ing forward, her
lips parted, her eyes devouring Scaramouche until they drew his gaze.
When that happened, the shock of it brought him abruptly to a dumfounded
halt.

Climene, checking in the middle of a sentence, arrested by his own
sudden stopping, plucked at his sleeve.

"What is it, Scaramouche?"

But he made no attempt to answer her, and at that moment the coachman,
to whom the little lady had already signalled, brought the carriage to a
standstill beside them. Seen in the gorgeous setting of that coach with
its escutcheoned panels, its portly coachman and its white-stockinged
footman--who swung instantly to earth as the vehicle stopped--its dainty
occupant seemed to Climene a princess out of a fairy-tale. And this
princess leaned forward, with eyes aglow and cheeks aflush, stretching
out a choicely gloved hand to Scaramouche.

"Andre-Louis!" she called him.

And Scaramouche took the hand of that exalted being, just as he might
have taken the hand of Climene herself, and with eyes that reflected the
gladness of her own, in a voice that echoed the joyous surprise of hers,
he addressed her familiarly by name, just as she had addressed him.

"Aline!"

CHAPTER VIII. THE DREAM

"The door," Aline commanded her footman, and "Mount here beside me," she
commanded Andre-Louis, in the same breath.

"A moment, Aline."

He turned to his companion, who was all amazement, and to Harlequin
and Columbine, who had that moment come up to share it. "You permit
me, Climene?" said he, breathlessly. But it was more a statement than
a question. "Fortunately you are not alone. Harlequin will take care of
you. Au revoir, at dinner."

With that he sprang into the cabriolet without waiting for a reply. The
footman closed the door, the coachman cracked his whip, and the regal
equipage rolled away along the quay, leaving the three comedians staring
after it, open-mouthed... Then Harlequin laughed.

"A prince in disguise, our Scaramouche!" said he.

Columbine clapped her hands and flashed her strong teeth. "But what a
romance for you, Climene! How wonderful!"

The frown melted from Climene's brow. Resentment changed to
bewilderment.

"But who is she?"

"His sister, of course," said Harlequin, quite definitely.

"His sister? How do you know?"

"I know what he will tell you on his return."

"But why?"

"Because you wouldn't believe him if he said she was his mother."

Following the carriage with their glance, t