“There is no secret about it,” the General replied; and in a few words he explained the enigma.

“Why, then,” exclaimed the senior member, “she is indeed the fowl that lays the golden eggs!  What a lucky bird will be the one that mates with her!”

The rising curtain sent the spectators back to their places.  The augurs of the Duchess’s box reinstalled themselves before it where they could examine at their ease through their lorgnettes the fair stranger of whom so much had been said; and, mounting to the next floor, the General was at last able to find room among his sister’s guests.

“You can see for yourself that our young friend is altogether charming,” whispered Madame de Nointel, behind the shelter of her fan, and indicating Zibeline.

“If you pronounce her so, Madame, she can receive no higher praise,” said Henri.

“Say at once that you think me exasperating,” laughed the lady.

“Was it not you that first called her Zibeline?” Henri inquired.

“Yes, but she calls herself Valentine—­which rhymes, after all.  Not richly enough for her, I know, but her means allow her to do without the supporting consonant.  See how beautiful she is to-night!”

In fact, twenty-four hours had sufficed to change the lonely stranger of the day before into the heroine of this evening, and the satisfaction that shone in her face tempered the somewhat haughty and disdainful expression that had hitherto characterized her.

“You have not yet said ‘good-evening’ to Mademoiselle de Vermont, Henri,” said the Duchess to her brother, and he changed his place in order to act upon her hint.

“Ah, is it you, General?” said Zibeline, affecting not to have seen him until that moment.  “It seems that music interests you less than comedy.”

“What has made you form that opinion, Mademoiselle?”

“The fact that you arrive much later at the opera than at the Comedie Francaise.”

“Have you, then, kept watch upon my movements?”

“Only a passing observation of signs—­quite allowable in warfare!”

“But I thought we had made a compact of peace.”

“True enough, we did make it, but suppose it were only an armistice?”

“You are ready, then, to resume hostilities?” said Henri.

“Now that I have Madame la Duchesse, your sister, for an ally, I fear no enemies.”

“Not even if I should call for aid upon the camp of Desvanneaux?”

“Alceste leagued with Tartufe?  That idea never occurred to Moliere,” said Zibeline, mischievously.

“Take care!” said the Duchess, interrupting this skirmishing, “you will fall over into the orchestra!  It is growing late, and if Mademoiselle de Vermont does not wish to remain to see the final conflagration, we might go now, before the crowd begins to leave.”

“I await your orders, Madame la Duchesse,” said Zibeline, rising.