Dian had given her the two keys. She could feel them jingling together in her inner pocket. She wanted to put her tray down somewhere so that she could slip away more easily at the right moment. She waited until there was a lull in the demand for licorice water, then quietly slipped over to a corner and ducked her head from under the leather strap which held the tray about her neck. As she put the tray down on the floor and turned away some one called to her. It was Georges Fardou, the man who had let Vivi through the gates to “Pick a flower.” He looked like a big, shadowy giant as he stood there in the dark hall. “Come, give us a dance like the one at the West Barricade. The 'Ça Ira,’ or anything that’s full of go!” he called with a laugh. The “Ça Ira.” She had heard it sung in the streets that very morning as she had come through the rue Royale with Dian. She had seen it danced, too, a wild, strange weaving in and out of dreadful people. She had shut her eyes at Dian’s bidding and held tight to his hand, and he had talked to her in his quiet way of Pigeon Valley, as they walked through the city. “I’ll do another one to-day,” she heard herself saying, and it seemed as though she spoke harshly without trying, her mouth was so dry. She began to dance, holding her tattered skirts about her, swaying back and forth in the dim, close air. She had danced this way so many times before at Les Vignes, up and down the veranda and through the tall rows of white lilies along the south terrace. She tried to think of these happy times as she danced in and out of the arched doorways and about the big table in the center of the hall. Applause greeted her as she stopped, and also a harsh voice from the anteroom door. “Have the brat clear out, and keep some sort of quiet about here while the section’s in session,” said the voice from the doorway, and then its owner disappeared. For a moment her heart stood still, but after a laugh or two, the small crowd that had stood watching her disappeared, Vivi’s friend among them. At the first moment that she felt that she was unobserved, she crept through the back of the entrance hall into a corridor beyond it, paused, listened, then crept stealthily up the narrow winding stairs. She knew the room. One time when they had been staying with her great-aunt for several weeks, she had spent an afternoon there with Proté, dear Proté!