w with a classic head and long, gray beard--retained his
attitude of rapt attention, while the woman, who sat a little apart, and
whose large black hat hid her face, made no sign.

Treading softly, Maxine entered and crept into a seat opposite the trio,
realizing, with an indifference that surprised her, that the woman was
Lize of the Bal Tabarin and the Cafe des Cerises-jumelles.

The music poured forth, a glittering stream of sound. The young Italian
lighted cigarette after cigarette, smoking furiously and beating
soundless time upon the floor with his foot, the old Pole sat lost in an
emotional dream, tears gathering slowly in his eyes and trickling
unheeded down his cheeks, while Lize, in her moveless isolation, gazed
with fixed intensity at the wall above Maxine's head.

Time passed; time seemed of small account in that atmosphere--as the
outside world was of small account. Not one of the little audience
questioned how the other lived. It mattered nothing that in other hours
the artistic fingers of the young Italian were employed in the
manufacture of fraudulent antiques--that the enthusiast by the piano
wrote humorous songs at a starvation wage for an unsuccessful
_comique_--that Lize, finding humanity foolish, made profit of its
folly! 'What would you?' they would have asked with a shrug. 'One must
live!' For the rest, there were moments such as this--moments when the
artist was paramount in each of them--when pure enthusiasm made them
children again!

M. Cartel played on. He had forsaken improvization now, and was
interpreting magnificently; occasionally the boy by the piano threw up
his hands ecstatically, muttering incoherently to himself; occasionally
the young Italian broke silence by a sharp, irresistible '_Brava_'; but
for the most part respectful silence spoke the intensity of the spell.

Then at last Maxine, sitting in her corner, saw Jacqueline bend over the
shoulder of M. Cartel, her hair shining like sun-rays in the
candlelight--saw her whisper in his ear--saw him look up and nod in
abrupt acquiescence, and saw his square-tipped fingers lift for an
instant from the keys and descend again to a series of new chords.

A little murmur of interest passed over the listeners. The Italian threw
away his half-smoked cigarette and lighted another, the Pole smiled
tolerantly with half-closed eyes, as the old smile at the vagaries of
the young, and Maxine in her shadowed seat felt her heart leap
tumultuousl