"Ah, mademoiselle," he murmured, "I have no longer words!"
Albert came back. Scarcely more than a look passed between him and Herr
Freudenberg. Then the latter rose to his feet.
"Come," he said, "a little surprise for you. You, too, dear Julien. I insist. This way."
They passed from the room. As mademoiselle rose to her feet, people began once more to applaud.
"Mademoiselle will sing again presently, perhaps," Herr Freudenberg answered a man who leaned forward. "We do not depart."
He led the way to the head of the staircase and they passed into the back regions of the place—dim, ill-lit, mysterious. Albert, who had preceded them, threw open the door of a room. There was a small supper table laid for three, more flowers, more wine.
"It is that one may talk for five minutes," Herr Freudenberg explained.
"Mademoiselle!"
But mademoiselle had already flitted away. The door somehow was closed, the two men were alone.