singer was completely clothed in
it, and as she laid her hand on the lock to let herself out, the maid
placed a dark Russian hood on her head from behind her and took the
long ends twice round her throat.

Mr. Griggs was a large bony man with iron-grey hair, who looked very
strong. He had a sad face and deep-set grey eyes. He led the way
without speaking, and Cordova walked quickly after him. Alphonsine did
not follow, for she was responsible for the belongings that lay about
in the dressing-room. The other doors on the women's side, which is on
the stage left and the audience's right at the Opera, were all tightly
closed. The stage itself was not dark yet, and the carpenters were
putting away the scenery of the last act as methodically as if nothing
had happened.

'Do you know her?' Margaret asked of her companion as they hurried
along the passage that leads into the house.

'Barely. She is a Miss Bamberger, and she was to have been married the
day after to-morrow, poor thing--to a millionaire. I always forget his
name, though I've met him several times.'

'Van Torp?' asked Margaret as they hastened on.

'Yes. That's it--the Nickel Trust man, you know.'

'Yes,' Margaret answered in a low tone. 'I was asked to sing at the
wedding.'

They reached the door of the manager's room. The clerks from the
box-office and several other persons employed about the house were
whispering together in the little lobby. They made way for Cordova and
looked with curiosity at Griggs, who was a well-known man of letters.

Schreiermeyer stood at the half-closed inner door, evidently waiting.

'Come in,' he said to Margaret. 'The doctor is there.'

The room was flooded with electric light, and smelt of very strong
Havana cigars and brandy. Margaret saw a slight figure in a red silk
evening gown, lying at full length on an immense red leathern sofa. A
young doctor was kneeling on the floor, bending down to press his ear
against the girl's side; he moved his head continually, listening for
the beating of her heart. Her face was of a type every one knows, and
had a certain half-pathetic prettiness; the features were small, and
the chin was degenerate but delicately modelled. The rather colourless
fair hair was elaborately done; her thin cheeks were dreadfully white,
and her thin neck shrank painfully each time she breathed out, though
it grew smooth and full as she drew in her breath. A short string of
very large pearls was round he