"Madame, a cigarette?" Her fingers crept to the cigarette-box, then
found and struck a match, all with a deft, unobtrusive quiet that won
its way undenied.

The cigarette was lighted, Maxine leaned back in her chair, Jacqueline's
confidential moment was secured.

"And so, madame, it was a grand success?"

Maxine looked up. The first fine ecstasy was past; the after-glow of
deep contentment curled round her with the cigarette smoke; she was the
pliant reed to the soft wind of Jacqueline's whispering.

"It was past belief," she answered, "past all belief. We stood together
in the light of the lamp and looked each other in the eyes, and he never
guessed. He never guessed--he, who has--Oh, it was past belief!"

"Ah!" murmured Jacqueline, complacently. "I told madame I had a quite
extraordinary talent in the dressing of hair--though madame was
sceptical! And as for the purchase of clothes. Did he admire madame's
velvet cloak?"

Maxine smiled tolerantly. "Of course he did not!"

Jacqueline cast up her eyes to heaven. "These English--they are
extraordinary! But I tell you this, madame, he knew here"--she touched
her heart--"he knew here, that madame looked what she is--a queen!"

"Absurd child!"

The reproof was gentle; Jacqueline's nimble tongue took advantage of the
chance given it.

"And tell me, madame? He play his part gallantly--Monsieur Edouard?"
Never before had she dared so much; but never before had Maxine's eyes
looked as they looked to-night.

Before replying, Maxine leaned her elbows on the table and took her face
between her hands.

"It was past belief--that also!" she said at last. "He seemed a
different being. I cannot understand it."

"He seemed of a greater interest, madame?"

"Of a strangely greater interest."

"In what manner, madame? Looks? Words?" Cunning as a monkey, little
Jacqueline was all soft innocence in the method of her questioning.

"In every way--manner--speech--expression of thought. And,
Jacqueline"--she turned her face, all radiant and unsuspicious, to her
interlocutor--"I made a discovery! He loves Max!"

Jacqueline, with downcast eyes and discreet bearing, carefully removed
the empty tea-cup.

"Yes, he loves me as Max! He told me so. It has made me marvellously
happy--marvellously happy and, also"--she sighed--"also, Jacqueline,
just a little sad!"

"Sad, madame?"

"Yes, sad because he loves Max as one loves a child, expecting no
return; and--I would be loved a