warehouse, while she whom I invented, dances jubilant in Paris. I do
not doubt that she breakfasts at Armenonville, and dines at
Paillard's."

And it was a fact that Florozonde was the fashion. As regards her eyes,
at any rate, the young man had not exaggerated more than was to be
forgiven in an artist; her eyes were superb, supernatural; and now that
the spangled finery of a fair was replaced by the most triumphant of
audacities--now that a circus band had been exchanged for the orchestra
of La Coupole--she danced as she had not danced before. You say that a
gorgeous costume cannot improve a woman's dancing? Let a woman realise
that you improve her appearance, and you improve everything that she
can do!

Nevertheless one does not pretend that it was owing to her talent, or
her costume, or the weird melody proposed by the chef d'orchestre, that
she became the rage. Not at all. That was due to her reputation.
Sceptics might smile and murmur the French for "Rats!" but, again,
nobody could say positively that the tragedies had not occurred. And
above all, there were the eyes--it was conceded that a woman with eyes
like that _ought_ to be abnormal. La Coupole was thronged every
night, and the stage doorkeeper grew rich, so numerous were the daring
spirits, coquetting with death, who tendered notes inviting the Fatal
One to supper.

Somehow the suppers were rather dreary. The cause may have been that
the guest was handicapped by circumstances--to be good company without
discarding the fatal air was extremely difficult; also the cause may
have been that the daring spirits felt their courage forsake them in a
tete-a-tete; but it is certain that once when Florozonde drove home in