it all your own way now--isn't it so?"

"With the lions, yes. Please sit down. This is my dear keeper," she
said, touching the woman's shoulder. Then, to the woman: "Annette, you
have heard me speak of this gentleman?"

The woman nodded, and modestly touched Gaston's outstretched hand.

"Monsieur was kind once to my dear Mademoiselle," she said.

Gaston cheerily smiled:

"Nothing, nothing, upon my word!" Presently he continued:

"Your father, what of him?" She sighed and shivered a little.

"He died in Auvergne three months after you saw him."

"And you?" He waved a hand towards the menagerie.

"It is a long story," she answered, not meeting his eyes. "I hated the
Romany life. I became an artist's model; sickened of that,"--her voice
went quickly here, "joined a travelling menagerie, and became what I am.
That in brief."

"You have done well," he said admiringly, his face glowing.

"I am a successful dompteuse," she replied.

She then asked him who was his companion in the box. He told her.
She insisted on sending for Jacques. Meanwhile they talked of her
profession, of the animals. She grew eloquent. Jacques arrived, and
suddenly remembered Andree--stammered, was put at his ease, and dropped
into talk with Annette. Gaston fell into reminiscences of wild game, and
talked intelligently, acutely of her work. He must wait, she said, until
the performance closed, and then she would show him the animals as a
happy family. Thus a half-hour went by.

Meanwhile, Meyerbeer had asked the manager to take him to Mademoiselle;
but was told that Victorine never gave information to journalists, and
would not be interviewed. Besides, she had a visitor. Yes, Meyerbeer
knew it--Mr. Gaston Belward; but that did not matter. The manager
thought it did matter. Then, with an idea of the future, Meyerbeer asked
to be shown the menagerie thoroughly--he would write it up for England
and America.

And so it happened that there were two sets of people inspecting the
menagerie after the performance. Andree let a dozen of the animals
out--lions, leopards, a tiger, and a bear,--and they gambolled round her
playfully, sometimes quarrelling with each other, but brought up smartly
by her voice and a little whip, which she always carried--the only sign
of professional life about her, though there was ever a dagger hid in
her dress. For the rest, she looked a splendid gipsy.

Gaston suddenly asked if he might visit her. At the moment she