Desiree."

"And who is Desiree?"

"What! You do not know Desiree! Impossible!" she exclaimed.

"My dear," said I, "you must remember that for the past year and
a half I have been buried in the land of pork and gold. The
gossip there is neither of the poet nor the court. I am ignorant
of everything."

"You would not have been so much longer," said my friend, "for
Desiree is soon going to America. Who is she? No one knows. What
is she? Well, she is all things to some men, and some things to
all men. She is a courtesan among queens and a queen among
courtesans.

"She dances and loves, and, I presume, eats and sleeps. For the
past two years she has bewitched him"--she pointed down the drive
to where the royal coach was disappearing in the distance--"and
he has given her everything.

"It was for her that the Duke of Bellarmine built the magnificent
chalet of which I was telling you on Lake Lucerne. You remember
that Prince Dolansky shot himself 'for political reasons' in his
Parisian palace? But for Desiree he would be alive to-day. She is
a witch and a she-devil, and the most completely fascinating
woman in the world."

I smiled.