Isaura here could not control herself. She rose impulsively, and
approached him, holding out her hand, and attempting a smile.

"But not famous in the way that you warned me from," she said in
whispered tones. "You are friends with me still?" It was like the
piteous wail of a child seeking to make it up with one who wants to
quarrel, the child knows not why. Graham was moved, but what could he
say? Could he have the right to warn her from this profession also;
forbid all desires, all roads of fame to this brilliant aspirant? Even a
declared and accepted lover might well have deemed that that would be to
ask too much. He replied, "Yes, always a friend, if you could ever need
one." Her hand slid from his, and she turned away wounded to the quick.

"Have you your _coupe_ at the door?" asked Savarin.

"Simply a _fiacre_."

"And are going back at once to Paris?"

"Yes."

"Will you kindly drop me in the Rue de Rivoli?"

"Charmed to be of use."




CHAPTER XI.