ghts aloud:

'If only the Princess were not gone!'

And she writhed her lips with rage at the thought that the sudden
departure had been her own suggestion.

'We will get her back,' said Paul.

'How?'

Without answering her question, he asked, 'Is Sammy here to-night?'

'Oh, I don't think so, as _she_ is---- Where are you going? what do you
mean to do?'

'Keep quiet, won't you? Don't interfere. You are too unlucky for me.'

He left with a crowd of visitors who were driven away by the end of the
_entr'acte_, and she went back to her seat on Madame Ancelin's left.
Her hostess worshipped with the same ecstasy as before, and it was one
perpetual giving of thanks.

'Oh, look at Coquelin! What humour he has! My dear, do look at him!'

'My dear' was indeed not attending; her eyes wandered, and on her lips
was the painful smile of a dancer hissed off the boards. With the excuse
that the footlights dazzled her, she was turning every moment towards
the audience to look for her son. Perhaps there would be a duel with
the Prince, if he was there. And all her fault--all through her stupid
bungling.

'Ah, there's Delaunay! Di' y' see him? Di' y' see?'

No, she had seen nothing but the Duchess's box, where some one had just
come in, with a youthful elegant figure, like her Paul. But it was the
little Count Adriani, who had heard of the rupture like the rest of
Paris and was already tracking the game. Through the rest of the
play the mother ate her heart out in misery, turning over innumerable
confused plans for the future, mixed in her thoughts with past events
and scenes which ought to have forewarned her. Stupid, how stupid of
her! How had she failed to guess?

At last came the departure, but oh how long it took! She had to stop
every moment, to bow or smile to her friends, to say good-bye. 'What are
you going to do this summer? Do come and see us at Deauville.' All down
the narrow passage crammed with people, where ladies finish putting on
their wraps with a pretty movement to make sure of their ear-rings, all
down the white marble staircase to the men-servants waiting at the foot,
the mother, as she talks, still watches, listens, tries to catch in the
hum of the great fashionable swarm dispersing for some months a word or
hint of a scene that evening in a box. Here comes the Duchess, haughty
and erect in her long white and gold mantle, taking the arm of the young
officer of the Papal Guard. She knows the shabby tri