tween them. Every day that I was in the Santé I had got a love message from her.
John was taking her in through his monocle.
"Gad—she is a beauty," he whispered to me, then added: "What's the matter with her?"
I glanced carelessly about. Kharkoff and the girl had seated themselves. The Prince was staring around the house, but Léontine was straight in her chair, her face pale and her eyes fixed on the stage, while her bosom was heaving like that of a runner at the end of a race. Suddenly Kharkoff turned to say something and noticed the rigid expression of her face. His bushy brows came down and he leaned over so that his beard brushed her gleaming shoulder.
"Qu'est ce que tu as … dis …?" I heard him ask in the thick voice that I remembered so well.
Léontine pulled herself together and managed a smile.
"Un vertige … ce n'est rien …" she answered, and raised her fan.
When I glanced at her again a few minutes later she was looking at the stage. Her cheeks were still pale, but there was a crimson spot in each. She felt my eyes on her and flashed me a quick look, which passed to Edith, then Miss Dalghren. I was watching her closely and saw her gaze fasten on both sets of pearls and there was an unholy gleam in her tawny eyes. She took a deep breath, then turned to the Prince and whispered a few words.
John leaned over and said, with his lips so close
