between this gathering of well-dressed men and women and any similar
gathering which I had seen in Paris. The faces of all somehow lacked
that tiredness of expression which seems to be the heritage of those
who drink the cup of pleasure without spice, simply because the hand
of Fate presses it to their lips. These people had found something
else. Were they not, after all, a little to be envied? They must know
what it was to feel the throb of life, to test the true flavor of its
luxuries when there was no certainty of the morrow. I felt the
fascination, felt it almost in my blood, as I looked around.

"You could not specify, I suppose?" I said to Louis.

"How could monsieur ask it?" he replied, a little reproachfully. "You
will be one of the only people who do not belong who have been
admitted here, and you will notice," he continued, "that I have asked
for no pledge--I rely simply upon the honor of monsieur."

I nodded.

"There is crime and crime, Louis," said I. "I have never been able to
believe myself that it is the same thing to rob the widow and the
millionaire. I know that I must not ask you any questions," I
continued, "but the girl with Delora,--the man whom you call
Delora,--she, at least, is innocent of any knowledge of these things?"

Louis smiled.

"Monsieur is susceptible," he remarked. "I cannot answer that
question. Mademoiselle is a stranger. She is but a child."