d no eyes for any but those two, who of late had
so haunted his thoughts. The sight of either of them would have been
sufficiently disconcerting. The sight of both together very nearly made
him forget the purpose for which he had come upon the stage. Then he
pulled himself together, and played. He played, he says, with an unusual
nerve, and never in all that brief but eventful career of his was he
more applauded.

That was the evening's first shock. The next came after the second act.
Entering the green-room he found it more thronged than usual, and at the
far end with Climene, over whom he was bending from his fine height, his
eyes intent upon her face, what time his smiling lips moved in talk, M.
de La Tour d'Azyr. He had her entirely to himself, a privilege none of
the men of fashion who were in the habit of visiting the coulisse
had yet enjoyed. Those lesser gentlemen had all withdrawn before the
Marquis, as jackals withdraw before the lion.

Andre-Louis stared a moment, stricken. Then recovering from his surprise
he became critical in his study of the Marquis. He considered the
beauty and grace and splendour of him, his courtly air, his complete
and unshakable self-possession. But more than all he considered the
expression of the dark eyes that were devouring Climene's lovely face,
and his own lips tightened.

M. de La Tour d'Azyr never heeded him or his stare; nor, had he done
so, would he have known who it was that looked at him from behind the
make-up of Scaramouche; nor, again, had he known, would he have been in
the least troubled or concerned.

Andre-Louis sat down apart, his mind in turmoil. Presently he found a
mincing young gentleman addressing him, and made shift to answer as
was expected. Climene having been thus sequestered, and Columbine being
already thickly besieged by gallants, the lesser visitors had to content
themselves with Madame and the male members of the troupe. M. Binet,
indeed, was the centre of a gay cluster that shook with laughter at his
sallies. He seemed of a sudden to have emerged from the gloom of the
last two days into high good-humour, and Scaramouche observed how
persistently his eyes kept flickering upon his daughter and her splendid
courtier.

That night there, were high words between Andre-Louis and Climene, the
high words proceeding from Climene. When Andre-Louis again, and more
insistently, enjoined prudence upon his betrothed, and begged her to
beware how far she enco