away, but he could not.

A woman issued forth, muffled in silks and light furs. She was followed by
another, quite possibly her maid. One may observe very well at times from
the corner of the eye; that is, objects at which one is not looking come
within the range of vision. The woman paused, her foot upon the step of
the modest limousine. She whispered something hurriedly into her
companion's ear, something evidently to the puzzlement of the latter, who
looked around irresolutely. She obeyed, however, and retreated to the
stage entrance. A man, quite as tall as Courtlandt, his face shaded
carefully, intentionally perhaps, by one of those soft Bavarian hats that
are worn successfully only by Germans, stepped out of the gathering to
proffer his assistance. Courtlandt pushed him aside calmly, lifted his
hat, and smiling ironically, closed the door behind the singer. The step
which the other man made toward Courtlandt was unequivocal in its meaning.
But even as Courtlandt squared himself to meet the coming outburst, the
stranger paused, shrugged his shoulders, turned and made off.

The lady in the limousine--very pale could any have looked closely into
her face--was whirled away into the night. Courtlandt did not stir from
the curb. The limousine dwindled, once it flashed under a light, and then
vanished.

"It is the American," said one of the waiting dandies.

"The icicle!"

"The volcano, rather, which fools believe extinct."

"Probably sent back her maid for her Bible. Ah, these Americans; they are
very amusing."

"She was in magnificent voice to-night. I wonder why she never sings
_Carmen_?"

"Have I not said that she is too cold? What! would you see frost grow upon
the toreador's mustache? And what a name, what a name! Eleonora da
Toscana!"

Courtlandt was not in the most amiable condition of mind, and a hint of
the ribald would have instantly transformed a passive anger into a blind
fury. Thus, a scene hung precariously; but its potentialities became as
nothing on the appearance of another woman.

This woman was richly dressed, too richly. Apparently she had trusted her
modiste not wisely but too well: there was the strange and unaccountable
inherent love of fine feathers and warm colors which is invariably the
mute utterance of peasant blood. She was followed by a Russian, huge of
body, Jovian of countenance. An expensive car rolled up to the curb. A
liveried footman jumped down from beside the chauffeur a