CHAPTER VIII
THE DREAM
"The door," Aline commanded her footman, and "Mount here beside me,"
she commanded André-Louis, in the same breath.
"A moment, Aline."
He turned to his companion, who was all amazement, and to Harlequin and Columbine, who had that moment come up to share it. "You permit me, Climène?" said he, breathlessly. But it was more a statement than a question. "Fortunately you are not alone. Harlequin will take care of you. Au revoir, at dinner."
With that he sprang into the cabriolet without waiting for a reply. The footman closed the door, the coachman cracked his whip, and the regal equipage rolled away along the quay, leaving the three comedians staring after it, open-mouthed. Then Harlequin laughed.
"A prince in disguise, our Scaramouche!" said he.
Columbine clapped her hands and flashed her strong teeth. "But what a romance for you, Climène! How wonderful!"
The frown melted from Climène's brow. Resentment changed to bewilderment.
"But who is she?"
"His sister, of course," said Harlequin, quite definitely.
"His sister? How do you know?"
"I know what he will tell you on his return."
"But why?"
"Because you wouldn't believe him if he said she was his mother."
Following the carriage with their glance, they wandered on in the direction it had taken. And in the carriage Aline was considering André-Louis with grave eyes, lips slightly
