In the front row of the box Mrs. Bloodgood was laughing gaily with three or four young men who were bending flatteringly over her. In the back Bloodgood was seated, dozing in a corner. Beecher hardly recognized him. Of the once rugged physique nothing remained but a senile fluttering. Some mysterious disease had struck him down and marked his hours. At this moment Mrs. Bloodgood, aware of a shadow in the doorway, turned and met the profound and memory-troubled gaze of the young man. She recognized him and in the same moment divined his thoughts. By a movement which she could not control, she brought her fan, which had been extended in a tantalizing gesture under the eyes of one of her satellites, into a protective barrier, as though to shield herself from the too frank melancholy of this disturbing gaze. Their eyes met. Beecher inclined his head. It was at the same time a salutation and an adieu. He found Gunther outside their box. "The old fellow’s in a pretty bad way," said his friend, noticing his disturbed look. "It wasn’t that!..." "Yes,—she’s taking her revenge!" said Gunther with a laugh. To shake off this impression Beecher touched his friend on the arm, and forcing a smile, said, with a nod towards the box where Miss Fanning was waiting: "So it’s serious, Bruce?" "But not for publication..." said Gunther with a nod. Beecher would have liked to put a further question, one which had presented itself already at the thought of Louise Fontaine; but he refrained, for he was aware in his friend of a certain new grimness and implacability of purpose which, as in his father, had the effect of withdrawing him from the ordinary club familiarity. After the second act he went behind the scenes to greet Emma Fornez, who had just received an ovation. The diva, with the same cry of delight in which she recognized him, asked him what he thought of her success. "You have reached the top.... Every new _Carmen_ must now be advertised as greater than Emma Fornez!" he answered with a bow. "Ah, you have learned how to make compliments! ... Bravo!" she exclaimed. She advanced her head, pointing to a little spot under her jeweled ear. "There! ... your recompense! ... You look as big a boy as ever! ... Tell me everything—all at once! ... Victorine, close the door. I see no one—_tu m’entends_? ... I am too red tonight, _hein_?" "Not from the boxes!" "_Si, si_! ... I must be more pale ... Sit down, sit down!" She enveloped her shoulders in a shawl, and studied her face in the flashing mirror, pulling her make-up box towards her. "You have come back ... for good, Teddy?" "Yes!" "You are always married?" "Yes!" "That’s a pity—_enfin_! ... Happy?" "Very!" "Too bad! ... And you have come _pour tirer la langue à Emma Fornez_ ... who tried to frighten you!" "Exactly!" said Beecher, laughing.