“There is one of the strangest and most consistent figures in history,” Karschoff, who was in a talkative frame of mind, went on reflectively.  “I honestly believe that Prince Shan considers himself to be of celestial descent, to carry in his person the honour of countless generations of Manchus.  He has no intimates.  Even Immelan usually has to seek an audience.  What his pleasures may be, who knows?—­because everything that happens with him happens behind closed walls.  To-night, the door of his box is guarded as though he were more than royalty.  No one is allowed to enter unless he has special permission.”

“There is some one entering now,” Maggie pointed out, “for the first time.  Watch!”

La Belle Nita stood for a moment in the front of the box.  She was dressed in the gala costume of a Chinese lady, in a cherry-coloured robe with wide sleeves, her hair, with its many jewelled ornaments, like a black pool of night, her face ghastly white with a superabundance of powder.  Prince Shan turned his head slightly towards her, and though no muscle of his face moved, it was obvious that her coming was unwelcome.  She began to talk.  He listened with the face of a sphinx.  Presently she drew back into the shadows of the box.  She had thrown herself into a chair, and her face was hidden.

“La Belle Nita has made a mistake,” Maggie observed.  “His Serene Highness evidently had no wish to be disturbed.”

Karschoff’s eyes rested upon the figure in green silk, and they were filled with an unwilling admiration.

“That man is magnificent,” he declared.  “Watch his face now that he is speaking.  Not a muscle moves, not a flash in his eyes, yet one has the fancy that he is saying terrible things.”

It was obvious, a moment later, that La Belle Nita had left the box.  Maggie sprang up.  Her colour was a little heightened.  There was a rare nervousness in her tone.

“Let us walk around and find some of the others,” she suggested, turning to Nigel.  “I want to dance.”

They all three passed out and mingled with the dancers.  Maggie put on her mask and deliberately glided into the crowd as though with the intention of losing herself.  It was not until she was underneath Prince Shan’s box and out of sight of its occupant that she paused.  Her thoughts were in a turmoil.  His presence there, after his deliberate assurance to her that he had no intention of coming, his calm and unnoticing regard of her and every one else, seemed to confirm in every way the wave of pessimism which she as well as Nigel was experiencing.  She had passed Immelan in the entrance, and there was something ominously disturbing in his cool, triumphant smile.  She pictured to herself the agreement signed, some nameless terror already launched.  She remembered that Nigel had complained of Naida’s inaccessibility during the last few days.  She herself had been surprised at Prince Shan’s apparent withdrawal, temporary though it might be, from the peculiar but impressive position which he had taken up with regard to her.