said, "but do you know why I
came this afternoon?"

"Why?--no, and I doubt if you do."

For a moment she was silent; then he watched the curious physical
fascination grow in her smile.

"I came because I had a very vivid dream about you on the boat last
night," she said, "I dreamed of that evening, during the first winter,
in my dressing-room after the second act in 'Faust.' I thought I had
forgotten it, but in my sleep it all came clearly back again--every
minute and--"

"And?" the word burst from him eagerly as he leaned toward her.

"I broke a bottle of perfume, do you remember?" her soft laugh shook in
her full, white throat, "your coat still smelt of it next day, you
said."

Her wonderful voice, softened now to a speaking tone, seemed to endow
each word, not only with melody, but with form and colour. They became
living things to him while she spoke, and the night he had almost
forgotten, stood out presently as in the glow of a conflagration of his
memory. He smelt again the perfume which she had spilled on his coat; he
saw again the fading roses, heaped on chairs and tables, that overflowed
her dressing room. It was the night of her great triumph--the eyes with
which she looked at him still held the intoxication of her own
music--and it was to the applause of a multitude, that, alone with her
behind the scenes, he had first taken her in his arms.

"It's all over, I tell you," he said angrily; "so what's the use of
this?"

"It's never over!--it's never over!" she repeated in her singing voice.

She was very close to him at last; but breaking away with an effort, he
crossed the room and laid his hand upon the door.

"It was over forever two years ago," he said, "and now good-bye!"

He held out his hand, but without taking it, she stood motionless while
she looked at him with her unchanging smile.

"Then I'll let it be good-bye," she answered, "but not this way--not
just like this--"

Her voice mocked him; and moved by an impulse which was half daring,
half vanity, he closed the door again and came back to where she stood.

"So long as it's good-bye, I'll have it any way you wish," he said.

CHAPTER VIII

SHOWS THAT LOVE WITHOUT WISDOM IS FOLLY

The odd part was, he admitted next morning as he sat at breakfast, that
from first to last he had not found one moment's pleasure in the society
of Madame Alta. Pleasure in a suitable quantity he was inclined to
regard as sufficient excuse for t