the sea. Madame held the door ajar to watch them.

Afterwards they strolled up through the town to the Place St. Amand.
Then, because he must be tired, Mademoiselle insisted that he should
stay and rest awhile, and they sat by the window like very old friends.
Finally, she permitted him to depart, in order, she said, that he might
get to sleep early and be strong for the morrow.

As she moved here and there in her room, she laughed quite quietly to
herself, and wondered what M. Lorman had meant when he had said that she
would not understand his friend.

IV.

Gerome Perrin, the collector, of Rouen, whose reputation as a
connoisseur in the matter of violins has never been questioned, once
offered Raoul for his violin six thousand francs. The mere record of
this offer will explain why the hunchback always carried the instrument
to and from the theatre. He held that he could only be quite sure of its
safety so long as it remained in his keeping. It was generally agreed
that the famous violin was heard at its best on the night that
Mademoiselle Elise made her appearance at the Theatre Royal, Rocheville,
as Lisette, in "Le vrai Amant."

The theatre was crowded. In the first and second scenes the new actress
justified her fame, and won outright the sympathy of the audience. In
the third scene she surpassed herself. To Rocheville it was an artistic
revelation. Even the inveterate critics praised her, despite their
creed that, outside the Comedie Francaise, one should not seek
perfection.

The scene was the garden of an old chateau. In the bright light the
costumes of the players made a mass of rich colour. Mademoiselle stood,
prettily defiant. A ripple of music burst from the orchestra, and died
away in a stately movement. With a merry laugh the revellers posed for
the dance. They bowed low in courtesy--joined hands--advanced--retired.
Then Raoul's violin alone continued the measure, as, one by one, the
others drew away and left Mademoiselle alone. It was the Bouvard
water-colour, but living and moving. Her lithe, slender body seemed
light as air. Every gesture, every pose, was full of a grave dignity. In
the dark theatre there was complete silence. All eyes were centred on
the supple, graceful form of the dancer. Music, life, and colour were in
harmony. Gradually the full orchestra took up the strain
again--Mademoiselle, panting, flung herself into the ready arms of
Augustin, and the stillness was broken by the thunde