at hurts; doesn't it,
little one?"

"He hit me with the shovel--and I ran away--I ran away--because he hit
me."

"And you've been wandering about ever since, without any dinner?"

Instead of answering, the child began to sob violently. The Gadfly
lifted him off the balustrade.

"There, there! We'll soon set all that straight. I wonder if we can
get a cab anywhere. I'm afraid they'll all be waiting by the theatre;
there's a grand performance going on to-night. I am sorry to drag you
about so, signora; but----"

"I would rather come with you. You may want help. Do you think you can
carry him so far? Isn't he very heavy?"

"Oh, I can manage, thank you."

At the theatre door they found only a few cabs waiting, and these were
all engaged. The performance was over, and most of the audience had
gone. Zita's name was printed in large letters on the wall-placards; she
had been dancing in the ballet. Asking Gemma to wait for him a moment,
the Gadfly went round to the performers' entrance, and spoke to an
attendant.

"Has Mme. Reni gone yet?"

"No, sir," the man answered, staring blankly at the spectacle of a
well-dressed gentleman carrying a ragged street child in his arms, "Mme.
Reni is just coming out, I think; her carriage is waiting for her. Yes;
there she comes."

Zita descended the stairs, leaning on the arm of a young cavalry
officer. She looked superbly handsome, with an opera cloak of
flame-coloured velvet thrown over her evening dress, and a great fan of
ostrich plumes hanging from her waist. In the entry she stopped short,
and, drawing her hand away from the officer's arm, approached the Gadfly
in amazement.

"Felice!" she exclaimed under her breath, "what HAVE you got there?"

"I have picked up this child in the street. It is hurt and starving; and
I want to get it home as quickly as possible. There is not a cab to be
got anywhere, so I want to have your carriage."

"Felice! you are not going to take a horrid beggar-child into your
rooms! Send for a policeman, and let him carry it to the Refuge or
whatever is the proper place for it. You can't have all the paupers in
the town----"

"It is hurt," the Gadfly repeated; "it can go to the Refuge to-morrow,
if necessary, but I must see to the child first and give it some food."

Zita made a little grimace of disgust. "You've got its head right
against your shirt! How CAN you? It is dirty!"

The Gadfly looked up with a sudden flash of anger.

"It is h