question. I shouldn't be a follower of his, if I had my chance though."

"That's because you're not French."

"Oh yes, I'm as French as can be! I felt at home with the French when I
was in France. I was all Gallic. When I'm here I'm more Gallic than
Saxon.

"I don't understand it. Here am I, with all my blood for generations
Saxon, and yet I feel French. If I'd been born in the old country, it
would have been in Limerick or Tralee. I'd have been Celtic there."

"Yet Barode Barouche is a great man. He gets drunk sometimes, but he's
great. He gets hold of men like Denzil."

"Denzil has queer tastes."

"Yes--he worships you."

"That's not queer, it's abnormal," said Carnac with gusto.

"Then I'm abnormal," she said with a mocking laugh, and swung her hat on
her fingers like a wheel. Something stormy and strange swam in Carnac's
eyes. All his trouble rushed back on him; the hand in his pocket crushed
the venomous letter he had received, but he said:

"No, you don't worship me!"

"Who was it said all true intelligence is the slave of genius?" she
questioned, a little paler than usual, her eye on the last gleam of the