grow tired of wriggling and twisting, and look again for a
more substantial diet.'

"Matters did, indeed, begin to mend somewhat, when to bring the whole
fabric tumbling down on our heads, this incomparable woman fell ill.

"'You see? I have ruined you,' she said sadly.

"'I am honored, Madam,' was all I could reply.

"She placed her hand softly on mine and let her luminous eyes rest on
me.

"'Dear old friend!' she murmured.

"Then she closed her eyes and I thought she was sleeping. Some time
elapsed when she again opened them.

"'Death will break our contract, Mr. Barnes,' she said softly.

"I suppose my hand trembled, for she tightened her grasp and continued
firmly: 'It is not so terrible, after all, or would not be, but for
one thing.'

"'You will soon get well, Madam,' I managed to stammer.

"'No! Do you care? It is pleasant to have one true, kind friend in the
world; one who makes a woman believe again in the nobility of human
nature. My life has been sad as you know. I should not regret giving
it up. Nor should I fear to die. I can not think that God will be
unkind to one who has done her best; at least, has tried to. Yet there
is one thing that makes me crave for life. My child--what will she
do--poor, motherless, fatherless girl--all alone, all alone--.

"'Madam, if I may--will you permit me to care for her? If I might
regard her as my child!'

"How tightly she held my hand at that! Her eyes seemed to blaze
with heavenly fire. But let me not dwell further upon the sad
events that led to the end of her noble career. Something of her life
I had heard; something, I surmised. Unhappy as a woman, she was
majestic as an actress; the fire of her voice struck every ear; its
sweetness had a charm, never to be forgotten. But only to those who
knew her well were revealed the unvarying truth and simplicity of her
nature. Even as I write, her spirit, tender and steadfast, seems
standing by my side; I feel her eyes in the darkness of night, and,
when the time comes--and often of late, it has seemed not far--to go
from this mere dressing-room, the earth, into the higher life--"

A knock at the door rudely dispelled these memories. For a moment the
manager looked startled, as one abruptly called back to his immediate
surroundings; then the pen fell from his hand, and he pushed the book
from him to the center of the table.

"Come in," he said.

The door opened and Saint-Prosper entered.

"Am I interrupting