brown and close-cropped and his features sharply cut. In manner he was awkward but perfectly well-bred, unpretentious and simple. The ambassador's verdict on the new secretary was very different from Sempaly's. "He is my best worker," said his excellency: "A wonderful worker, and a long head--extraordinarily capable; but not pliant enough--not pliant enough...."

Nor was it only with his superiors that he found favor; the younger officials with whom he came in contact were soon on the best terms with him. He had one peculiarity, very rare in men who take life so seriously as he did: He never quibbled. The embassy at Rome at that time swarmed to such an extent with handsome, fashionable idlers that the Palazzo di Venezia was like a superior school for fine ladies with moustaches--as Sempaly aptly said. Sterzl looked on at their feeble doings with indulgent good humor; it was impossible to hope for any definite views or action from these young gentlemen; it would have been as wise to try to make butterflies do the work of ants. He himself was always ready to make good their neglect and gave them every liberty for their amusements. He wished to work, to make his mark--that was his business; to fritter away life and enjoy themselves was theirs. Thus they agreed to admiration.

But though his subalterns were soon his devoted allies, society at large was still disposed to offer him a cold shoulder. His predecessor in office had never pretended to do anything noteworthy as a diplomatist, but he had been an admirable waltzer, and--which was even more important--he had not disdained that social diversion; consequently he had been a favorite with the ladies of Rome who loudly bewailed his departure and were not cordial to his successor. Sterzl took no pains to fill his place; he had no trace of that obsequious politeness and superficial amiability which make a man popular in general society. His blunt conscientiousness and quite pedantic frankness of speech were displeasing on first acquaintance. In a drawing-room he commonly stood silently observant, or, if he spoke, he said exactly what he thought and expected the same sincerity from others. He could never be brought to understand that the flattery and subterfuge usual in company were merely a degenerate form of love for your neighbor; that the uncompromising truthfulness that he required must result in universal warfare; that the limit-line between sincerity and rudeness, between deference and hypocrisy, have never been rigidly defined; that the naked truth is as much out of place in a drawing-room as a man in his shirt-sleeves; and that, considering the defects and deformities of our souls, we cannot be too thankful that custom prohibits their being displayed without a decent amount of clothing. Merciful Heaven! what should we see if they were laid bare?

No, we cannot live without lying. A man who is used to society demands that it should tell lies, it is his right, and a courtesy to which he has every claim. When a man finds that society no longer thinks him worth lying to his part is played out and he had better vanish from the scene. In short, Sterzl had no sort of success with women; they dubbed him by the nickname of 'le Paysan du Danube.' Men respected him; they only regretted that he had so many extravagant notions, particularly a morbid touchiness as to matters of honor; however, that is a fault which men do not seriously disapprove of. To Sterzl himself it was a matter of entire indifference what was said of him by people who were not his personal friends. For a friend he would go through fire and water, but he would often neglect even to bow to an acquaintance in the street as he walked on, straight to his destination, his head full of grand schemes. He was fully determined to make his mark: to do--perhaps to become--something great ... but....

CHAPTER III.

Princess Vulpini, who had not escaped the fashionable complaint--the Morbus Schliemaniensis, had found a treasure no further off than in an old-clothes shop in the Via Aracoeli, where she had bought two wonderful shields from designs, she was assured, of Benvenuto Cellini's and a fragment of tapestry said to have been designed by Raphael, and she had invited a few intimate friends--Truyn, Sempaly, von Klinger, and Count Siegburg, an Austrian attaché, to give their opinion as to the genuineness of her find. She was Truyn's sister and a few years younger than he; she had met Prince Vulpini at Vichy when spending a season there with her invalid father and soon afterwards had married him, and now for twelve years she had lived in Rome, loving it well, though she never ceased railing at it for sundry inconveniences, was always singing the praises of Vienna and would have all her shopping done for her "at home" because she was convinced that nothing was to be had in Rome but photographs, antiques and wax-matches.

The company had just finished a lively dinner, throughout which they had unanimously abused the new Italian Ministry; but with the arrival of the coffee and cigarettes they turned to the consideration of the princess's antiquities which she had spread out on the floor for inspection. The gentlemen threw themselves on all-fours to examine the arras and the shields, and pronounced their verdict with conscientious frankness. No one, it seemed, was thoroughly convinced of the authenticity of the treasures but the Countess Marie Schalingen, a lady who had been for some few weeks in Rome as the princess's guest; all the others had doubts. The most vigorous sceptic of them all was Count Siegburg, who, to be sure, was the one who knew least of such matters, but who nevertheless spoke of "electrotype casts and modern imitations" with supreme decisiveness.

Wips, or more correctly Wiprecht Siegburg, was the spoilt child of the Austrian circle; I doubt whether he could have invented gunpowder, have discovered America, or have proved that the earth goes round, but for work-a-day company he was certainly pleasanter than Schwarz, Columbus or Galileo. He had been attached to the embassy with no hope of his finding a career, but simply to get him away from Vienna, where his debts had at last become inconveniently heavy. His widowed mother, after much meditation, had hit upon this admirable plan for checking her son in his extravagance.

"You make me quite nervous, Siegburg," said the princess at length, "though I know that you have not the faintest glimmering of knowledge on the subject."

"Perhaps you are right," he answered coolly. "At any rate, I have lost confidence lately in my critical instincts. I always used to think that the genuineness of antiquities was in proportion to their dirt; but now that I have learnt that even the dirt is counterfeit I have lost all basis of judgment."

They all laughed at this confession, not so much for its wit as because every one laughed at Siegburg's little sallies. They were in the smoking-room, a snug apartment, picturesquely and comfortably furnished with carved wood and oriental cushions. All the party were on the intimate terms of "just ourselves," a mixture of courteous deference and hearty friendliness. The conversation was not precisely learned; on the contrary, there was a certain frivolity in its tone; very bad jokes were perpetrated and some anecdotes related savoring of Saint-Simon in raciness without any one being scandalized, for they were not in the mood to run every jest to earth, to treat every point by chemical analysis, or take every word literally. Superficiality is sometimes a gracious and a blessed thing.

"I feel so thoroughly at home to-day--in such an Austrian atmosphere...." exclaimed the hostess. "But I have a presentiment that it will not be of long duration. Mesdames de Gandry and Ferguson are dining in this neighborhood...."

As she spoke the servant