mistress have readily explained. It was easy to dress for the critical
eyes of rich young men, officers, gentlemen with titles; all that was
required was a fresh Parisian model, some jewels, and a bundle of
orchids or expensive roses. But these two men belonged to a class she
knew little of; gentlemen adventurers, who had been in strange,
unfrequented places, who had helped to make history, who received
decorations, and never wore them, who remained to the world at large
obscure and unknown.

So, with that keen insight which is a part of a well-bred, intelligent
woman--and also rather inexplicable to the male understanding--she
chose the simplest gown. She was hazily conscious that they would
notice this dress, whereas the gleaming satin would have passed as a
matter of fact. Round her graceful throat she placed an Indian
turquoise necklace; nothing in her hair, nothing on her fingers. She
went down-stairs perfectly content.

As she came into the hall, she heard soft music. Some one was in the
music-room, which was just off the library. She stopped to listen.
Chopin, with light touch and tender feeling. Which of the two
wanderers was it? Quietly, she moved along to the door. Breitmann;
she rather expected to find him. Nearly all educated Germans played.
The music stopped for a moment, then resumed. Another melody followed,
a melody she had heard from one end of France to the other. She
frowned, not with displeasure, but with puzzlement. For what purpose
did a soldier of the German empire play the battle hymn of the French
republic? _The Marseillaise_? She entered the music-room, and the low
but vibrant chords ceased instantly. Breitmann had been playing these
melodies standing. He turned quickly.