e had lighted it, he once more contemplated the soldier,
thinking deeply, reviewing the past.

"We have been together for some time, Mr. Saint-Prosper," he said, at
length. "We have gone through fair and rough weather, and"--he paused
a moment before continuing--"should understand each other. You asked
me when you came in if you were interrupting me, and I told you that
you were not. As a matter of fact, you were."

And, walking to a table, Barnes took up the notebook.

"A garrulous, single man must tell his little secrets somewhere," he
continued. "Will you look at the pages I was writing when you came
in?"

Saint-Prosper took the book, and, while he was turning the leaves that
were hardly dry, the manager relighted his pipe, over which he glanced
nervously from time to time at his companion. Finally, when the
soldier had finished the perusal of the diary, Barnes turned to him
expectantly, but the other silently laid down the little volume, and,
after waiting some moments for him to speak, the manager, as though
disappointed by his reticence, breathed a sigh. Then, clearing his
throat, in a voice somewhat husky, he went on, simply:

"You will understand now why she is so much to me. I have always
wanted to keep her from the world as much as possible; to have her
world, her art! I have tried to keep the shadow of the past from her.
An actress has a pretty face; and there's a hue and cry! It is not
notoriety she seeks, but fame; fame, bright and pure as sunlight!"

"The land baron will not cry abroad the cause of the meeting," said
the soldier, gravely. "These fashionable affairs need but flimsy
pretexts."

"Flimsy pretexts!" cried Barnes. "A woman's reputation--her good
name--"

"Hush!" said Saint-Prosper.

From the door at the far end of the balcony Constance had again
emerged and now approached their room. A flowing gown of an early
period surrounded her like a cloud as she paused before Barnes'
apartment. At the throat a deep-falling collar was closely fastened;
the sleeves were gathered in at elbow and wrist, and from a
"coverchief," set upon the dusky hair, fell a long veil of ample
proportions. With the light shimmering on the folds of her raiment,
she stood looking through the open door, regarding the manager and
Saint-Prosper.

"Oh, you are not alone?" she said to the former. "You look as though
you were talking together very seriously?" she added, turning to
Saint-Prosper.

"Nothing of consequ