She rose to her feet and shook out her skirts. "I suppose I must go without seeing the baby. But I shall----" She looked quickly around at the clicking sound that seemed to come from the door. Then the door opened, and Jules, in a heavy fur-trimmed coat and silk hat, stood before her. She recognized him at once, and as he bowed hesitatingly, she extended her hand and relieved the awkwardness of the situation. "I won't wait for Madame to introduce me," she said, just as Blanche was murmuring her name. "Then you are the lady Father Dumény spoke to us about!" Jules said with a smile. "Yes; and your wife and I have become the best of friends already." "And you've made friends with the baby too, I hope," Jules replied, removing his coat and throwing it over a chair. She liked his face more than she had done at the Hippodrome; he had a good eye, and, for a Frenchman, a remarkably clear complexion. "No; she's asleep," Blanche replied. "I asked Madeleine to bring her in if she woke up." "But you must see her," Jules insisted. "I'll go and take a peep at her." He went to the door leading to the next room, opened it softly, and glanced in. Then he made a sign that the others were to follow, and he tiptoed toward the bed where Jeanne lay sleeping, her face rosy with health, and her little hands tightly closed. Madeleine, who had been sitting beside the bed, rose as they approached and showed her mouthful of teeth. For a few moments they stood around the child, smiling at one another and without speaking. Then they tiptoed out of the room, and closed the door behind them. "I shall come again soon some morning," Mrs. Tate whispered, as if still afraid of disturbing the child, "when the baby's awake." Then she went on in a louder tone: "She's a dear. I know I shall become very fond of her. And you're coming to us next Sunday night," she added, as she bade Jules good-bye. "Your wife has promised. I shall expect you both. Perhaps I shall come before then; I want to get acquainted with Jeanne." She kissed Blanche on both cheeks, after the French fashion. "I sha'n't forget, you know. We have great secrets together already," she laughed, turning to Jules as she passed out of the door. XIV As soon as Percy Tate confronted his wife at the table that night he saw that something was on her mind. "You've been to see those circus people," he said. "How did you know that?" "Oh, clairvoyance,--my subtle insight into the workings of your brain!" "I suppose Hawkins told you. Well, I _have_ been to see them." Tate began to pick at the bread beside his plate. He often became preoccupied when he knew his wife wanted him to ask questions; this was his favorite way of teasing her. "It's the strangest _ménage_ I ever saw in my life," Mrs. Tate exclaimed at last, unable to keep back the news any longer. "And it's just as I thought it would be. That poor little creature simply lives in terror of being killed."