litude of the landing, she shook her head.

"An artist, for a certainty!" she said, aloud, and, turning, she
retraced her steps and knocked with her knuckles on the door of M.
Lucien Cartel.

Meanwhile, Max finished his descent of the stairs, his feet gliding
with pleasant ease down the polished oak steps, his hand slipping
smoothly down the polished banister. Already the joy of the free life
was singing in his veins, already in spirit he was an inmate of this
house of many histories. He darted across the hall, picturing in
imagination the last night's haste of M. Cartel of the violin. What
would he be like, this M. Cartel, when he came to know him in the flesh?
Fat and short and negligent of his figure? or lean and pathetic, as
though dinner was not a certainty on every day of the seven? He laughed
a little to himself light-heartedly, and gained the street door with
unnecessary, heedless speed--gained it on the moment that another
pedestrian, moving swiftly as himself, entered, bringing him to a sharp
consciousness of the moment.

Incomer and outgoer each drew back a step, each laughed, each tendered
an apology.

"_Pardon_, monsieur!"

"_Pardon_, mademoiselle!"

Then simultaneously a flash of recognition leaped into both faces.

"Why," cried the girl, "it is the little friend of the friend of Lize!
How droll to meet like this!"

Her candor of speech was disarming; reticence fled before her smile,
before her artless friendliness.

"What a strange chance!" said Max. "What brings you to the rue Mueller,
mademoiselle?"

She smiled, and in her smile there was a little touch of pride--an
indefinite pride that glowed about her slender, youthful person like an
aura.

"Monsieur, I live in this house--now."

"Now?" Sudden curiosity fired him.

"Ah, you do not comprehend! Last night was sad, monsieur; to-day--" She
stopped.

"To-day, mademoiselle?"

For a second the clear, childish blue of her eyes flashed like a glimpse
of spring skies.

"It is too difficult, monsieur--the explanation. It is as I say. Last
night was dark; to-day the sun shines!" She laughed, displaying the
dazzling whiteness of her teeth. "And you, monsieur?" she added, gayly.
"You also live here in the rue Mueller? Yes? No?" She bent her head
prettily, first to one side, then to the other, as she put her
questions.

"I hope to live here, mademoiselle."

"Ah! Then I wish you, too, the sunshine, monsieur! Good-day!"

"Good-day, mademoi