“Were you?” she asked.

“If I said yes, would it please you?”

“Not unless I thought it true, monsieur—­and, also, knew the reason.”

He looked at her steadily a moment.

“What better reason could I have than that you are the most beautiful woman in Valeria?”

She put her fan before her face.

“Your Highness’s compliment is very delicate,” she laughed.

“It wasn’t meant for a compliment,” he answered.  “If you have looked in your mirror, to-night, you know I speak the simple truth.”

She got up and went over to a great glass, on the opposite wall.  Lotzen followed her, and they stood there, a bit, looking in it.

“You like me in black?” she asked, smiling at him in the mirror.

“I like you in anything,” he answered—­and made as though to put his arm around her waist.

She swung quickly away from him—­just out of reach.

“Even in a gypsy dress?” she asked.

“It was charming—­but, I think I prefer this,” and he nodded toward her gleaming shoulders.

She made a gesture of dissent, and they went back to the table.  Lotzen drew a small chair close and sat staring at her.  She studied her fan and waited.

Then he hooked his hands about his knee and leaned back.

“Do you know,” he said, “it’s a crying shame you are married to my dear cousin.”

She looked him full in the face—­and smiled.

“Why didn’t you make me a widow, then, last night, when you had the chance?”

Lotzen shrugged his shoulders.

“The chance was all right, but the end was bad—­though you didn’t stay to see it.”

She laughed.  “Didn’t I?  I stayed long enough to see your sword sticking in the turf.  I took that to be the end—­was there more of it, later?”

“No; that was the end—­for that time.”

“And for that particular method, I fancy,” said she.  “He wields a pretty blade.”

“Had you known it?” he asked.

“He was the best swordsman in the American Army,” she answered.

“Ordinarily, that does not mean much,” said Lotzen.  “But, as a matter of fact, so far as I know, he has got only one superior in Europe.”

“Then why not get that chap to fight him?”

The Duke laughed.

“I would be very willing to; only, the chap happens to be that infernal Irish adventurer, Moore, who is on his Staff.”

“Why don’t you try it again, yourself?” she asked.

He tapped his cigarette carefully against the ash receiver.

“Because I’m not yet tired of life,” he said.  “I know when I have met my master.”

“But, one of your thrusts might go home,” she insisted.

He looked at her with an amused smile.

“Yes—­it might,” he said.  “But, you see, my dear girl, what troubles me are the many thrusts he has, any one of which would be sure to go home in me.”