[Illustration: With the connoisseur’s eyes for beauty, he studied her from head to foot. Carl could hardly restrain himself, when the dancer came near him, whirling and gyrating her body.] Carl was all fire and flame as he pondered in his mind on how he could best become acquainted with her. One of his first thoughts was, “If she were only on Broadway, instead of here in the wilderness, surrounded by date trees and sand, monkeys and lions.” He raised his glass to his lips, when he heard a slight uproar in the vicinity of the dancer’s tent. Looking closely he saw that one of the visitors, more intoxicated by the liquor he had consumed than by the beauty of the dancer, was endeavoring to embrace and kiss her. It was but a matter of a moment for Carl to reach the spot. Angrily he pulled the man aside. This started a fight. The annoyer attempted to pummel Carl, who proceeded to take all the fight out of him with a straight left to the jaw. With a thud the other hit the ground, but quickly recovered himself and sneaked shamefaced and properly chagrined from the place. The hour was late and most of the people soon left the dancing place. The tourists disappeared, and the place became practically deserted save for a few natives. The dancer came up close to Carl, and, much to his surprise, thanked him in excellent English. He mumbled something as to its “being all right”; but before he realized what he was saying he had asked whether he could speak to her a while. After a moment’s hesitation her consent was given. As he sat opposite the girl he studied her face intently. Was he dreaming? Or did he really recall those eyes? A new feeling, far different from that which he experienced when she danced before him, came to Carl, supplanting that less worthy one. The girl, seeing Carl’s hesitancy to speak, began, “I feel as if I must tell you the whole story--that is, if you care to hear.” “Please do,” returned Carl. During the dance he knew of many things he would like to say to her, but now--well he thought it best to let her do the talking. “Well, to get to the point, the man you just drove away has long been an evil influence in my life. His name is de Rochelle. I worked for him as his secretary in Paris and New York. He forced his love upon me, through hypnotic influence. Later, he wanted to get rid of me, so, while he had me under his influence he commanded me to commit suicide by leaping from one of the bridges that span the East River, in New York.” “Commit suicide?” questioned the astounded Carl. “But why should he command that?” “I found out, later, that he would have collected some fifty thousand dollars’ insurance and would have returned to France to marry another girl.” “The beast,” was all Carl could say.