The Brother of Daphne Part 69

"No. Do you think I might strike a match?"

"Ah, no, monsieur, not in the Opera House, They are so particular."

"I see--at least, I don't, and that's the trouble. However--"

I felt over the balcony again. No good.

"Where did mademoiselle sit, monsieur?"

"Where are you?"

I groped in the direction of the whisper and found an arm.

"In that chair there," I said, guiding her to it.

"Here, monsieur?"

"Yes, that's right."

I heard her hands groping about the chair and turned to try the floor on the other side again.

"I have it, monsieur."

"Well," said I, "I could have sworn I'd felt everywhere round that chair."

She c.h.i.n.ked the bag by way of answer.

"Anyway, we've got it," said I. "Come on." And I made for the door.

Then I stopped to take one more look at the great house. As I did so, a woman appeared on the far side of the stalls. She paused for a second to glance at herself in a mirror immediately under the solitary electric light. I recognized Yvonne. Then she pa.s.sed on. Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then:

"Why did you say you were Yvonne?" said I.

"Yvonne is my name, too."

"Were you afraid I might have a lucid interval?"

"Perhaps."

"Your fears are realized. I have--I'm having one now."

"How awful!"

"Isn't it? And now we've found your bag, would you mind if I looked for something else?"

"Something of yours or mine?"

"Something of yours?"

"Can I help you?" she said slowly.

"Materially."

With a little half laugh, half sob, a warm arm slid round my neck.

"Here they are!" she whispered.

Madame would not let us go till Yvonne had returned from the manager's office with the offer of a box for Thursday.

"So it is not 'Good-bye' and you will come and see me again. I sing then for the last time in Munich. I fear you cannot have your own box, though. The Regent is coming that night. It is too bad."

We laughed and bade her farewell.

As the car slowed down at my companion's hotel, the footman slid off the front seat and opened the door. I got up and out of the car. As I turned, I saw the girl pick up her gloves and leave the precious bag on the seat.

"My dear, your bag--"

But, as she got out, the bag left the seat with her. By the lights in the car I saw that it was attached to a chain about her neck; and the chain lay beneath her dress. I handed her out thoughtfully.

"Till Thursday, then," she said.

"Till to-morrow morning," said I.

She laughed.

"I think there ought to be an interval."

"Isn't that just what I'm saying? What about a luncheon interval to-morrow?"

"Well, it mustn't be a lucid one"

"All right. I'll bring Jonah and Daphne."

"Mayn't I see the mistake?"

"If I can find him."

"Good-bye"

"Good-bye. I say--"

She turned, one small foot on the steps.

"I love your feet," I said.

"Anything else?"