at goes a-starring
in America. My eyes wandered restlessly over the audience. Suddenly
there was a rushing, like the surging of waters, in my ears, which
drowned the music, and I saw Rodriguez sitting carelessly in the front
of a stage box. His eyes were fixed on me, and I thought there was an
expression of relief in them.

Shocked that the unexpected sight of the man should have such an
effect on me, I pulled myself together with an effort. The sound of
the waters receded, the music rushed back, leaving me amazed at a
condition in myself which should have rendered me so susceptible, in
some subconscious way, to the undoubted magnetism of the man whose
violin had so affected me the night before, and so haunted me all day,
and in regard to whose composition I had an ill-defined, but
insistent, theory which would intrude into my mind.

In vain I turned my eyes to the stage. I could not forget his
presence. Every few minutes my glance, as if drawn by a magnet, would
turn in his direction, and as often as that happened, whether he were
leaning back to speak to some one hidden by the curtain, or watching
the house, or listening intently to the music, I never failed to find
that his eyes met mine.

I sat through the next act in this condition. Then I could stand it no
longer. I felt that I might end by making myself objectionable, and
that, after all, it was far wiser to be safe at home, than sitting in
the theatre where I occupied myself in staring at but one person.

I made my way slowly up the aisle and into the foyer, and had nearly
reached the outer lobby, when I suddenly felt sure that he was near.

I looked up!

Yes, there he was, and he was looking me directly in the face again.
An odd smile came into his eyes. He nodded to me as he approached,
and, with a quaint shake of the head, said: "I just made a wager with
myself. I bet that if I encountered you in the lobby, without actually
seeking you, and you saw me, I'd speak to you--and ask a favor of you.
I am going to win that wager."

He did not seem to expect me to answer him. He simply turned beside
me, thrust his arm carelessly through mine, and moved with me toward
the exit.

"Let us step outside a moment," he said. It was easy to understand
why. The hero of the night before could not hope to pass unnoted.

He stepped into the street.

It was a moonlit night. I remember that distinctly.

He lighted his cigarette, and held his case toward me. I shook m