ked around, incredulous, amazed. The men especially were
different. Such good fellows as they had seemed a few moments ago--from
his altered point of view Macheson regarded them now in scornful
curiosity. Their ties were awry, their hair was ruffled, their faces
were paled or flushed. The laughter of women rang still through the
place, but the music had gone from their mirth. It seemed to him that he
saw suddenly through the smiles that wreathed their lips, saw underneath
the barren mockery of it all. This hideous travesty of life in its
gentler moods had but one end--the cold, relentless path to oblivion.
Louder and louder the laughter rang, until Macheson felt that he must
close his ears. The Devil was using his whip indeed.

Mademoiselle la Danseuse, seeing him alone, paused at his table on her
way through the room.

"Monsieur is _triste_," she remarked, "because his friends have
departed."

Macheson shook his head.

"I am off, too, in a few minutes," he answered.

A waiter with immovable face slipped a note into his hand, under cover
of presenting the bill. Macheson read it and glanced across the room.
Mademoiselle Flossie was watching him with uplifted eyebrows and
expectant smile. Macheson shook his head, slightly but unmistakably. The
young lady in blue shrugged her shoulders and pouted.

Mademoiselle la Danseuse was watching him curiously.

"I wonder," she said softly, "why monsieur comes here."

"In search of pleasure," Macheson answered grimly.

She looked at him fixedly, and Macheson, momentarily interested,
returned her gaze. Then he saw that underneath the false smile, for a
moment laid aside, there was something human in her face.

"Monsieur makes a brave show, but he does not succeed," she remarked.

"And you?" he asked. "Why do you come here?"

"It pays--very well," she answered quietly, and left him.

Macheson settled his bill and called for the vestiaire. In the further
corner of the room two women were quarrelling. The languid senses of
those who still lingered in the place were stirred. The place was
electrified instantly with a new excitement. A fight, perhaps--every one
crowded around. Unnoticed, Macheson walked out.

Down the narrow stairs he groped his way, with the music of the
orchestra, the fierce hysterical cries of the women, the mock cheering
of those who crowded round, in his ears. He passed out into the
blue-grey dawn. The stars were faint in the sky, and away eastwards
l