“Signor Tojetti,” said Shackleton, “seems to think that two years of study would be ample to fit you for the operatic stage.” Mariposa looked from one to the other with beaming eyes, hardly able to believe it all. “You really did like it, then?” she said to Lepine with her most ingenuous air. He shrugged his shoulders, with a queer French expression of quizzical amusement. “It was a truly interesting performance, and after a period of study with a good master it should be a truly delightful one.” The Italian, to whom these sentences were only half intelligible, now broke in with a quick series of sonorous phrases, directed to Lepine, but now and then turned upon Shackleton. Mariposa’s eyes went from one to the other in an effort to understand. The impresario, listening with frowning intentness, responded with a nod and a word of brusk acquiescence. Turning to Shackleton, he said: “Tojetti also thinks that the appearance of Mademoiselle is much in her favor. She has an admirable stage presence”--he looked at Mariposa as if she were a piece of furniture he was appraising. “Her height alone is of inestimable value. She would have at least five feet eight or nine inches.” At this moment the lady in the box, who had risen to her feet, and was leaning against the railing, called suddenly: “_Lepine, vraiment une belle voix, et aussi une belle fille! Vous avez fait une trouvaille._” Lepine wheeled round to his star, who in the shadowy light stood, a pale-colored, burly figure, buttoning her ulster over her redundant chest. “A moment,” he said, apologetically to the others, and, running to the box, stood with his head back, talking to her, while the prima donna leaned over and a rapid interchange of French sentences passed between them. Signor Tojetti turned to Mariposa, and, with solemn effort, produced an English phrase: “Eet ees time to went.” Then he waved his hand toward the stage. The sound of feet echoed therefrom, and as Mariposa looked, an irruption of vague, spectral shapes rose from some unseen cavernous entrance and peopled the orchestra. “It’s the rehearsal,” she said. “We must be going.” They moved forward toward the entrance, the auditorium behind them beginning to resound with the noise of the incoming performers. A scraping of strings came from the darkened orchestra, and mingled with the tentative chords struck from the piano. At the door Lepine joined them, falling into step beside Shackleton and conversing with him in low tones. Signor Tojetti escorted them to the brass rail and there withdrew with low bows. The ladies made out that the rehearsal demanded his presence. Once again in the gray light of the afternoon they stood for a moment at the curb waiting for the carriage. Lepine offered his farewells to Mariposa and his wishes to see her again. “In Paris,” he said, giving his little quizzical smile--“that is the place in which I should like to see Mademoiselle.”