, back cloths and
wings, and paid no heed to the two men who strolled slowly up and down
silently, each wrapped in his own thoughts.

Armand walked with his hands buried in his breeches pockets, his head
bent forward on his chest; but every now and again he threw quick,
apprehensive glances round him whenever a firm step echoed along the
empty stage or a voice rang clearly through the now deserted theatre.

"Are we wise to wait here?" he asked, speaking to himself rather than to
his companion.

He was not anxious about his own safety; but the words of de Batz had
impressed themselves upon his mind: "Heron and his spies we have always
with us."

From the green-room a separate foyer and exit led directly out into
the street. Gradually the sound of many voices, the loud laughter and
occasional snatches of song which for the past half-hour had proceeded
from that part of the house, became more subdued and more rare. One by
one the friends of the artists were leaving the theatre, after having
paid the usual banal compliments to those whom they favoured, or
presented the accustomed offering of flowers to the brightest star of
the night.

The actors were the first to retire, then the older actresses, the ones
who could no longer command a court of admirers round them. They all
filed out of the greenroom and crossed the stage to where, at the
back, a narrow, rickety wooden stairs led to their so-called
dressing-rooms--tiny, dark cubicles, ill-lighted, unventilated, where
some half-dozen of the lesser stars tumbled over one another while
removing wigs and grease-paint.

Armand and de Batz watched this exodus, both with equal impatience.
Mlle. Lange was the last to leave the green-room. For some time, since
the crowd had become thinner round her, Armand had contrived to catch
glimpses of her slight, elegant figure. A short passage led from the
stage to the green-room door, which was wide open, and at the corner
of this passage the young man had paused from time to time in his walk,
gazing with earnest admiration at the dainty outline of the young girl's
head, with its wig of powdered curls that seemed scarcely whiter than
the creamy brilliance of her skin.

De Batz did not watch Mlle. Lange beyond casting impatient looks in the
direction of the crowd that prevented her leaving the green-room. He
did watch Armand, however--noted his eager look, his brisk and alert
movements, the obvious glances of admiration which he cast