Mr. Sabin, who neither shunned nor courted observation, watched her with a grim smile which was not devoid of bitterness.  Suddenly she saw him.  With a little cry of wonder she came towards him with outstretched hands.

“It is marvelous,” she exclaimed.  “You?  Really you?”

He bowed low over her hands.

“It is I, dear Helene,” he answered.  “A moment ago I was dreaming.  I thought that I was back once more at Versailles, and in the presence of my Queen.”

She laughed softly.

“There may be no Versailles,” she murmured, “but you will be a courtier to the end of your days.”

“At least,” he said, “believe me that my congratulations come from my heart.  Your happiness is written in your face, and your husband must be the proudest man in England.”

He was standing now by her side, and he held out his hand to Mr. Sabin.

“I hope, sir,” he said pleasantly, “that you bear me no ill-will.”

“It would be madness,” Mr. Sabin answered.  “To be the most beautiful peeress in England is perhaps for Helene a happier fate than to be the first queen of a new dynasty.”

“And you, uncle?” Helene said.  “You are back from your exile then.  How often I have felt disposed to smile when I thought of you, of all men, in America.”

“I went into exile,” Mr. Sabin answered, “and I found paradise.  The three years which have passed since I saw you last have been the happiest of my life.”

“Lucille!” Helene exclaimed.

“Is my wife,” Mr. Sabin answered.

“Delightful!” Helene murmured.  “She is with you then, I hope.  Indeed, I felt sure that I saw her the other night at the opera.”

“At the opera!” Mr. Sabin for a moment was silent.  He would have been ashamed to confess that his heart was beating strongly, that a crowd of eager questions trembled upon his lips.  He recovered himself after a moment.

“Lucille is not with me for the moment,” he said in measured tones.  “I am detaining you from your guests, Helene.  If you will permit me I will call upon you.”

“Won’t you join us?” Lord Camperdown asked courteously.  “We are only a small party—­the Portuguese Ambassador and his wife, the Duke of Medchester, and Stanley Phillipson.”

Mr. Sabin rose at once.

“I shall be delighted,” he said.

Lord Camperdown hesitated for a moment.

“I present Monsieur le Due de Souspennier, I presume?” he remarked, smiling.

Mr. Sabin bowed.

“I am Mr. Sabin,” he said, “at the hotels and places where one travels.  To my friends I have no longer an incognito.  It is not necessary.”

It was a brilliant little supper party, and Mr. Sabin contributed at least his share to the general entertainment.  Before they dispersed he had to bring out his tablets to make notes of his engagements.  He stood on the top of the steps above the palm-court to wish them good-bye, leaning on his stick.  Helene turned back and waved her hand.