d
upon him as the wild _Ztigane_ music of the stringed orchestra beat
suddenly upon his ears and the intense white light struck upon his
sight.

He felt it as others have felt it--the excitement, the consciousness of
an emotional atmosphere--as he followed Blake down the dazzingly bright
room. It was in the air, as it had been at the Bal Tabarin.

As they seated themselves, the barbaric music ceased; the orchestra
broke forth afresh with a light Parisian waltz, and down between the
lines of tables came a negro and a negress--properties of the place, as
were the glasses and the table linen--waltzing with the pliant
suppleness, the conscious sensuality of their race, and close behind
them followed a second couple--a Spaniard, restless and lithe, small of
stature and pallid of face, and a young Spanish girl of splendid
physique.

Max sat silent, attentive to this dance, while Blake ordered supper; but
when the wine was brought, he lifted his glass and drank, as if some
strong sensation had dried his throat.

Blake turned and looked at him.

"Well? Is it amusing?"

"It is--and it is not. Those black creatures are extraordinary. They are
repulsive--like figures in a nightmare."

"Oh! Repulsive, are they? And what about a certain picture we once
looked at--when I was swept off the face of the earth for using that
same word? I believe, you know, that points of view are changing! I
believe I'm coming to part two of my little book! These niggers aren't a
bit more disgusting than the monkey sucking the fruit."

Max glanced at him, laughed a trifle self-consciously and drank some
more wine. "Let us forget monkeys and little books and all such
stupidities. There is a pretty woman over there! Make me a story
concerning her." He nodded toward a table in the middle of the room.

Blake, looking, saw a slim woman in white, whose large hat threw a
becoming shadow on auburn hair and red-brown eyes.

"Ah, now," he said, thoughtfully, "you've given me too much to do! At a
first glance I'd say she's just the ordinary better-class _cocotte_; but
at a second glance it seems to me I'd pause. There's something about the
eyes--there's something about the mouth that puzzles me. You'll have to
wait, my boy, and let fate tell you your fairy tale!"

Trained in the consciousness of regard, the woman they discussed looked
across at them as Blake ceased, and the flicker of a smile touched her
lips--a smile of interest in which there lurked