upon it, for he had lately begun to understand the difference between
a Litolff and a Mikuli. But it slipped from his hand, and he was
obliged to crawl under the piano to pick it up; on a corner of the
cover, in a big, black, scrawly writing, was the name of Marie Louise
Dufrayer. He cleared his throat, laid the volume down, took it up
again; then, realising that the moment had come, he put a bold face on
the matter.

"I see this belongs to Miss Dufrayer," he said bluntly, and, as his
companion's answer was only a careless: "Yes, Louise forgot it the
last time she was here," he went on without delay: "I should like to
know Miss Dufrayer, Madeleine. Do you think you could introduce me to
her?"

Madeleine, who was in the act of taking down a book from her hanging
shelves, turned and looked at him. He was still red in the face, from
the exertion of stooping.

"Introduce you to Louise?" she queried. "Why?--why do you want to be
introduced to her?"

"Oh, I don't know. For no particular reason."

She sat down at the table, opened the book, and turned the leaves.

"Oh well, I daresay I can, if you wish it, and an opportunity
occurs--if you're with me some day when I meet her.--Now shall we go on
with the JUNGFRAU? We were beginning the third act, I think. Here it
is: