can act. Come, come; what do you care? She will never
approach your Carmen...."

"You praise her to me?" tempest in her glowing eyes.

"I do not praise her. I am quoting facts. If you throw that cup, my
tigress...."

"Well?" dangerously.

"It will spoil the set. Listen. Some one is at the speaking-tube."

The singer crossed the room impatiently. Ordinarily she would have
continued the dispute, whether the bell rang or not. But she was getting
the worst of the argument and the bell was a timely diversion. The duke
followed her leisurely to the wall.

"What is it?" asked Flora in French.

The voice below answered with a query in English. "Is this the Signorina
Desimone?"

"It is the duchess."

"The duchess?"

"Yes."

"The devil!"

She turned and stared at the duke, who shrugged. "No, no," she said; "the
duchess, not the devil."

"Pardon me; I was astonished. But on the stage you are still Flora
Desimone?"

"Yes. And now that my identity is established, who are you and what do you
want at this time of night?"

The duke touched her arm to convey that this was not the moment in which
to betray her temper.

"I am Edward Courtlandt."

"The devil!" mimicked the diva.

She and the duke heard a chuckle.

"I beg your pardon again, Madame."

"Well, what is it you wish?" amiably.

The duke looked at her perplexedly. It seemed to him that she was always
leaving him in the middle of things. Preparing himself for rough roads, he
would suddenly find the going smooth. He was never swift enough mentally
to follow these flying transitions from enmity to amity. In the present
instance, how was he to know that his tigress had found in the man below
something to play with?

"You once did me an ill turn," came up the tube. "I desire that you make
some reparation."

"Sainted Mother! but it has taken you a long time to find out that I have
injured you," she mocked.

There was no reply to this; so she was determined to stir the fire a
little.

"And I advise you to be careful what you say; the duke is a very jealous
man."

That gentleman fingered his beard thoughtfully.

"I do not care a hang if he is."

The duke coughed loudly close to the tube.

Silence.

"The least you can do, Madame, is to give me her address."

"Her address!" repeated the duke relievedly. He had had certain grave
doubts, but these now took wing. Old flames were not in the habit of
asking, nay, demanding, other women's addresses.