Her eyes had a gleam of mischievous mockery in them; and Leroy was conscious of an irritation which he could scarcely explain to himself. Decidedly, he thought, this Lotys was an unpleasant woman. She was ‘extremely plain,’ so he mentally declared, in a kind of inward huff,--though he was bound to concede that now and then she had a very beautiful, almost inspired expression. After all, why should she not set out jugs and bottles, and loaves of bread, and hunks of ham and cheese before these men? She was probably in their pay! Scarcely had this idea flashed across his mind than he was ashamed of it. This Lotys, whoever she might actually be, was no paid hireling; there was something in her every look and action that set her high above any suspicion that she would accept the part of a salaried _comédienne_ in the Socialist farce. Annoyed with himself, though he knew not why, he turned his gaze from her to the man who had brought in the supper,--a hunchback, who, notwithstanding his deformity, was powerfully built, and of a countenance which, marked as it was with the drawn pathetic look of long-continued physical suffering, was undeniably handsome. His large brown eyes, like those of a faithful dog, followed every movement of Lotys with anxious and wistful affection, and Leroy, noticing this, began to wonder whether she was his wife or daughter? Or was she related in either of these ways to Sergius Thord? His reflections were interrupted by a slight touch from Max Graub who was seated next to him. “Will you drink with these fellows?” said Graub, in a cautious whisper--“Expect to be ill, if you do!” “You shall prescribe for me!” answered Leroy in the same low tone--“I faithfully promise to call in your assistance! But drink with them I must, and will!” Graub gave a short sigh and a shrug, and said no more. The hunchback was going the round of the table, filling tall glasses with light Bavarian beer. “Where is the little Pequita?” asked Zouche, addressing him--“Have you sent her to bed already, Sholto?” Sholto looked timorously round till he met the bright reassuring glance of Lotys, and then he replied hesitatingly-- “Yes!--no--I have not sent the little one to bed;--she returned from her work at the theatre, tired out--quite tired out, poor child! She is asleep now.” “Ha ha! A few years more, and she will not sleep!” said Zouche--“Once in her teens--” “Once in her teens, she leaves the theatre and comes to me,” said Lotys, “And you will see very little of her, Zouche, and you will know less! That will do, Sholto! Good-night!” “Good-night!” returned the hunchback--“I thank you, Madame!--I thank you, gentlemen!” And with a slight salutation, not devoid of grace, he left the room. Zouche was sulky, and pushing aside his glass of beer, poured out for himself some strong spirit from a bottle instead. “You do not favour me to-night, Lotys,” he said irritably--“You interrupt and cross me in everything I say!”