"But how? Why does she not
come to our ball-room with you?"
Zalli, trying to get away from him, shrugged and smiled. "Each to his
taste, Monsieur; it pleases her not."
She was escaping, but he followed one step more. "I shall come to see
you, Madame John."
She whirled and attacked him with her eyes. "Monsieur must not give
himself the trouble!" she said, the eyes at the same time adding, "Dare
to come!" She turned again, and knelt to her devotions. The manager
dipped in the font, crossed himself, and departed.
Several weeks went by, and M. de la Rue had not accepted the fierce
challenge of Madame John's eyes. One or two Sunday nights she had
succeeded in avoiding him, though fulfilling her engagement in the
_Salle_; but by and by pay-day,--a Saturday,--came round, and though the
pay was ready, she was loath to go up to Monsieur's little office.
It was an afternoon in May. Madame John came to her own room, and, with
a sigh, sank into a chair. Her eyes were wet.
"Did you go to his office, dear mother?" asked 'Tite Poulette.
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