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Fortunately for her, Marguerite came toward her at that moment. “Laurence,” she said, “the Dowager would like to know you.”

“The Dowager?” Laurence said, slowly, her lips still trembling a little.

“The old Duchesse de Montemare,” the “Gamin” explained. “You know she is the arbiter par excellence of our coterie. Will you come and be presented?” Then catching sight of the Captain, she turned to him with a smile of welcome.

“Good evening, Captain Moray. I had not seen you enter.”

“I have been trying for ten minutes to approach you, mademoiselle, but you were quite unapproachable,” he explained, bending low before her. “I have, however, been happy enough to pay my respects to your father.”

“Ah! Very well. Platnowsky is going to play for us presently. I hope you’ll enjoy it. He has a positive genius for entrancing an audience, irrespective of nationality, creed, taste, or personal inclinations.”

“Hm—he is not the only one,” Neville said, softly, his golden-brown eyes lingering admiringly upon the exquisite contour of Marguerite’s face and form. “Will you sing for us to-night, mademoiselle?”