"Anything else?"
"Well, yes. As I came into the house just now, two men were waiting for me in the vestibule. They went through me; but I didn't seem to have what they wanted. I still retain possession of my watch and purse."
"So," I said, somewhat helplessly. "What's the next move on the board?"
"It is the last night of the supplementary opera season," answered Indiman, "and we are going to dress and see what we can of Tschaikowsky's 'Queen of Spades.' A novelty—first and only performance outside of Russia, and Ternina heads the cast."
"There is Mademoiselle D.," remarked Indiman, as his glass swept
the semicircle of the parterre. "The fourth box from the end."
There were but three people in the party—the girl with the gray eyes, an elderly man with a ribbon in his button-hole, and Jack Crawfurd, whom everybody knows.
The curtain fell on the third act, and immediately Crawfurd made his appearance in the omnibus-box where we were sitting.
"Come with me, mes enfants," he said, genially. "It seems that you and the adorable Countess Gilda are old friends. She commands your instant attendance. What, man! do you hesitate? I shall lose my head an our sovereign lady be not instantly obeyed."
The girl with the gray eyes greeted us with smiling unconcern. "Do you know my uncle?" she asked, and we were forthwith presented to his Excellency Baron Cassilis, the Russian ambassador to the United States. Then the Countess Gilda addressed herself squarely to Indiman.
"I am in your debt, Mr. Indiman, and you must permit me to discharge the obligation. My dear uncle, your purse."