liar way of life of these
people, and, as usual with readjustments, had readjusted himself too
far. He found the room in a litter, with garments of all sorts cast
about in reckless disorder.

"I have been seeing you last night," began Madam Villenauve, shaking
her finger at him archly as she swept some skirts off a chair for him
to sit down, and then took her place before her dressing-table, where
she added the last deft touch to her coiffure. "I have been seeing you
smiling at ze reedeec'lous Carmen. Oh, la, la! Carmen!" she shrilled.
"It is I, monsieur, I zat am ze Carmen. It was zis Matteo, the
scoundrel who run away wiz our money, zat allow le Ricardo to say whom
he like to sing to for Carmen. Ricardo ees in loaf wiz la MeeGeenees.
Le Ricardo is a fool, so zis Ricardo sing Carmen ever tam to ze great,
grosse monstair MeeGeenees; an' ever'body zey laugh. Ze chorus laugh,
ze principals laugh, le Monsieur Noire he laugh, even zat
Fruehlingsvogel zat have no humair, he laugh, an' ze audience laugh,
an' las' night I am seeing you laugh. Ees eet not so? _Mais!_ It is
absurd! It is reedeec'lous. Le Ricardo make fool over la MeeGeenees.
_I_ sing ze Carmen! I _am_ ze Carmen! You hear me sing Aida? Eet ees
zat way. I sing Carmen. Now I s'all sing Carmen again! Ees eet not?"

As Madam Villenauve talked, punctuating her remarks with quick,
impatient little gestures, she jerked off her dressing-jacket and
threw it on the floor, and Bobby saved himself from panic by reminding
himself that her frank anatomical display was, in the peculiar ethics
of these people, no more to be noticed than if she were in an evening
gown, which was very reasonable, after all, once you understood the
code. Still voicing her indignation at having been displaced in the
role of Carmen by the utterly impossible and preposterous Caravaggio,
she caught up her waist and was about to slip it on, while Bobby, with
an amused smile, reflected that presently he would no doubt be
nonchalantly requested to hook it in the back, when some one tried the
door-knob. A knock followed and Madam Villenauve went to the door.

"Who ees it?" she asked with her hand on the knob.

"It is I; Monsieur Noire," was the reply.

"Oh, la, come in, zen," she invited, and threw open the door.

Monsieur Noire entered, but, finding Bobby in the chair by the
dresser, stopped uncertainly in the doorway.

"Oh, come on een," she gaily invited; "we are all ze good friends;
_oui_?"