the joy of losing and gaining all that in a quarter of an hour.”

She picked up the necklace, and as she gazed at the stones her glance had a rapt expression, as though she were gazing through their depths into the past.

“Mr. Foster,” she said at length, without ceasing to look at the pearls, “I cannot tell you how glad I am that you are in Paris. Shall you stay till I have appeared at the Op�ra Comique?”

“I was hoping to, and if you say you would like me to — ”

“Ah!” she exclaimed, “I do.” And she looked up.

Her lovely eyes had a suspicion of moisture. The blood rushed through my head, and I could feel its