how did you guess?"

"It is no guessing, monsieur. You tell me with every word."

"Ah, madame, I thank you!" With a charming, swift grace he bent and
caught her hand. "And, madame"--he hesitated naively and colored again.
"Madame, I would like to say that when my home is here it will be my
care never to desecrate the atmosphere you have created." He bent still
lower, the sun caressing his crisp, dark hair, and very lightly his lips
touched her fingers.

"_Adieu_, madame!"

"_Adieu_, monsieur!"

CHAPTER XI

It seemed to Max, as the door closed behind him and he found himself
upon the bare landing, that he had dreamed and was awake again; for in
truth the _menage_ into which he had been permitted to peep seemed more
the fabric of a dream than part of the new, inconsequent life he had
elected to make his own. A curious halo of the ideal--of things set
above the corroding touch of time or fortune--surrounded the old man
forgotten of his world, and the patient wife, content in her one frail
possession.

He felt without comprehending that here was some precious essence, some
elixir of life, secret as it was priceless; and for an instant a shadow,
a doubt, a question crossed his happy egoism. But the sharp, inquisitive
voice of his guide brought him back to material things.

"You like the _appartement_, monsieur?"

He threw aside his disturbing thoughts.

"Undoubtedly, madame!" he said, quickly. "It is here that I shall live."
Without conscious intention he used the phrase that he had used to
Blake--that he had used to Madame Salas.

"You are quick of decision, monsieur?"

"It is well, at least, to know one's own mind, madame! And now tell me
who I shall have for my neighbor." As they moved toward the head of the
stairs, he indicated the second door on the landing--the door innocent
of name, bell, or knocker.

"For neighbor, monsieur? Ah, I comprehend! That is the _appartement_ of
M. Lucien Cartel, a musician; but his playing will not disturb you, for
the walls are thick--and, in any case, he is a good musician."

A conclusion, winged with excitement, formed itself in the mind of Max.

"Madame!" he cried. "He plays the violin--this M. Cartel?"

"Both violin and piano, monsieur. He has a great talent."

"And, madame, he played last night? He played last night between the
hours of ten and eleven?"

"He plays constantly, monsieur, but of last night I am not sure. Last
night was eventful for M. Cart