apology, Conrad Phaulcon came. His disguise was perfect. He was used to assume one at any hour and for any need; and in the dress of a melon-seller, with his fair skin stained and his auburn beard dyed black, his closest friend might have passed him by, his sworn foe failed to challenge him. He neither paused to watch nor ask if his host penetrated the mask as he swept up towards Vane, his mobile mouth working, and his large brown eyes aflame.
"Is this true?"
Victor had known him before he had heard his voice, and was on his guard. He shrugged his shoulders where he leaned against the side of the vine-shadowed window.
"You incarnate volcano! you will destroy us all some day! An ostensible melon-seller forcing his way in to me in this fashion! Have you ever stopped to remember what the household can think?"
"Felix admitted me, and I gave him the password. But, answer me, for God's sake, what of Idalia?"
"What of her? Why, this of her, caro, that she is the subject for a tragic study by that eminent artist Monsignore Giulio Villaflor, to which you
