"That would be easy enough," he answered.
"Would it? Ah, but I fear you would find me too plain a subject. I am not beautiful, you know, but if I wore my best clothes you might think I would do."
For some time Miss Paddington continued to spin out threads of small talk, while Rayel sat listening. The dinner was nearly over when the climax came which I had already begun to fear.
"It is strange," said Rayel thoughtfully. "You speak what is not true, Miss Paddington. You said that the Prince of Wales gave you the beautiful opal, but tell me--was it not your father who gave it you?"
He waited a moment for her answer.
"Oh, I understand now," he continued. "People do not always speak the truth--do they?"
The young lady turned red with embarrassment, while an unnatural smile played upon her lips.
"But--but what is the use of talking then?" he asked. No one seemed disposed to answer.
"It is strange," he continued, with childlike naivete, turning to the young lady sitting at his left, "you have been laughing as if you were very happy, but you have felt more like weeping. This must be a very sad world!" He ceased speaking as if some suspicion of the pain his words were causing had suddenly come to him.
The whole company turned its eyes upon the two. The young lady's face became suddenly pale and almost horror-stricken. Rayel's words were spoken in such a gentle and sympathetic manner that every one was mystified.
"Have you read about the great robbery that occurred last night?" asked Mr. Paddington, with the evident purpose of diverting attention from the young lady. "The vaults of the Metropolitan Bank on Wall Street were blown open with dynamite, and half a million dollars were stolen. No trace of the thieves has been discovered."
"Too bad!" exclaimed half a dozen of the guests seeking to enhance interest in the subject.
"Zey were very bold about it," said the Count, as he lighted a piece of sugar soaked in cognac and held it over his coffee.
Just at that moment a singular thing happened. The lights grew dim and suddenly went out, as if the gas had been turned off. The burning cognac cast a white flickering light upon the face of the man who had just spoken.
"You say there is no trace of the thieves," said Rayel. "That is strange, for one of them is in this room sitting at your table."