urned into
her splendid hair. Meyerbeer was watching through his opera-glasses. He
gave an exclamation of delight:

"By the holy smoke, here's something!" he said aloud.

For an instant Gaston and the girl looked at each other intently. He
made a slight sign of recognition with his hand, and then she turned
away, gone a little pale now. She stood looking at her lions, as if
trying to recollect herself. The lion at her feet helped her. He had
a change of temper, and, possibly fretting under inaction, growled. At
once she summoned him to get into the chariot. He hesitated, but did so.
She put the reins in his paws and took her place behind. Then a robe
of purple and ermine was thrown over her shoulders by an attendant;
she gave a sharp command, and the lions came round the ring, to wild
applause. Even a Parisian audience had never seen anything like this. It
was amusing too; for the coachman-lion was evidently disgusted with his
task, and growled in a helpless kind of way.

As they passed Gaston's box, they were very near. The girl threw one
swift glance; but her face was well controlled now. She heard, however,
a whispered word come to her:

"Andree!"

A few moments afterwards she retired, and the performance was in other
and less remarkable hands. Presently the manager himself came, and said
that Mademoiselle Victorine would be glad to see Monsieur Belward if he
so wished. Gaston left Jacques, and went.

Meyerbeer noticed the move, and determined to see the meeting if
possible. There was something in it, he was sure. He would invent an
excuse, and make his way behind.

Gaston and the manager were in the latter's rooms waiting for Victorine.
Presently a messenger came, saying that Monsieur Belward would find
Mademoiselle in her dressing-room. Thither Gaston went, accompanied by
the manager, who, however, left him at the door, nodding good-naturedly
to Victorine, and inwardly praying that here was no danger to his
business, for Victorine was a source of great profit. Yet he had failed
himself, and all others had failed in winning her--why should this man
succeed, if that was his purpose?

There was present an elderly, dark-featured Frenchwoman, who was always
with Victorine, vigilant, protective, loving her as her own daughter.

"Monsieur!" said Andree, a warm colour in her cheek. Gaston shook her
hand cordially, and laughed. "Mademoiselle--Andree?"

He looked inquiringly. "Yes, to you," she said.

"You have