ep out from the wings.

They could not help but dance well, for they had youth and grace and
strength, and the glances of applause and envy were like wine to
quicken their blood, while above all they caught the overtone of the
singing violins, and danced by that alone. The music ended with a long
flourish just as they whirled to a stop in a corner of the room. At
once an eddy of men started toward them.

"Who shall it be?" smiled Pierre. "With whom do you want to dance?
It's your triumph, Jack."

She was alight and alive with the victory, and her eyes roved over the
crowd.

"The big man with the tawny hair."

"But he's making right past us."

"No; he'll turn and come back."

"How do you know?"

For answer she glanced up and laughed, and he realized with a singular
sense of loneliness that she knew many things which were beyond his
ken. Some one touched his arm, and a voice, many voices, beset him:

"How's the chances for a dance with the girl, partner?"

"My name's McCormack. Riley? Glad to know you. I've got a flask on
the hip, Riley; what's the chance of making a trade on this next dance?"

"How do we swap partners? Mine is the rangy girl with the red topknot.
Not much on looks, Bill, but a cayuse don't cover ground on his looks.
Dance? Say, Bill, she'll rock you to sleep!"

"This dance is already booked," Pierre answered, and kept his eyes on
the tall man with the scarred face and the resolute jaw. He wondered
profoundly why Jacqueline had chosen such a partner.

At least she had prophesied correctly, for the big man turned toward
them just as he seemed about to head for another part of the hall. The
crowd gave way before him, not that he shouldered them aside, but they
seemed to feel the coming of his shadow before him, and separated as
they would have done before the shadow of a falling tree.

In another moment Pierre found himself looking up to the giant. No
mask could disguise him, neither cover that long, twisting mark of
white down his cheek, nor hide the square set of the jaw, nor dim the
keen steady eyes. Upon him there was written at large: "This is a man."

And there came to Pierre an exceedingly great uneasiness in his right
hand, and a twitching of the fingers low down on his thigh where the
familiar holster should have hung. His left hand rose, following the
old instinct, and touched beneath his throat where the cold cross lay.

He was saying easily: "This is your dance,