s old as he feels; a
woman--" He lifted his own glass and smiled into her eyes with a certain
kindliness of understanding. "Come, Lize! The old times aren't so far
behind us! 'Twas only yesterday that Jacques Aujet painted you as the
Bacchante in his 'Masque of Folly.' Do you remember how angry you were
when he used to kiss you, and the grape juice used to run into your
hair and down your neck? Why, 'twas hardly yesterday!"

The woman looked down, and for a moment a shadow seemed to rest upon
her--a something tangible and even fearful, that lent to her mask-like
face a momentary humanity.

"_Mon ami_," she said, in a toneless voice, "do you remember that
Jacques is ten years dead?"

Then suddenly, as if fleeing from her own fear, she looked up again,
surfeiting her senses with the crowds, the lights, the smoke and scent
and crashing music.

"But what folly!" she cried. "Life goes on! The same round, is it not
so? Life and love and jealousy! Come, little monsieur, what have you to
say?"

She turned to Max, sitting silent and attentive; but even as she turned,
there was a flutter of interest among the tables behind her, and a young
girl ran up, laying her hand upon her arm.

"Lize!" she said, with a little gasp. "Lize! He is here--and I am
afraid."

Max looked up. It was the girl he had pointed out to Blake as sitting at
the table with the ugly, clever-looking man; and his eyes opened wide in
fresh surprise, fresh interest as he studied the details of her
appearance. She was of that most attractive type, the fair _Parisienne_;
her complexion was of wax-like paleness, her blonde hair broke into
little waves and tendrils under her Pierrot hat, while her eyes, clear
and blue, proclaimed her extreme youth. As she stood now, clinging to
the elder woman's arm, her mind showed itself in an utter naturalness,
an utter disregard of the fact that she was observed. Max remembered
Blake's words--"These are true citizens of the true Bohemia."

But the woman Lize had turned at her cry, and laid a plump, jewelled
hand over her slim, nervous fingers.

"Jacqueline! My child, what is wrong?"

"He is here! And Lucien is here! And I am afraid!"

The words were vague, but the elder woman asked for no explanation.

"Does Lucien know?"

The girl shook her head.

"And this beast--where is he?"

The girl, silent from emotional excitement, nodded toward the opposite
bar, and a light flickered up into Lize's eyes as she scanned