ademoiselle
Sophie Celaire. Peter sat slightly forward in his chair as the curtain
went up. For a time he seemed utterly absorbed by the performance.
Violet glanced at him once or twice curiously. It began to occur to her
that it was not so much the dance as the dancer in whom her husband was
interested.

"You have seen her before--this Mademoiselle Celaire?" she whispered.

Peter nodded.

"Yes," he admitted; "I have seen her before."

The dance proceeded. It was like many others of its sort, only a little
more daring, a little more finished. Mademoiselle Celaire, in her
tight-fitting, shabby black frock, with her wild mass of hair, her
flashing eyes, her seductive gestures, was, without doubt, a marvellous
person. The Baron watched her every movement with absorbed attention.
Even when the curtain went down he forgot to clap. His eyes followed her
off the stage. Violet shrugged her shoulders. She was looking very
handsome herself in a black velvet dinner gown, and a hat so exceedingly
Parisian that no one had had the heart to ask her to remove it.

"My dear Peter," she remarked, reprovingly, "a moderate amount of
admiration for that very agile young lady I might, perhaps, be inclined
to tolerate, but, having watched you for the last quarter of an hour, I
am bound to confess that I am becoming jealous."

"Of Mademoiselle Celaire?" he asked.

"Of Mademoiselle Sophie Celaire."

He leaned a little towards her. His lips were parted; he was about to
make a statement or a confession. Just then a tall commissionaire leaned
over from behind and touched him on the shoulder.

"For Monsieur le Baron de Grost," he announced, handing Peter a note.

Peter glanced towards his wife.

"You permit me?" he murmured, breaking the seal.

Violet shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly. Her husband was already
absorbed in the few lines hastily scrawled across the sheet of notepaper
which he held in his hand:

[Illustration: 4] "Monsieur Baron de Grost. [Illustration: backward
4]

"DEAR MONSIEUR LE BARON,

"_Come to my dressing-room, without fail, as soon as you receive
this._

"SOPHIE CELAIRE."

Violet looked over his shoulder.

"The hussy!" she exclaimed, indignantly.

Her husband raised his eyebrows. With his forefinger he merely tapped
the two numerals.

"The Double Four!" she gasped

He looked around and nodded. The commissionaire was waiting. Peter took
up his silk hat from under