Fanchon, seeing it, looked demurely at her plate, toying with her fork. She wanted to laugh, but she remembered her husband’s horror of the sensation she had just made, and she was aware, too, of another figure farther away. She flushed a little, saying nothing, and William, still feeling that little rift in the lute, busied himself filling his wine-glass again. Fanchon, who had never seen him drink wine, lifted her heavy eyes from her plate to watch him. She knew he had already filled his glass four times. “He’s not a drinking man,” she thought shrewdly. “He’s unhappy because he’s married me, a dancer!” William lifted his fifth glass slowly to his lips. “It’s not bad wine, Fanchon,” he said lightly; “but we had better in Paris.” She shook her head. “In Paris you didn’t drink wine, _mon ami_.” He reddened. “Didn’t I? I----” He stopped short. The stout, bald-headed gentleman had risen abruptly from his table and was approaching theirs. He did not look at William, but bowed to Fanchon. “Mrs. Carter, I believe?” he said suavely. “Mrs. William Carter?” Fanchon smiled. “_Mais oui_, and--Mr. William Carter,” she added archly, looking at the astonished William. The fat man bowed again, then he produced a card-case and laid his card on the table. “I’m Samuel Bernstein,” he said proudly, “president of the Unlimited Film Company. Perhaps you’ve heard of me, Mr. Carter?” “No!” said William shortly, frowning. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” Mr. Bernstein gave him a pitying glance. “Go to the movies?” he asked mildly. William nodded. “Sometimes.” Mr. Bernstein elevated his brows. He looked at Fanchon, and his face changed and glowed with appreciation. “Guess you go, madam,” he said in a confident tone, “a lady of your talent! Excuse me”--he bowed first to one and then the other--“if you’ll permit me, I’ll sit down. I’ve got a word to say--business, you know, strictly business.” Fanchon’s eyes danced. She threw a mocking look at William’s stiffening face. “Sit down, Mr. Bernstein,” she said sweetly. “_Voilà!_ I love the movies!” “There!” Bernstein beamed, drawing up a chair. “I knew a lady of your talent must love ’em.” He waved his hand gracefully, speaking to William now, but including William’s wife. “I want to say, sir, that I witnessed that dance to-night, and--well, sir, it hit me straight in the bull’s-eye! Never saw it better done--never! I congratulate Mrs. Carter, sir, and I congratulate you. It was a gem!” William, very red, inclined his head stiffly, but Fanchon was radiant with smiles. “_Merci du compliment!_” she murmured. “Eh? Oh, you’re French, ain’t you?” Mr. Bernstein returned her smile genially. “Corwin was telling me you were Mamselle Fonchon lay Fare. That would sound a top-liner, too, on a bill-board. Corwin--you know him? Yes? Well, he’s running a vaudeville show somewhere now, besides that hairy piano man, and he wants you in his show. I suspicioned that right off.”