"A physician?" she queried. "Had she better--" "I don't think it is a case for a doctor. She has only fainted. Perhaps you--" "I will attend to her, and when we get to the Opera House, my maid--" She turned to the footman and seemed to tell him to stay behind and see to the cabman and the police, who had come up. Then she stepped into the car, and a moment later we were slipping silently up the street. By the lights in the car, I could see that our friend was a handsome woman of perhaps thirty-eight. She was almost entirely enveloped in a magnificent sable coat: her head was bare. The great thing about her was her exquisite voice. While her fingers were busy about the girl's hat and throat, the latter opened her eyes. Then she sat up and put her hand to her head. "No, lean back, my dear," said our hostess. "I will spray you." She sprayed her with eau-de-Cologne. "That's lovely," said the girl, with closed eyes. "Thank you so much." The other stopped for a moment to take off the jaunty little hat and lightly push the dark hair away from the white temples. The girl thanked her with a smile. Then she started up again. "Oh, but where is--" She saw me, and stopped, colouring. "He is here, in the car." She closed her eyes once more, and the colour had faded from her cheeks before she spoke again. "Where are we going?" she said. "To the Opera House, dear. You see, I am singing there. I would take you home, but I am late now. My maid, she will make you comfortable. I have nice rooms at the theatre, quite an apartment." She turned to me. "And you will come, too, please. There is plenty of room. Besides she is in your charge." "Of course," said I. "Thank you very much." As she had said, a regular little suite had been allotted to our hostess at the Opera House. As well as the dressingroom, there was a bathroom and a large sitting-room, with flowers everywhere, and beautifully furnished. Here I waited, wondering a little. The others had passed into the dressing-room. Presently Yvonne, the French maid, entered the room. "Mademoiselle recovers, monsieur," she said, with a smile. "Also she dines here, and monsieur with her. It is all arranged. "If you please," said I. It seemed about the best thing to say. Very swiftly she laid the table for two--a cold chicken, some salad, rolls, and a bottle of champagne. Thank you. "It is not much," said Yvonne apologetically. "Now at Madame's house--" "Yvonne!" came from the dressing-room. "Pardon, monsieur." Yvonne disappeared. Five minutes later a telephone bell rang. Then the dressing-room door opened, and Madame came forth robed, and the girl with her, looking as right as rain. "That was my call," said our hostess. "I go to sing now. By the time you have finished, I shall be back, and then, later, if you would like to sit in a box for a little while, it will be quiet for you both. Come, Yvonne." She swept out of the room. Yvonne closed the door behind her.