opened the door for us, and ushered
us into the passage. As he preceded us, I had time for one whisper to
Wetter.

"You're still mad about her, are you?" I said, pinching his arm.

"Still? Good Heavens, no! Again!" he answered.

The door that faced us was thrown open, and Coralie stood before me in a
loose gown of a dark-red colour. Before she could speak, Wetter darted
forward, pulling me after him.

"I have the distinguished honour to present my friend, M. de
Neberhausen," he said. "You may remember meeting him at Forstadt."

Coralie looked for a moment at each of us in turn. She smiled and nodded
her head.

"Perfectly," she said; "but it is a surprise to see him here, a very
pleasant surprise." She gave me her hand, which I kissed with a fine
flourish of gallantry.

"This gentleman knows the King very well," said Struboff, nodding at her
with a solemn significance. "There's money in that!" he seemed to say.

"Does he?" she asked indifferently; and added to me, "Pray come in. I
was not expecting visitors; you must make excuses for me."

She did not seem changed in the least degree. There was the same
indolence, the same languid, slow enunciation. It struck me in a moment
that she ignored her husband's presence. He had gone to a sideboard and
was fingering a decanter. Wetter flung himself on a sofa.

"It is really you?" she asked in a whisper, with a lift of her eyelids.

"Oh, without the least doubt!" I answered. "And it is you also?"

Struboff came forward, tumbler in hand.

"Pray, is your King fond of music?" he asked.

"He will adore it from the lips of Madame Struboff," I answered, bowing.

"He adored it from the lips of Mlle. Mansoni," observed Wetter, with a
malicious smile. Struboff glared at him; Coralie smiled slightly. An
inkling of Wetter's chosen part came into my mind. He had elected to
make Struboff uncomfortable; he did not choose that the fat man should
enjoy his victory in peace. My emotions chimed in with his resolve, but
reason suggested that the ethical merits were more on Struboff's side.
He was Coralie's career; the analogy of my own relation toward Elsa
urged that he who is a career is entitled to civility. Was not I Elsa's
Struboff? I broke into a sudden laugh; it passed as a tribute to
Wetter's acid correction.

"You are studying here in Paris, madame?" I asked.

"Yes," said Coralie. "Why else should we be here now?"

"Why else should I be here now?" asked Wetter. "For th