As he gazed his thoughts went back to the days when he had seen her first, a giddy schoolgirl, a very will-o’-the-wisp among the decorous young French damsels of the ladies’ seminary. He remembered her wild ways, her odd sayings in schoolgirl’s French, her pretty fits of petulance, her innocent entanglement with him, the ever-seductive Gavrolles--or Belleisle, as he then called himself. He thought of the mad elopement, and the strange days that followed, when the fluttering bird was in his power. ‘After all,’ he reflected, ‘I was a fool to let her go.’ And the man with her, who seemed so greatly to adore her, who was he? Surely her lover; perhaps her husband--but no, that was scarcely possible. A rich man, certainly; yes, with all the style and manner of a rich man. She, too, with her popular fame, her great artistic position, was no longer poor. Perhaps, after all, it was for the best that he had let her go, since fortune had been kind to her, and what was lost could be easily regained. Gavrolles smiled. Once, when the audience was busy applauding the actors, his exhilaration was so great that he impulsively kissed his hand in the direction of the box. The action was unnoticed, of course, but it seemed to place him _en rapport_ with his old love. ‘Courage, Gavrolles!’ he said to himself. ‘You are Fortune’s favourite, after all. Just when you were in despair, just when your purse was empty and your great soul in despair, the cards befriend you, and a good angel appears in the distance. Madeline, _mon ange_, I greet you. You will be my guardian spirit after all.’ When the opera was over, Gavrolles stood in the corner of the box lobby, and watched Madeline go past on Forster’s arm. He kept his face well averted, for he did not wish to be recognised, just yet. Then, following the pair to the theatre door, he saw a brougham draw up, smiled upon the pair as they entered and gaily lit a cigar as they drove away. CHAPTER XXVII.--ADELE LAMBERT. Cigar in mouth, Gavrolles strolled leisurely along the streets in the direction of Regent Circus. Arrived in Waterloo Place he found the pavement thronged with those painted faces, “Which only smile by night beneath the gas, and saw what, to a man with any pity in his soul, is the saddest sight beneath the sun. Bright jets of gas were flaming over the Criterion Restaurant, the night houses on every side were opening their foul jaws, and from the darkness of every street and lane were fluttering forth the moths of night. Painted and bedizened creatures, fluttering gladly in the gaslight; some faint and feeble, as if already scorched with the destroying flame; others splendidly merry, with the new flush of the infernal brightness upon them; many beautiful beyond measure, with faces as pure and sweet as those of little children that know not sin.