his ambition to be the banker of
all the Bourbons in the world. The last remnants of his hair were

dyed jet black and the ends of his moustache were like knitting
needles. He was disposed to be as soft as wax in my hands.

Unfortunately I had had some irritating interviews during the day.
I was keeping down sudden impulses to smash a glass, throw a plate

on the floor, do something violent to relieve my feelings. His
submissive attitude made me still more nervous. He was ready to do

anything in the world for me providing that I would promise him
that he would never find my door shut against him as long as he

lived. You understand the impudence of it, don't you? And his
tone was positivelyabject, too. I snapped back at him that I had

no door, that I was a nomad. He bowed ironically till his nose
nearly touched his plate but begged me to remember that to his

personal knowledge I had four houses of my own about the world.
And you know this made me feel a homeless outcast more than ever -

like a little dog lost in the street - not knowing where to go. I
was ready to cry and there the creature sat in front of me with an

imbecile smile as much as to say 'here is a poser for you. . . .'
I gnashed my teeth at him. Quietly, you know . . . I suppose you

two think that I am stupid."
She paused as if expecting an answer but we made no sound and she

continued with a remark.
"I have days like that. Often one must listen to false

protestations, empty words, strings of lies all day long, so that
in the evening one is not fit for anything, not even for truth if

it comes in one's way. That idiot treated me to a piece of brazen
sincerity which I couldn't stand. First of all he began to take me

into his confidence; he boasted of his great affairs, then started
groaning about his overstrained life which left him no time for the

amenities of existence, for beauty, or sentiment, or any sort of
ease of heart. His heart! He wanted me to sympathize with his

sorrows. Of course I ought to have listened. One must pay for
service. Only I was nervous and tired. He bored me. I told him

at last that I was surprised that a man of such immense wealth
should still keep on going like this reaching for more and more. I

suppose he must have been sipping a good deal of wine while we
talked and all at once he let out an atrocity which was too much

for me. He had been moaning and sentimentalizing but then suddenly
he showed me his fangs. 'No,' he cries, 'you can't imagine what a

satisfaction it is to feel all that penniless, beggarly lot of the
dear, honest, meritorious poor wriggling and slobbering under one's

boots.' You may tell me that he is a contemptible animal anyhow,
but you should have heard the tone! I felt my bare arms go cold

like ice. A moment before I had been hot and faint with sheer
boredom. I jumped up from the table, rang for Rose, and told her

to bring me my fur cloak. He remained in his chair leering at me
curiously. When I had the fur on my shoulders and the girl had

gone out of the room I gave him the surprise of his life. 'Take
yourself off instantly,' I said. 'Go trample on the poor if you

like but never dare speak to me again.' At this he leaned his head
on his arm and sat so long at the table shading his eyes with his

hand that I had to ask, calmly - you know - whether he wanted me to
have him turned out into the corridor. He fetched an enormous

sigh. 'I have only tried to be honest with you, Rita.' But by the
time he got to the door he had regained some of his impudence.

'You know how to trample on a poor fellows too,' he said. 'But I
don't mind being made to wriggle under your pretty shoes, Rita. I

forgive you. I thought you were free from all vulgar
sentimentalism and that you had a more independent mind. I was