you?" asked the soldier, glancing at the littered
table.

"Not at all," answered the manager, recovering himself, and settling
back in his chair. "Make yourself at home. You'll find some cigars on
the mantel, or if you prefer your pipe, there's a jar of tobacco on
the trunk. Do you find it? I haven't had time yet to bring order out
of chaos. A manager's trunks are like a junk-shop, with everything
from a needle to an anchor."

Filling his pipe from the receptacle indicated, which lay among old
costumes and wigs, the soldier seated himself near an open window that
looked out upon a balcony. Through a door at the far end of the
balcony a light streamed from a chandelier within, playing upon the
balustrade. Once the figure of the young actress stepped for a moment
out upon the balcony; she leaned upon the balustrade, looked across
the city, breathed the perfume of the flowers, and then quickly
vanished.

"Can you spare me a little time to-morrow morning--early--before
rehearsal?" said Saint-Prosper, finally.

"Yes," returned the manager, in surprise. "What is it?"

"A foolish piece of business! The patroon is in New Orleans."

Barnes uttered an exclamation of annoyance and apprehension. "Here!
What is he doing here?" he said. "I thought we had seen the last of
him. Has he followed--Constance?"

"I don't know. We met yesterday at the races."

"It is strange she did not tell me about it," remarked the manager,
without endeavoring to conceal the anxiety this unexpected information
afforded him.

"She does not know he is here." And Saint-Prosper briefly related the
circumstances of his meeting with the land baron, to which the manager
listened attentively.

"And so she must be dragged into it?" exclaimed Barnes at length,
resentfully. "Her name must become public property in a broil?"

A frown darkened the soldier's face, but he replied quickly: "Need any
one know? The land baron has not been seen with her."

"No; but you have," returned the manager, suddenly pausing and looking
down at the other.

The silence between them lasted for some moments. Barnes stood with
his hands in his pockets, his face downcast and moody. He felt that
events were happening over which he had no control, but which were
shaping the destiny of all he loved best. In the dim light the rugged
lines of his countenance were strongly, decisively outlined. Turning
to the trunk, with a quick, nervous step, he filled a pipe himself.
After h