“Good-night!”

He left her to the gray mystery of the stars, and passed back through the quiet, lamp-lit room and down the slippery stairs that led to the mundane world; and with each step he took, each breath he drew, the words from Louise repeated themselves, justifying all things, glorifying all things:  ’C’est la vie! l’Eternelle, la toute-puissante vie!’

CHAPTER XXVIII

Blake must have reached the last step of the Escalier de Sainte-Marie, must indeed have turned the corner of the rue Andre de Sarte before the creaking of a footstep or the opening of a door disturbed the silence of the fifth floor; but, due time having expired—­due deference having been paid to taste and the proprieties—­the handle of M. Cartel’s door was very softly turned, and Jacqueline slipped forth into the shadowed landing.

Never were human curiosity and feminine craft more signally displayed than in the slim little form creeping on tiptoe, the astute, piquante little face thrust forth into the dark.  Across the landing she stole, and with deft fingers opened Max’s door without a sound.

Here, in the narrow hallway, she paused and called gently, “Monsieur Max!” But as no voice answered, she crept to the salon door and, with a little comedy of smiles all for her own diversion, called again with pursed lips and in a stage whisper:  “Madame!  Madame!”

It carried—­this portentous word—­across the quiet room to the balcony where Maxine was lingering; it drew from her a little ‘oh,’ of consternation; finally, it brought her running across the room to her visitor.

Jacqueline, lynx-eyed, stood and looked at her—­noting how flushed she was, how youthful-looking, how unguarded and brimming with emotion.

“Madame!” she cried.  “I know without a word!  It has been a grand success.”

[Illustration:  "C’EST LA VIE!  L’ETERNELLE, LA TOUTE-PUISSANTE VIE!”]

Maxine laughed, a girlish laugh of self-betrayal.  “A grand success!  Absolutely a grand success!  And, Jacqueline”—­she hesitated, laughed again with charming self-consciousness, rushed afresh into speech—­“Jacqueline, he thought me beautiful!  Not a word was said, but I know he thought me beautiful.  Tell me!  Am I beautiful?” Swiftly, as might the boy, she threw off her velvet cloak, letting it fall to the ground, and showed herself tall and supple and straight in her white dress.

Jacqueline rushed forward warmly, caught and kissed her hand.

“Madame, you are ravishing!” And, with her pretty native practicality, she picked up the cloak, carefully folded and carefully laid it aside.