d a hat that any passing vagabond might have
discarded by the roadside. I could not help noticing carefully to-night
his new suit of black broadcloth, with its standing collar, buttoned up
under his genial chin. His black hair is neatly combed and his
broad-brimmed hat that hangs over my own on the wall, is but three days
old. Thus had this _bon garcon_ who had won the Prix de Rome been
transformed---and Alice was responsible, I knew, for the change. Who
would not change anything for so exquisite and dear a friend as Alice?
She, too, was in black, without a jewel--a gown which her lithe body
wore with all its sveltness--a gown that matched her dark eyes and hair,
accentuating the clean-cut delicacy of her features and the ivory
clearness of her olive skin. She was a very merry Alice to-night, for
her long engagement at the Bouffes Parisiennes was at an end. And she
had been making the best of her freedom by keeping Tanrade hard at work
over the score of his new ballet. They are more in love with each other
than ever--so much so that they insist on my dining with them, and so
these little dinners of three at "Les Rois" have become almost nightly
occurrences. It is often so with those in love to be generous to an old
friend--even lovers have need of company.

We were lingering over our coffee when the talk reverted to the new
ballet.

"It is done, _ma cherie_," declared Tanrade, in reply to an imperative
inquiry from Alice. "Baviere shall have the whole of the second act
to-morrow."

"And the ballet in the third?" she asked sternly, lifting her brilliant
eyes.

"_Eh, voila!_" laughed that good fellow, as he drew forth from his
pocket a thin roll of manuscript and spread it out before her, that she
might see--but it was not discreet for me to continue, neither is it
good form to embrace before the old _garcon de cafe_, who at that moment
entered apologetically with the liqueurs--as for myself, I have long
since ceased to count in such tender moments of reward, during which I
am of no more consequence than a faithful poodle.

Again the garcon entered, this time with smiling assurance, for he
brought me a telegram forwarded from my studio by my concierge. I opened
the despatch: the next instant I jumped to my feet.

"Read!" I cried, poking the blue slip under Tanrade's nose, "it's from
the cure."

"Howling northeast gale"--Tanrade read aloud--"Duck and geese--come
midnight train, bring two hundred fours, one hundred