“Thee is a physician. Is not that proper treatment?” “It is,” he said. “I advise it.” “Ah, it is easy to—advise! La la la! The music is there! The dancing! I am to keep the children for Bell-Bell.” “No,” said John Rem. “I said I would tempt you—remember.” “Yes,” sighed Miss Estover. “The carriage is to meet me at the station. If I would, I could not. Ah, yes, it is fate.” “As truly as anything that ever happened. You are in costume. I am. I am alone. You are. Bell-Bell does not need you. There is a nurse. Last and least, there is a carriage made ready for us. But one thing remains, a mask for you—and that will take exactly the three minutes it requires to drive to Mousson’s.” She looked up at him with large, tempted eyes. “I am your physician. That is my prescription. Come!” “Oh, oh, oh! Get thee behind me, Satan!” she whispered. “Your disguise will be absolutely impenetrable! This bonnet—a mask—” “Ah, doctor, dear,” she whispered wistfully back to him, “will it certainly cure? Will it not—might it not—aggravate the complaint? Oh, thee does not know how a great orchestra gets into my little sinful soul!” “I am happy to be able to guarantee my treatment,” he said. “I wish—almost—that I had not met thee—my tall and splendid Satan. And will thee take me to the pinnacle of the temple—oh, the very pinnacle!” “Yes,” he laughed. “And show me all the world of joy—then drop me down—down—down—into disgrace and shame?” “No! by the earth and heaven, I will be your faithful pal in whatever may happen to us.” “Hush! hush! Swear not at all. And if I should yield to thy tempting—will thee keep my secret always—always—forever and ever?” One should have seen her eyes then. “I should deserve shooting the moment—” And he got both the hands and would not let them go. A moment she thought with drooping head while her hands remained in his. Then she said: “I have yielded. Oh, I do not know whether it is more to thy tempting than to the tempting of the dance. I yield. Take me. For this evening I am thine. And whatever follies I may commit—oh, I shall not be responsible when the orchestra opens! I shall be mad—abandoned—I feel it—know it—and thee—” she whispered with her head down—“thee—_must_ thee have thy arm about me—to dance?” “Undoubtedly!” cried John Rem, with savage decision. “Oh—well—” She sighed and woke and spoke more lightly: “Whatever follies I may commit, thee will not desert me—but will be my true knight—and, at the end, I shall require myself of thee less my infirmity—all this does thee swear?” He kissed the hilt of his sword. “And afterward,” she went on, “we are never to see or speak to each other—oh, I could not—could not look thee in the face again after such wickedness!” “Part? Never!” he cried. “Then I shall not. Thee makes me fear thee.” “Well—as you wish,” he said.