She seemed to pull herself together. "No, I think I shall be able to bear it. If I can't, I'll look away. What's that he's saying? What horrible English he speaks! I can't understand a word. Oh!" she gasped, clutching her husband by one arm and holding him firmly as Blanche dropped backward and whirled through the air; and this exclamation she repeated in a tone of horrified relief when the girl struck the net, bounded into the air again, and landed on her feet.
They rose with the applauding crowd and started to leave the place. "In my opinion," said Mrs. Tate, clinging to her husband's arm and drawing her wrap closely around her, "in my opinion such exhibitions are outrageous. There ought to be a law against them. Think of that poor little creature going through that every night. Of course she'll be killed sometime. I wonder if she's afraid. I should think she'd expect every night to be her last."
"What nonsense you're talking. Of course those people don't feel like that. If they did they'd never go into the business. It's second nature to them."
"But they're human just like the rest of us, and that woman is a mother," Mrs. Tate insisted. "Don't you suppose she thinks of her baby before she makes that terrible dive? It's a shame that her husband should allow her to do it."
"There you are, trying to regulate the affairs of the world again. Why don't you let people alone? They'd be a good deal happier, and so would you. Her husband probably likes to have her do it."
"Well, I shall go to see her anyway," Mrs. Tate cried with determination. "Then I can find out all about her for myself."
For the next three weeks Mrs. Tate was absorbed by various duties in connection with her charitable societies. One morning, however, she suddenly realized that she had neglected to comply with Father Dumény's request, and she resolved to put off her other engagements for the afternoon and call at once on the acrobat; if she didn't go then, there was no knowing when she could go. At four o'clock she found herself stepping into a hansom in front of her house in Cavendish Square.
The address that Father Dumény had sent led her to a little French hotel with a narrow, dark entrance, dimly lighted by an odorous lamp. She poked about in the place for a moment, wondering how she was to find any one; then a door which she had not observed was thrown open, and she was confronted by a little man with a very waxed moustache, who smiled and asked in broken English what Madame wanted. She stammered that she was looking for Madame Le Baron, and the little man at once called a garçon in a greasy apron, who led the way up the narrow stairs. When they had reached the second landing the boy rapped on the door, and Mrs. Tate stood panting behind him. For several moments there was no answer; then heavy steps could be heard approaching, and a moment later Madeleine's broad figure, silhouetted by the light from the windows from behind, stood before them. Mrs. Tate saw at a glance that she was French, and addressed her in her own language.
"Mais oui," Madeleine replied. "Madame is at home. Will Madame have the goodness to enter?"
"Say that I'm Father Dumény's friend, please," said Mrs. Tate as she gave Madeleine a card. Then she glanced at one corner of the room, where a large cradle, covered with a lace canopy, had caught her eye. "Is the baby here?" she asked quickly, going toward it.