"The Baroness desires that you three will visit her box and take a glass of wine," he announced, with the air of one conveying a royal command. "François, a bottle of _34_ to the stage box at once." Apart from our desire to oblige little Mr. Huber, who was really a most good-natured person, our recently received mandate left us no alternative but to comply. We were ushered, therefore, into the box, where the Baroness received us, rather to my surprise, with the air of a woman of breeding, the girl without any special enthusiasm, and the old man, whose eyes were glued upon the soubrette, with indifference. We were offered chairs and suffered the martyrdom of sweet champagne. The Baroness said polite things about our performance, enquired about our impressions of Brussels, and spoke calmly of her residence in the city during the period of German occupation. Her conversation was easy enough, and gracious, yet I could not get it out of my head that her interest in us did not arise solely from the fact of our being professional entertainers. "You find it pays," she asked, a little abruptly, "while living in Brussels is so dear, to perform at this café for Monsieur Huber's salary?" "Financially," I admitted, "our trip here is not particularly remunerative, but we were all three very anxious to get over here and look around." "You find it very changed--the city?" "Only as regards the absence of Germans," I replied. "In the old days one met them everywhere." "They will return," she observed. "But surely they will not be welcome guests?" I ventured. "Not at first," she answered indifferently. "Brussels, however, is too cosmopolitan and too near the frontier to preserve her isolation. The intermarrying alone would prevent any ostracism." "I hope," I ventured to say, "that they will keep away until our stay here is over." She glanced at my stiff left arm. "You lost that in the War?" "That and better things," I told her--"a brother, two cousins and an uncle." She nodded gravely yet with little pretence at sympathy. "You English were wonderful," she said coldly. The little fat man, who had been leaning over the edge of the box, suddenly turned around, mopping his forehead. He was not a pleasant sight to look upon. There were wine stains upon his shirt front and cigar ash upon his waistcoat. His cheeks were pale and puffy; there were bags underneath his eyes. His grey beard and moustache, though carefully trimmed, were scanty and unprepossessing. "But she is wonderful, that little one," he declared. "Marvellous!" He poured out a glass of wine, ignoring us in his ecstasy. The Baroness endeavoured to correct his manners. "You were unfortunate, dear Henri," she said, "that you arrived too late to hear Mademoiselle Mindel sing and to watch her dance. You would have thought less of your little French girl's performance." Monsieur Henri recovered himself sufficiently to bow to Rose.