as certainly not unfavorable to
Louise.

"It is only in the finer shades of emotionalism," the critic declared,
"that these French actresses get at us a little more completely even
than Louise Maurel. Do you know the reason? I'll tell you. It is because
they live the life. They have a dozen new emotions in a season. They
make a cult of feeling. They use their brains to dissect their passions.
They cut their own life into small pieces and give us the result without
concealment. That is where they score, if anywhere. This Mme. Latrobe,
who opens over here to-morrow night, is living at the present moment
with Jean Tourbet. She had an affair with that Italian poet in the
summer, so they tell me. She was certainly in Madrid in October with
Bretoldi, the sculptor. These men are all great artists. Think what she
must have learned from associating with them! Now Louise Maurel, so far
as we know, has never had but one lover, the Prince of Seyre, and has
been faithful to him all the time."

It was out at last! John had heard it spoken in plain words. The black
demon upon which his hand had lain so heavily, was alive now, without a
doubt, jeering at him, mocking at him--alive and self-assertive in the
sober words of the elderly, well-bred man who lounged upon the table.

For a moment or two John was stunned. A wild impulse assailed him to
leap up and confront them all, to choke the lie back down the throat of
the man who had uttered it. Every nerve in his body was tingling with
the desire for action. The stupor of his senses alone kept him
motionless, and a strange, incomprehensible clarity of thought. He
realized exactly how things were. This man had not spoken idly, or as a
scandalmonger. He had spoken what he had accepted as a fact, what other
people believed.

John rose to his feet and made his way toward the door. His face showed
little sign of disturbance. He even nodded to some men whom he knew
slightly. As he passed down the stairs, he met Graillot. Then once more
the self-control became in danger. He seized the Frenchman savagely by
the arm.

"Come this way," he said, leading him toward the card-room. "Come in
here! I want to speak to you."

He locked the door--a most unheard-of and irregular proceeding. Graillot
felt the coming of the storm.

"Well!" he exclaimed grimly. "Trouble already, eh? I see it in your
face, young man. Out with it!"

John--who had won a hard match at rackets a few days before against a