ittle fleecy red clouds were strewn over the house-tops. He stood on
the pavement and drew in a long breath. The morning breeze was like a
draught of cold water; it was as though he had come back to life again
after an interlude spent in some other world. Overhead he could still
hear the music of the "Valse Amoureuse," the swell of voices. He
shivered, with the cold perhaps--or the memory of the nightmare!

The commissionaire, hat in hand, summoned a coupe, and Macheson took his
place in the small open carriage. Down the cobbled street they went, the
crazy vehicle swaying upon its worn rubber tyres, past other night
resorts with their blaze of lights and string of waiting cabs; past
women in light boots, in strange costumes, artificial in colour and
shape, painted, bold-eyed, uncanny pilgrims in the City of Pleasure;
past the great churches, silent and stern in the cold morning light;
past weary-eyed scavengers into the heart of the city, where a thin
stream of early morning toilers went on their relentless way. Once more
he entered the obscurity of his dimly lit hotel, where sleepy-eyed
servants were sweeping, and retired to his room, into which he let
himself at last with a sigh of relief. He threw up the blinds and
opened the windows. To be alone within those four walls was a blessed
thing.

He threw off his coat and glanced at his watch. It was half-past five.
His eyes were hot, but he had no desire for sleep. He walked restlessly
up and down for a few minutes, and then threw himself into an
easy-chair. Suddenly he looked up.

Some one was knocking softly at his door. He walked slowly towards it
and paused. All his senses were still pulsating with a curious sense of
excitement; when he stood still he could almost hear his heart beat.
From outside came the soft rustling of a woman's gown--he knew very well
who it was that waited there. He stood still and waited. Again there
came the knocking, to him almost like a symbolical thing in its
stealthy, muffled insistence. He felt himself battling with a sudden
wave of emotions, struggling with a passionate, unexpected desire to
answer the summons. He took a quick step forwards. Then sanity came, and
the moment seemed far away--a part of the nightmare left behind. He
waited until he heard the quiet, reluctant footsteps pass away down the
corridor. Then he muttered something to himself, which sounded like a
prayer. He sank into a chair and passed his hand across his forehe