im; a unique emotion thrilled him--a
consciousness of sublimity, a sense of being part of some unfathomable
yet perfect scheme. The music wove its story; the lovers became one with
his own existence, as he himself was one with the stars above him and
the lights below. He followed every note, and in his own brain was spun
the subtle thread that bound Julian and Louise; his own fancy ran the
gamut of their emotions from mere human reminiscence to overwhelming
passion.

As he listened, his first hearing of M. Cartel's fiddle crept back upon
the feet of memory, and with it the recollection of the boy's rapture,
the boy's wayward breaking of the spell and denial of the truth of love.
Cautiously he moved his head and stole a glance at his companion,
summing up the contrast between the present and the past.

Maxine was leaning forward, in thrall to the music: her gray cloak had
fallen slightly back, displaying her white dress--her white neck; her
hands were clasped, her eyes--the woman's eyes, the eyes of
mystery--gazed into profound space.

He held himself rigid; he dared not stir, lest he should brush her
cloak; he scarce dared breathe, lest he should break her dream. A
feeling akin to adoration awakened in him, and as if in expression of
the emotion, the violin of M. Cartel cried out the supreme confession of
the lovers, Louise's enraptured '_C'est le Paradis! C'est une feerie_!',
and Julian's answer, intoxicating as wine, '_Non! C'est la vie!
l'Eternelle, la toute-puissante vie_!'

And there, with the whimsicality of the artist, the bow of M. Cartel was
lifted, and sharp, pregnant silence fell upon the night.

Blake turned to Maxine; and Maxine, with lips parted, eyes dark with
thought, met his regard.

For one second her impulse seemed to sway to words, her body to yield to
some gracious, drooping enchantment; then, swiftly as M. Cartel had
called up silence, she recalled herself--straightened her body and
lifted her head.

"Monsieur," she said, with dignity, "I thank you for your kindness and
for your companionship--and I bid you good-night!"

The swiftness of his dismissal scarcely touched Blake. Already she was
his sovereign lady--her look a command, her word paramount.

"As you will, princess!"

She held out her hand; and taking, he bowed over, but did not kiss it.

She smiled, conceiving his desire and his restraint.

"I shall convey to Max how charmingly you have entertained me, monsieur
and, perhaps-