then M. Cartel laid down his violin and laughed.
The laugh broke the spell: Jacqueline, with a childish cry of
excitement, flew across the room and, throwing her arms about his neck,
kissed him with unashamed fervor; Blake and Max pressed round the piano,
and in an instant the room was humming again to the sound of voices, and
some one made the astounding discovery that it was five o'clock.

This was Blake's opportunity--the opportunity loved beyond all others of
the Irishman, when it is permissible to offer hospitality. The idea came
to him as an inspiration, and was seized upon as such. Eager as a boy,
he laid one hand on Max's shoulder, the other on that of M. Cartel.

'He had a suggestion to make! One that admitted of no refusal! M. Cartel
had entertained them regally; he must suffer them to make some poor
return. There was a certain little _cafe_ where the _chef_ knew his
business and the wine really was wine--' He looked from one face to
another for approval, and perhaps it was but natural that his eyes
should rest last and longest on the face of Max.

So it was arranged. A dinner is a question readily dealt with in the
quarter of Montmartre, and soon the four--laughing, talking,
arguing--were hurrying down the many steps of the Escalier de
Sainte-Marie, bent upon the enjoyment of the hour.

CHAPTER XIX

They dined with a full measure of satisfaction; for with his invitation
to a feast, your Parisian accepts an obligation to bring forth his best
in gayety, in conversation, in good-will; and it might well have
happened that Blake, spending ten times as much money upon guests of his
own world, might have lacked the glow, the sense of success, that filled
him in the giving of this dinner to an unknown musician and a little
blonde-haired _Montmartroise_.

They dined; and then, because the winds were still wintry and coffee
could not yet be sipped outside _cafe_ doors, they betook themselves to
the little theatre of the 'Trianon Lyrique' on the Boulevard
Rochechouart, where for an infinitesimal sum the _bourgeoisie_ may sit
in the stalls and hear light opera conscientiously sung.

As it was a gala evening, Blake reserved a box, and the little
Jacqueline sat in the place of honor, neat and dainty to the point of
perfection, with a small black jacket fitting closely to her figure, and
a bunch of violets, costing ten centimes, pinned coquettishly into her
lace _jabot_. They sat through the performance in a