As they passed Gaston’s box, they were very near. The girl threw one swift glance; but her face was well controlled now. She heard, however, a whispered word come to her:
“Andree!”
A few moments afterwards she retired, and the performance was in other and less remarkable hands. Presently the manager himself came, and said that Mademoiselle Victorine would be glad to see Monsieur Belward if he so wished. Gaston left Jacques, and went.
Meyerbeer noticed the move, and determined to see the meeting if possible. There was something in it, he was sure. He would invent an excuse, and make his way behind.
Gaston and the manager were in the latter’s rooms waiting for Victorine. Presently a messenger came, saying that Monsieur Belward would find Mademoiselle in her dressing-room. Thither Gaston went, accompanied by the manager, who, however, left him at the door, nodding good-naturedly to Victorine, and inwardly praying that here was no danger to his business, for Victorine was a source of great profit. Yet he had failed himself, and all others had failed in winning her—why should this man succeed, if that was his purpose?
There was present an elderly, dark-featured Frenchwoman, who was always with Victorine, vigilant, protective, loving her as her own daughter.
“Monsieur!” said Andree, a warm colour in her cheek. Gaston shook her hand cordially, and laughed. “Mademoiselle—Andree?”
He looked inquiringly. “Yes, to you,” she said.
“You have it all your own way now—isn’t it so?”
“With the lions, yes. Please sit down. This is my dear keeper,” she said, touching the woman’s shoulder. Then, to the woman: “Annette, you have heard me speak of this gentleman?”