Mr. Parsons shrugged his shoulders; she was impossible to deal with, and as he himself was obliged to return to America in the following week, he felt the only thing to do was to let her have her way.  And so well did he guard his client’s secret then and afterwards, that even Simone, though a shrewd Frenchwoman, had never known that her mistress’ name was not really Howard.  At the time of her being engaged she was just leaving an American lady from the far West whom Mr. Parsons knew of, and she was delighted to come as maid and almost chaperon to this sweet, but wilful young lady.

So they had gone to Paris together, to order clothes—­such a joyous task—­and to make herself forget those hours so terribly full of strange emotion was all which occupied Sabine’s mind at this period.  Other preoccupations came later; and it was then that she listened to Simone’s suggestion of going to San Francisco.  The maid knew it well, and there they spent several months in a quiet hotel.  But they neither of them cared much to remember those days, and nothing would have ever induced Sabine to return thither.

* * * * *

She thought of these things now, as Simone left the room with the blue case, but she put from her all disturbing remembrances on her journey to Paris, and rushed into Moravia’s arms, who was waiting for her in her palatial apartment in the Avenue du Bois; they really loved one another, these two women, as few sisters do.

“Sabine, you darling!” the Princess cried, while Girolamo, kept up an hour later to welcome his god-mamma, screamed with joy.

“Now tell me everything, everything, pet!” Moravia demanded, as she poured out the tea.  “Has the divorce been settled?  How soon will you be free?  When can you get married to this nice Englishman?”

“I don’t exactly know, Morri—­the law is such a strange thing; however, my—­husband—­has agreed and begun to take the necessary steps by requesting me to go back to him, which I have refused to do.”

“You are looking perfectly splendid, dear.  Having all that brain stimulation evidently suits you.  Wasn’t the visit of Lord Fordyce delightful in that romantic old castle?  What did you do all the time? and what was the friend like?—­you did not tell me.”

Sabine stirred her tea.

“He only stayed one night—­he was quite a nice creature—­Mr. Arranstoun.”

“Of the castle?” The Princess was thrilled.  “Why, darling, he must be the one that they say is going to marry Daisy Van der Horn.  He has got some matrimonial tangle like you have, and when he is through with it, Daisy is such dead nuts on him, they say she is certain to get him to marry her!  Do tell me exactly what he is like—­I am not over fond of Daisy, you know—­but she is a splendid specimen of dash and vim.”

“He is good-looking, Morri—­and he has got ‘it.’”

“I gathered that from all that I have heard of him here.  Old Miss Buskin, Daisy’s aunt, you remember the old horror, says he is ’just too sweet,’ and ’that sassy’—­you know her frightfully vulgar way of speaking!—­that even she is ‘afraid to be alone in the room with him!’”