"Fritz," he said, "my orders, if you please! Remember that I never suffer them to be disputed. Goodbye!"
The young man left the room. As he passed down the stairs he shivered. Falkenberg passed into an inner apartment. Already he had guessed who it was waiting for him. Mademoiselle rose to her feet with a little cry.
"At last!" she exclaimed. "Dear maker of toys, how long you have been!
How weary it has been to wait!"
She came into his arms. He patted her head gently.
"Dear little one!"
"You are taking me to supper?" she begged.
He shook his head. Her face fell, the big tears were already in her eyes.
"But you are troubled!" she cried. "Oh, come and forget it all for a time! Isn't that what you told me once was my use in the world—that I could chatter to you, or sing, or lead you through the light paths, so that your brain could rest? Let me take you there, dear one. To-night, if ever, you have the look in your face. You need rest. Come to me!"
He looked at her steadfastly, looked at her feeling as one far away gazing down upon some strange element in life. Then a thought came to him.
"Little one," he whispered, "you are irresistible. Wait, then. It may be as you desire. Only, after supper I pass on."