"If Count Podstadsky-Liechtenstein calls, say that I am not at home.

Apprise the other servants, and add that be is never to find admittance into this house again. Whosoever, after this, admits him even to the vestibule, shall leave my service. Away with you!"

"And now," continued she, as the valet closed the door, "now to work."

She went toward a mirror, and there unfastened her diadem, then her necklace, brooch, and bracelets. With her hands full of jewels, she flew to her dressing-room and deposited them in their respective cases. Then she opened a large, brass-bound casket, and counted her treasures.

The first thing that came to light was a necklace of diamond solitaires.

"These three stars of the first magnitude," said she, contemplating the centre stones, "are the involuntary contribution of the Princess Garampi I borrowed her bracelet for a model, giving my word that it should not pass from my hands. Nor has it done so, for I have kept her brilliants and returned her--mine. She is never the wiser, and I am the richer thereby. For this string of pearls, with the superb ruby clasp, I am indebted to her highness the Princess Palm. One evening, as I welcomed her with an embrace, I made out to unfasten it while I related to her a piquant anecdote of her husband's mistress. Of course she was too much absorbed in my narrative to feel that her necklace was slipping, for I was not only entertaining, but very caressing on the occasion. There was music in the room, so that no one heard the treasure fall. The necklace, a perfect fortune, lay at my feet; I moved my train to cover it, and signed to Carlo, who, I must say, was always within call. He invited the princess to dance, and--the pearls found their way to my pocket. What a talk that loss made in Vienna! What offers of reward that poor woman made to recover her necklace! All in vain, and nobody condoled more affectionately with her than the charming, kind-hearted Countess Baillou. This sorrow--but, pshaw! what a child I am, to be gloating over my precious toys while time passes away, and I must be off to-night!"

She closed her boxes, replaced them in her strong, well-secured casket, and, having locked it, hung the key around her neck. "Here lies the price of a princely estate," said she, "and now I must attend to my ducats."

She stood upon a chair, and took from the wall a picture. Then, pressing a spring behind it a little door flew open, revealing a casket similar to the one containing her jewels. She took it down, and, placing it on the table, contemplated the two boxes with profound satisfaction.

"Twenty thousand lovers' eyes look out from this casket," said she, with a laugh; "all promising a future of triumphant joy. Twenty thousand ducats! The fruits of my savings! And dear old Szekuly has made economy very easy for some months past, for one-half of these ducats once belonged to him. To be sure, I gave him in return the deeds of an entail which I own in Italy, and which he can easily reconvert into money. At least he thinks so. Well--I owe him nothing. We made an exchange, and that is all."

After this edifying monologue, the countess exchanged her elegant costume for a simple travelling-dress, and as she completed her toilet the clock struck eight. Every thing being ready, she returned to her boudoir and rang once. This signified that her confidential valet was wanted. In a few moments the door opened, and an old man, whose dark hair and eyes marked his Italian birth, entered noiselessly. The countess bade him close the door and approach. He obeyed without the least manifestation of surprise, muttering as he went, "Walls have ears."

"Giuseppe," said his mistress, "are you still willing to follow me?"

"Did I not swear to your mother, my beloved benefactress, never to abandon you, signora?"

"Thanks, amico; then we leave Vienna to-night."

"I heard the order forbidding Count Podstadsky the house, signora, and I made ready to depart."

"Good and faithful Giuseppe! Since you are ready, nothing need detain us. Go at once and order post-horses, and come with the travelling carriage to the corner of the street above this."

"Si, signora; I shall leave the carriage there, and return for the two caskets; you will then go out by the postern, and having joined us, we are off. Is that your will?"

"Yes, Giuseppe, yes. Go for your life!"

"Be ready to leave the house in one hour, signora, for you know that I am a swift messenger."

The old man bowed and retreated as silently as he came. His mistress looked after him, saying, "There goes a jewel which I have neither borrowed nor stolen: it comes to me by the inalienable right of inheritance. Now I can rest until he returns."

With a deep sigh of relief, she threw herself upon the divan, and, closing her eyes, gave herself up to rosy dreams. She had not lain long, before the door opened and a valet announced "Colonel Szekuly."

"I cannot receive him," exclaimed she, without rising.

"You must receive him, countess," said a voice behind her, and starting from the divan, she beheld the tall form of her "tiresome old adorer,"

enveloped in a military cloak, with his plumed hat drawn far over his brow. Before she had time to speak, he had dismissed the valet and closed the door.

"You presume strangely upon your influence," cried Arabella, half amused, half angry. "Because you reign over my heart, you aspire to reign over my domestics, I perceive."

"Peace!" cried the colonel, imperatively. "I have not come hither to suck poison from your honeyed lips. I have already had enough to cause my death. Though you have cruelly deceived me, I come to give you a last proof of my love. Do not interrupt me."

"I will not breathe." said she, with a smile so bewitching, that Szekuly averted his eyes, for it maddened him.

"You know," said he, and the old man's voice faltered as he spoke, "that the director of police is my friend. I had invited him to dine with me.

He came but half an hour ago to excuse himself because of an arrest of some importance. Do you guess whose arrest?"

"How should I guess?" said she, still with that enchanting smile. "I have no acquaintance with the police."

"God grant that you may never make their acquaintance!" ejaculated he, hoarsely. "They have just now arrested Count Podstadsky."

Not a feature of her face changed, as she replied: "Ah! Count Podstadsky arrested? I am sorry to hear it. Can you tell me why?"

"For forging bank-notes to the amount of a million of florins."

"I suspected as much; I have several times been the victim of his thousand-florin notes."

"The victim, countess? Is that an appropriate expression?"

"I think it is," replied she, quietly. "Is that all the news?"

"No, countess. The count is taken, but his accomplice--"

She breathed quickly and her mouth quivered, but she rallied and made answer. "He had accomplices?"

"He had an accomplice, and--hush! we have no time for falsehood. Every moment is precious to you. Perhaps the director of the police came to me because knowing how--I have loved you, he would rescue you from shame.

Let us hope that he did, for he told me that he had orders to arrest the Countess Baillou."

"When?" asked she, almost inaudibly; and now her face was pale as death.

"At dusk, that you might be spared the curiosity of a crowd."

Arabella sprang from her couch. "It is already night!" cried she, her voice rising almost to a scream.

"Yes," replied her lover, "but I hope we have time. I have prepared everything for your flight. My carriage and postilions await you in the next street. Be quick, and you may escape."

"Yes, yes," exclaimed she. "Give me but one moment." She flew to her dressing-room, and tried to carry her two boxes. But the ducats were too heavy.

"I must leave the jewels," said she; and climbing up again with her casket, she concealed it in the wall, and replaced the picture. "It is, at all events, perfectly safe, and Giuseppe will come for it."

"Come!" cried Szekuly from the drawing-room.

"I come," answered she, while she wrapped a cloak about her and with trembling hands tied on her travelling-hat.

"Give me your box," said Szekuly, "it will impede your movements."

But she held it fast, and said: "No--they are my jewels, now my only riches."

"And you are afraid to trust them with me?" asked he, with a bitter smile--"to me, who will die of your treachery!"

"People do not die so easily," said she, trying to smile; but her teeth chattered, as she flew rather than ran down the grand staircase and arrived breathless before the door. The porter opened it in wonder. The night-air blew into her face, and revived her courage. Now she might breathe freely, for she was--

But no! From the dark recesses of the stone portico emerged three muffled figures, and one of them laid his rough grasp upon the delicate arm of the countess and dragged her back into the vestibule.

"Too late, too late!" murmured the colonel, passively following, while his heart bled for the treacherous woman whom he would have died to save.