“‘You saw her with your own eyes—what good fortune! And she played——’
“‘Divinely,’ said the Lieutenant, anxious to escape the questioning; ‘no prettier woman has ever trodden the boards of the Opera.’ And then he asked: ‘Is anyone in her room now?’
“The old dame raised her finger to her lips warningly.
“‘Stille,’ she whispered, ‘he is there; he came an hour ago; he is waiting for her—you understand? It is good that you are here. He is a devil to-night, and will strike her—see to it.’
“‘You mean her husband?’ asked Zol.
“‘Who should I mean if not him?—yet, husband you call him! Pish, if I were such as you I would know who was husband to her!’
“She leered and grinned meaningly—Zol had given her many a gold piece that winter—and opened the door of the boudoir to him. He went in at once, saying to himself that he would remain as she had asked him to do. And so he found himself face to face with Ugo Klun.
“The Italian was sitting in a low chair by the stove. He was of thin blood, and the cold of Vienna had chilled him to his bones. He had half a bottle of cognac at his side, and a cheroot between his lips. It was plain that the drink had warmed him up to garrulity, and that he had been waiting for Christine in the hope of profiting by her triumph at the full tide of its consummation. When the door of the room opened, he had looked to see her enter, and had half-risen from his chair; but the coming of the little hussar was like a blow to him, and he sank back snarling upon the cushions.
“‘Christé,’ cried he, ‘so it is you, little boy! What the devil are you doing here?’
“Zol ignored the insult, and drew a chair up to the stove, warming his hands in the bright glow of the spreading heat.