ch of Conrad Lagrange; and the
novelist whispered, with a grin, "Now for the flesh-pots in earnest. You
will be really out of place in the next act, Aaron. Only we artists who
have sold our souls have a right to the price of our shame. _You_ should
dine upon a crust, you know. A genius without his crust, huh! A devil
without his tail, or an ass without his long ears!"

Most conspicuous in the brilliant throng assembled in that banquet hall,
was the horrid figure of Mr. Taine who sat in his wheeled chair at the
head of the table; his liveried attendant by his side. Frequently--as
though compelled--eyes were turned toward that master of the feast, who
was, himself, so far past feasting; and toward his beautiful young
wife--the only woman in the room, whose shoulders and arms were not bare.

At first, the talk moved somewhat heavily. Neighbor chattered nothings to
neighbor in low tones. It was as though the foreboding presence of some
grim, unbidden guest overshadowed the spirits of the company But gradually
the scene became more animated The glitter of silver and crystal on the
board; the sparkle of jewels and the wealth of shimmering colors that
costumed the diners; with the strains of music that came from somewhere
behind a floral screen that filled the air with fragrance; concealed, as
it were, the hideous image of immorality which was the presiding genius of
the feast. As the glare of a too bright light blinds the eyes to the ditch
across one's path, so the brilliancy of their surroundings blinded the
eyes of his guests to the meaning of that horrid figure in the seat of
highest honor. But rich foods and rare wines soon loose the tongues that
chatter the thoughts of those who do not think. As the glasses were filled
and refilled again, the scene took color from the sparkling goblets.
Voices were raised to a higher pitch. Shrill or boisterous laughter rang
out, as jest and story went the rounds. It was Mrs. Taine, now, rather
than her husband, who dominated the scene. With cheeks flushed and eyes
bright she set the pace, nor permitted any laggards.

Conrad Lagrange watched, cool and cynical--his worn face twisted into a
mocking smile; his keen, baffling eyes, from under their scowling brows,
seeing all, understanding all. Aaron King, weary with the work of the past
days, endured--wishing it was over.

The evening was well under way when Mrs. Taine held up her hand. In the
silence, she said, "Listen! I have a real tre