like an eagle. She interested him at once. He was rich, he was generous; he was used to gratify every fancy he conceived. He was glad that his tête-à-tête with the old dealer had been interrupted. But his satisfaction was short-lived. The dealer was the first to speak.
"What can I do for you, madame?"
"I wish to see you alone, monsieur." She did not look at the Tsraelitish friend as she spoke, but was conscious that his eyes were riveted upon her.
"In that case. Monsieur Melchior, will you excuse me if I leave yon and take this lady into another———"
"On no account. It is I who will go into the shop, and wait till your business is finished," interrupted the man he had called Melchior; then added, laughing and showing a row of brilliantly white teeth, "I am, as you know, the slave of the fair sex."
And with a profound bow, which she barely acknowledged, he went into the outer shop. She began at once—
"You know Mr. Baring, the American artist, I think?"
"Certainly. A very clever young man."
"I believe you will receive a letter from him this evening, asking you to go and see a picture he is finishing. I wish you to buy that picture for me."
He looked surprised. "But—I do not quite understand———"
"Why I do not buy it from him direct, and save your commission? I have my own reasons for not wishing Mr. Baring to know that I am the purchaser. And, before we go further, you must promise me not to reveal the fact to him."
