"And who are you, sir?" he asked in cold, steely tones. The count almost

reeled.

"Your superior officer--that should be enough for you!" he half hissed

with deadly levelness.

"Oh, then I see no reason why I should not salute you, sir," said

Baldos, with one of his rare smiles. He saluted his superior officer a

shade too elaborately and turned away. Marlanx's eyes glistened.

"Stop! Have I said you could go, sir? I have a bit of advice to--"

"My command to go comes from your superior, sir," said Baldos,

with irritating blandness.

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"Be patient, general," cried Beverly in deep distress. "He does not know

any better. I will stand sponsor for him." And Baldos went away with a

light step, his blood singing, his devil-may-care heart satisfied. The

look in her eyes was very sustaining. As he left the castle he said

aloud to himself with an easy disregard of the consequences: "Well, it seems that I am to be associated with the devil as well as

with angels. Heavens! June is a glorious month."

"Now, you promised you'd be nice to him, General Marlanx," cried Beverly

the instant Baldos was out of the room. "He's new at this sort of thing,

you know, and besides, you didn't address him very politely for an utter

stranger."

"The insolent dog," snarled Marlanx, his self-control returning

slowly. "He shall be taught well and thoroughly, never fear, Miss

Calhoun. There is a way to train such recruits as he, and they never

forget what they have learned."

"Oh, please don't be harsh with him," she pleaded. The smile of the Iron

Count was not at all reassuring. "I know he will be sorry for what he

has done, and you--"

"I am quite sure he will be sorry," said he, with a most agreeable bow

in submission to her appeal.

"Do you want to see Mr. Lorry?" she asked quickly. "I will send for him,

general." She was at the door, impatient to be with the banished

culprits.

"My business with Mr. Lorry can wait," he began, with a smile meant to

be inviting, but which did not impress her at all pleasantly.

"Well, anyway, I'll tell him you're here," she said, her hand on the

door-knob. "Will you wait here? Good-bye!" And then she was racing off

through the long halls and up broad stair-cases toward the boudoir of

the princess. There is no telling how long the ruffled count remained in

the ante-room, for the excited Beverly forgot to tell Lorry that he was

there.

There were half a dozen people in the room when Beverly entered

eagerly. She was panting with excitement. Of all the rooms in the grim

old castle, the boudoir of the princess was the most famously

attractive. It was really her home, the exquisite abiding place of an

exquisite creature. To lounge on her divans, to loll in the chairs, to

glide through her priceless rugs was the acme of indolent pleasure. Few

were they who enjoyed the privileges of "Little Heaven," as Harry

Anguish had christened it on one memorable night, long before the

princess was Mrs. Grenfall Lorry.




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