“In fact,” continued Dalton, perceiving the electric flash he had excited, “skepticism is a disease of my intellect.  Perhaps the most noticeable and palpable fact of the moment is the presence and identity of the Duke who is opposite to me; and yet, doubting as I sometimes do my own existence, is it not natural, that, philosophically speaking, the presence and identity of your Highness are at moments a subject of philosophical doubt?”

“In cases of this kind,” replied the Duke, “we rest upon circumstantial evidence.”

So saying, he drew from his finger a ring and handed it to Dalton, who went to the light and examined it closely, and passed it to me.  It was a minute cameo, no larger than a grain of wheat, in a ring of plain gold; a rare and beautiful work of microscopic art.

“I seem to remember presenting the Duke of Rosecouleur with a similar ring, in Italy,” said Dalton, resuming his seat; “but the coincidence does not resolve my philosophic doubt, excited by the affair of the picture.  We all supposed that we saw a portrait of the Hon. Mrs. Denslow in yon picture; and we seemed to discover, under the management of your valet, that Denslow’s picture, a genuine duplicate of the original by the author, was a modern copy.  Since your Highness quitted the gallery, those delusions have ceased.  The picture appears now to be genuine.  The likeness to Mrs. Denslow has vanished.”

An exclamation of surprise from all present, except the Duke, followed this announcement.

“And so,” continued Dalton, “it may be with this ring, which now seems to be the one I gave the Duke at Rome, but to-morrow may be different.”

As he spoke, Dalton gave back the ring to the Duke, who received it with his usual grace.

“Who knows,” said Lethal, with a deceptive innocence of manner, “whether aristocracy itself be not founded in mesmerical deceptions?”

“I think, Lethal,” observed Adonais, “you push the matter.  It would be impossible, for instance, even for his Highness, to make Honoria Denslow appear ugly.”

We all looked at Honoria, to whom the Duke leaned over and said,—­

“Would you be willing for a moment to lose that exquisite beauty?”

“For my sake, Honoria,” said Dalton, “refuse him.”

The request, so simply made, was rewarded by a ravishing smile.

“Edward, do you know that you have not spoken a kind word to me to-night, until now?”

Their eyes met, and I saw that Dalton trembled with a deep emotion.  “I will save you yet,” he murmured.

A tall, black hound, of the slender breed, rose up near Honoria, and, placing his fore-paws upon the edge of the pearl table, turned and licked her face and eyes.

It was the vision of a moment.  The dog sprang upon the sofa by the Duke’s side, growling and snapping.

“Reve de Noir,” cried Lethal and Adonais, “drive the dog away!”

The valet had disappeared.