“A pretty tale!” cried Dolores impatiently. “If that be all, why so fearful of telling me, girl? Why did Sancho, who well knows the price, join Rufe against me?”

“I was afraid,” murmured Pascherette with a pretty shiver. She summoned a rosy blush to her piquant face and added in a still lower whisper: “Thy anger terrified me, Sultana. My tongue was tied. And Sancho did what he did in rage, in jealousy against Milo.”

The giant drew himself more erect, and his face became transfigured. If in his great heart there remained any room after his devotion to his mistress, cunning little Pascherette occupied it all when she uttered the half-admission that Milo was her man. Dolores regarded the pair silently; her expression changed slowly from