turn, and then----"

[Illustration: {Saxon arrives at the atelier}]

The instructor had caught the sound of the opening door, and he
half-turned his head to cast a side glance in its direction. His words
died suddenly on his lips. His pose became petrified; his features
transfixed with astonishment. His rigid fixity of face and figure
froze the watching students into answering tenseness. Even the
blanket-wrapped model held a freshly lighted cigarette poised half-way
to her lips. Then, the man in the door took an unsteady step forward,
and from his trembling fingers the key fell to the floor, where in the
dead stillness it seemed to strike with a crash. The girl and Steele
wheeled. At that moment, the lips of the bearded face moved, and from
them came the announcement:

"_Me voici, je viens d'arriver._"

The voice broke the hypnotic suspense of the silence as a pin-point
snaps a toy balloon.

Hautecoeur sprang excitedly forward.

"Marston! Marston has returned!" he shouted, in a great voice that
echoed against the sky-light.

As the man stepped forward, he staggered slightly, and would have
fallen had he not been already folded in the giant embrace of the
lesser master.

Duska stood as white as the fresh sheets of drawing-paper at her feet.
Her fingers spasmodically clenched and opened at her sides, and from
her teeth, biting into the lower lip, her breathing came in gasps. The
walls seemed to race in circles, and it was with half-realization that
she heard Steele calling the man, wildly demanding recognition.

The newcomer was leaning heavily on Hautecoeur's arm. He did not
appear to notice Steele, but his gaze met and held the girl's pallid
face and the intensely anguished eyes that looked into his. For an
instant, they stood facing each other, neither speaking; then, in a
voice of polite concern, the tall man said:

"Mademoiselle is ill!" There was no note of recognition--only, the
solicitous tone of any man who sees a woman who is obviously
suffering.

Duska raised her chin. Her throat gave a convulsive jerk, but she only
caught her lip more tightly between her teeth, so that a moment later,
when she spoke, there were purplish indentations on its almost
bloodless line.

She half-turned to Steele. Her voice was an utterly hopeless whisper,
but as steady as Marston's had been.

"For God's sake," she said, "take me home!"

At the door, they encountered the excited physician, who stumbled
against them