Percy had been right; the wife supported the family and the husband was a mere hanger-on; but it was evident from the way he was mentioned that the romance still lasted. Then Blanche made a reference to Jules which led her visitor to make inquiries with regard to him, and these changed her view of the situation. So, before marriage, Monsieur had been in business, and he had probably given it up to follow his wife in her wanderings. She surmised that they were not absolutely dependent on the circus for their daily bread; perhaps this accounted for their comfortable way of living. While apparently absorbed in conversation Mrs. Tate continued this train of thought. She had never known any one connected with the circus before, she explained with a smile; people who lived in London all the time were apt to be so very narrow and ignorant; but she wanted to hear all about it, and Madame must tell her. Blanche was able to tell very little, for she was not used to discussing her work. By adroit questioning, however, Mrs. Tate led her on to an account of her early career from her first appearance as a child with her father to her development into a "star" performer. The narrative seemed to her wildly interesting. How fascinating it would be if she could persuade the girl to relate her story in a drawing-room! It would be the sensation of the winter. But this poor child never could talk in public, even in her own tongue. "But do tell me," said Mrs. Tate, when Blanche had described the months her father had spent in teaching her to make the great plunge. "Doesn't it hurt your back? I should think that striking with full force day after day on that padded net would destroy the nervous system of a giant." Blanche smiled and shook her head. "It never used to hurt. I've only felt it lately, since the baby was born," she said. "Then it does hurt now?" Mrs. Tate cried eagerly. "Sometimes. I feel so tired in the morning now. I never used to; and sometimes when I wake up my back aches very much. But I try not to think of it." "But, my dear child, you ought to think of it. You mustn't allow yourself to be injured--perhaps for life." Blanche turned pale. "Do you think it can be serious?" she asked timidly. Mrs. Tate saw that she had made a false step. "Of course not--not _serious_. It's probably nothing at all. I haven't a doubt a physician could stop it easily. Have you spoken to any one about it?" "No; not even to my husband. I shouldn't like to tell him. It would make him unhappy."