“It was I,” said the Duke, in a gentle voice, and with a smile which just disclosed the ivory line under the black moustache, “who caused this picture to be copied and altered.  The beauty of the Hon. Mrs. Denslow, whom it was my highest pleasure to know, seemed to me to surpass that of the queen of my original.  I first, with great secrecy, unknown to your wife,” continued the Duke, turning to Denslow, “procured a portrait from the life by memory, which was afterwards transferred to this canvas.  The resemblance to my attendant is, I confess, remarkable and inexplicable.”

“But will you tell us by what accident this copy happened to be in Italy?” asked Dalton.

“You will remember,” replied the Duke, coldly, “that at Paris, noticing your expressions of admiration for the picture, which you had seen in my English gallery, I gave you a history of its purchase at Bologna by myself.  I sent my artist to Bologna, with orders to place the copy in the gallery and to introduce the portrait of the lady; it was a freak of fancy; I meant it for a surprise; as I felt sure, that, if you saw the picture, you would secure it.

“It seems to me,” replied Dalton, “that the onus of proof rests with your Highness.”

The Duke made a signal to Reve de Noir, who again stepped up to the canvas, and, with a short knife or stiletto, removed a small portion of the outer layer of paint, disclosing a very ancient ground of some other and inferior work, over which the copy seemed to have been painted.  The proof was unanswerable.

“Good copies,” remarked the Duke, “are often better than originals.”

He offered his arm to Honoria, and they walked through the gallery,—­he entertaining her, and those near him, with comments upon other works.  The crowd followed them, as they moved on or returned, as a cloud of gnats follow up and down, and to and fro, a branch tossing in the wind.

“Beaten at every point,” I said, mentally, looking on the pale features of the defeated Dalton.

“Yes,” he replied, seeing the remark in my face; “but there is yet time.  I am satisfied this is the man with whom we travelled; none other could have devised such a plan, or carried it out.  He must have fallen in love with Honoria at that time; and simply to see her is the object of his visit to America.  He is a connoisseur in pictures as in women; but he must not be allowed to ruin us by his arrogant assumptions.”

“Excepting his manner and extraordinary personal advantages, I find nothing in him to awe or astonish.”

“His wealth is incalculable; he is used to victories; and that manner which you affect to slight,—­that is everything.  ’Tis power, success, victory.  This man of millions, this prince, does not talk; he has but little use for words.  It is manner, and not words, that achieves social and amatory conquests.”

“Bah!  You are like the politicians, who mistake accidents for principles.  But even you are talking, while this pernicious foreigner is acting.  See! they have left the gallery, and the crowd of fools is following them.  You cannot stem such a tide of folly.”