"He may be worthy," he muttered; "he may, yet--" He broke off abruptly;
then, speaking aloud, "Go, Glyndon," said he; "in three days we shall
meet again."

"Where?"

"Perhaps where you can least anticipate. In any case, we shall meet."




CHAPTER VI.


Glyndon thought seriously and deeply over all that the mysterious Zicci
had said to him relative to Isabel. His imagination was inflamed by the
vague and splendid promises that were connected with his marriage with
the poor actress. His fears, too, were naturally aroused by the threat
that by marriage alone could he save himself from the rivalry of Zicci,
--Zicci, born to dazzle and command; Zicci, who united to the apparent
wealth of a monarch the beauty of a god; Zicci, whose eye seemed to
foresee, whose hand to frustrate, every danger. What a rival, and what
a foe!

But Glyndon's pride, as well as jealousy, was aroused. He was brave
comme son epee. Should he shrink from the power or the enmity of a man
mortal as himself? And why should Zicci desire him to give his name and
station to one of a calling so equivocal? Might there not be motives he
could not fathom? Might not the actress and the Corsican be in league
with each other? Might not all this jargon of prophecy--and menace be