youth and zeal and all high, white-hot qualities whose
roots strike not in the base earth. Any sage, nay, any simpleton, seeing
Maxine upon the balcony, could have told her what a fool she was; but
who would have told it without a pause, without a sigh for the divinity
of such folly?

Next day she rose, refreshed of body, because refreshed of soul; and
arrayed in the garments of her strength, went forth to prove her faith.

Max it was--Max of the quick, lithe feet and eager glance--who left the
rue Mueller, heedless of breakfast, and began his descent upon Paris,
making straight for the heart of the citadel with the true instinct of
the raider.

Up to this moment, Blake's rooms had been a mere name, lying as they did
within the forbidden precincts of the fashionable world, but to-day no
corner of Paris offered terrors, for the simple reason that Paris itself
had come to be incorporated in Blake, and that, being strong enough to
dare Blake, Max was strong enough to dare the city.

Self-analysis played no part in his mental process as he swung down the
steep, familiar streets. A singleness of purpose, high as it was
foolish, possessed and inspired him. He loved Blake with a wonderful,
unsexual love, and he yearned to lay himself at his feet, to offer him
of his best--gifts of the gods, given with free hands from a free heart.

Something of the sweet foolishness must have shown upon his face, for
when he reached his destination, Blake's _concierge_, usually a taciturn
individual, offered him a welcome as he stepped from the brilliant
sunshine into the dim cool hallway, and gave him the information he
needed with a good grace.

So far, well! But happy assurance emanated from him, and success is
compounded of such assurance. He knocked upon Blake's door, certain that
Blake himself and not his servant would answer to his summons; and as
though the gods smiled at the childish confidence, his certainty was
rewarded. The sound of a familiar step set his pulses racing, a hand was
laid upon the door, and desire became accomplished.

"What! Max?"

"Yes, Max! Is he welcome?" All the hoarded strength of the night was
audible in the words. Max threw up his head, met Blake's eyes, held out
his hand--the boy in every particular.

"Welcome? As welcome as the flowers in May! Come in! Come along in!"
Blake had accepted the masquerade; all was as before.

Together they passed into the _salon_, and instantly Blake became
host--t