Part 7 (1/2)
”Ah, Mr. Foster,” the divette said, ”you must tell me all about that business. I'm told you were there, and that there was a terrible scene.”
”What business?” I inquired.
”At the Opera the other night, when Alresca broke his thigh. Didn't you go behind and save his life?”
”I didn't precisely save his life, but I attended to him.”
”They say he is secretly married to Rosa. Is that so?”
”I really can't say, but I think not.”
”What did she say to him when she went into his dressing-room? I know all about it, because one of our girls has a sister who's in the Opera chorus, and her sister saw Rosa go in. I do want to know what she said, and what he said.”
An impulse seized me to invent a harmless little tale for the diversion of Marie Deschamps. I was astonished at my own enterprise. I perceived that I was getting accustomed to the society of greatness.
”Really?” she exclaimed, when I had finished.
”I a.s.sure you.”
”He's teasing,” Sullivan said.
”Mr. Foster wouldn't do such a thing,” she observed, drawing herself up, and I bowed.
A man with an eye-gla.s.s came and began to talk confidently in Sullivan's ear, and Sullivan had to leave us.
”See you later,” he smiled. ”Keep him out of mischief, Marie. And I say, Carl, the wife said I was to tell you particularly to go into her crystal-gazing room. Don't forget.”
”I'll go, too,” Miss Deschamps said. ”You may take me there now, if you please. And then I must go down to where the champagne is flowing.
But not with you, not with you, Mr. Foster. There are other gentlemen here very anxious for the post. Now come along.”
We made our way out of the stir and noise of the grand salon, Marie Deschamps leaning on my arm in the most friendly and confiding way in the world, and presently we found ourselves in a much smaller apartment crowded with whispering seekers after knowledge of the future. This room was dimly lighted from the ceiling by a single electric light, whose shade was a queer red j.a.panese lantern. At the other end of it were double curtains. These opened just as we entered, and Emmeline appeared, leading by the hand a man who was laughing nervously.
”Your fortune, ladies and gentlemen, your fortune!” she cried pleasantly. Then she recognized me, and her manner changed, or I fancied that it did.
”Ah, Carl, so you've arrived!” she exclaimed, coming forward and ignoring all her visitors except Marie and myself.
”Yes, Emmeline, dear,” said Marie, ”we've come. And, please, I want to see something in the crystal. How do you do it?”
Emmeline glanced around.
”Sullivan said my crystal-gazing would be a failure,” she smiled. ”But it isn't, is it? I came in here as soon as I had done receiving, and I've already had I don't know how many clients. I sha'n't be able to stop long, you know. The fact is, Sullivan doesn't like me being here at all. He thinks it not right of the hostess....”
”But it's perfectly charming of you!” some one put in.
”Perfectly delicious!” said Marie.
”Now, who shall I take first?” Emmeline asked, puzzled.
”Oh, me, of course!” Marie Deschamps replied without a hesitation or a doubt, though she and I had come in last. And the others acquiesced, because Marie was on the topmost bough of all.