e show in this room. Some jolly good
people here, too--not all chorus girls and walking gents. Are they,
Marie?"

"You bet not," the lady replied.

"Rosetta Rosa's coming, and she won't go quite everywhere--not quite!
By the way, it's about time she did come." He looked at his watch.

"Ah, Mr. Foster," the divette said, "you must tell me all about that
business. I'm told you were there, and that there was a terrible
scene."

"What business?" I inquired.

"At the Opera the other night, when Alresca broke his thigh. Didn't
you go behind and save his life?"

"I didn't precisely save his life, but I attended to him."

"They say he is secretly married to Rosa. Is that so?"

"I really can't say, but I think not."

"What did she say to him when she went into his dressing-room? I know
all about it, because one of our girls has a sister who's in the Opera
chorus, and her sister saw Rosa go in. I do want to know what she
said, and what he said."

An impulse seized me to invent a harmless little tale for the
diversion of Marie Deschamps. I was astonished at my own enterprise. I
perceived that I was getting accustomed to the society of greatness.

"Really?" she exclaimed, when I had finished.

"I assure you."

"He's teasing," Sullivan said.

"Mr. Foster wouldn't do such a thing," she observed, drawing herself
up, and I bowed.

A man with an eye-glass came and began to talk confidently in
Sullivan's ear, and Sullivan had to leave us.

"See you later," he smiled. "Keep him out of mischief, Marie. And I
say, Carl, the wife said I was to tell you particularly to go into
her crystal-gazing room. Don't forget."

"I'll go, too," Miss Deschamps said. "You may take me there now, if
you please. And then I must go down to where the champagne is flowing.
But not with you, not with you, Mr. Foster. There are other gentlemen
here very anxious for the post. Now come along."

We made our way out of the stir and noise of the grand salon, Marie
Deschamps leaning on my arm in the most friendly and confiding way in
the world, and presently we found ourselves in a much smaller
apartment crowded with whispering seekers after knowledge of the
future. This room was dimly lighted from the ceiling by a single
electric light, whose shade was a queer red Japanese lantern. At the
other end of it were double curtains. These opened just as we entered,
and Emmeline appeared, leading by the hand a man who was laughing
nervously.

"Your f