FREDERICK AT THE JARDIN MABILLE.
He was standing near the orchestra, leaning against one of the artificial palm trees loaded with fantastically colored glass fruits, each of which contained a tiny gas jet, and was watching the gay throng of dancers as they bounded through the intricate figures of a disheveled can-can, when suddenly a woman, who was conspicuous by the enormous amount of satin, lace, and flowers which she had managed to accumulate about the lower part of her person, and by the extraordinary scantiness of her corsage, stopped in front of him, and with the tip of her satin-slippered foot delicately knocked his hat from off his head to the ground. This being by no means an unusual feat among the female habitues of Mabille, the incident did not attract much attention and no one noticed the start of surprise and consternation with which Frederick recognized in the painted creature with dyed hair his wife Rose—Countess of Waldberg.
As his hat fell to the ground, the mocking smile on Rose's face disappeared. Her features assumed a hard, stony expression; there was a dangerous glitter in her eyes, and she gave one or two convulsive little shivers, as if striving to control her feelings. Then, rapidly bending toward him, she murmured:
“Come with me, quickly. I must speak to you at once.”
Frederick, realizing that the recognition had been mutual and afraid that if he made any attempt to resist she would create a disturbance and reveal his identity to all the bystanders, followed her without a word. They soon reached a part of the gardens which was comparatively deserted, and Rose led the way to a small arbor. Throwing herself down on one of the wooden benches, she crossed her arms, and, looking insolently into her husband's face, exclaimed, in a hard, rasping voice:
“Concealment is useless with me. I would have recognized you fifty years hence. If love is blind, hatred is not. I have a little account to square with you, mon cher, and you had better hear me out. I am not surprised at your look of alarm when you realized who it was that had kicked at your hat. It is unpleasant to be recognized when one has so very much to keep dark.”
“What do you mean? I do not understand you.”
“Oh, yes, you do. The newspapers have hinted at your doings in India, and a man who had made your acquaintance out there caught sight of one of your portraits in my rooms about a fortnight ago. From him—I forget his name, but he was an English captain—I heard the whole story of your connection with the murder of——”
“Hush, for Heavens sake! not so loud!” interrupted Frederick, terror-stricken. “You don't know what you are saying! If any one were to hear you!”