I never spoke with her again but once. That was an evening three years later in Brussels. Strolling idly after dinner the bright lights of a theatre invited me to enter. It was somewhat late; the second act had commenced. I slipped quietly into my seat, the only one vacant at the extreme end of the front row of the first range; then, looking down upon the stage, met her eyes. A little later an attendant whispered to me that Madame G---- would like to see me; so at the fall of the curtain I went round. Two men were in the dressing-room smoking, and on the table were some bottles of champagne. She was standing before her glass, a loose shawl about her shoulders. “Excuse my shaking hands,” she said. “This damned hole is like a furnace; I have to make up fresh after each act.” She held them up for my inspection with a laugh; they were smeared with grease. “D'you know my husband?” she continued. “Baron G--; Mr. Paul Kelver.” The Baron rose. He was a red-faced, pot-bellied little man. “Delighted to meet Mr. Kelver,” he said, speaking in excellent English. “Any friend of my wife's is always a friend of mine.” He held out his fat, perspiring hand. I was not in the mood to attach much importance to ceremony. I bowed and turned away, careless whether he was offended or not. “I am glad I saw you,” she continued. “Do you remember a girl called Barbara? You and she were rather chums, years ago. “Yes,” I answered, “I remember her.” “Well, she died, poor girl, three years ago.” She was rubbing paint into her cheeks as she spoke. “She asked me if ever I saw you to give you this. I have been carrying it about with me ever since.” She took a ring from her finger. It was the one ring Barbara had worn as a girl, a chrysolite set plainly in a band of gold. I had noticed it upon her hand the first time I had seen her, sitting in my father's office framed by the dusty books and papers. She dropped it into my outstretched palm. “Quite a pretty little romance,” laughed the Baron. “That's all,” added the woman at the glass. “She said you would understand.” From under her painted lashes she flashed a glance at me. I hope never to see again that look upon a woman's face. “Thank you,” I said. “Yes, I understand. It was very kind of you. I shall always wear it.” Placing the ring upon my finger, I left the room. CHAPTER X. PAUL FINDS HIS WAY.