with a carafe and glass. She drank two glassfuls, and then dropped the glass, which broke on the floor.

“I am not well,” she said; “I feel so hot, and there is that hoarseness in my throat. Mr. Foster, you must take me home. The rehearsal will have to be postponed again; I am sorry. It’s very queer.”

She stood up with my assistance, looking wildly about her, but appealing to no one but myself.

“It is queer,” I said, supporting her.

“Mademoiselle was ill in the same way last time,” several sympathetic voices cried out, and some of the women caressed her gently.

“Let me get home,” she said, half-shouting, and she clung to me.