Andree glanced at her watch as she emerged from the Metro at the St.-Michel station that evening and noticed that it was almost exactly seven o’clock. With quaint, almost stiff little steps she proceeded across the Place, her eyes lowered with that charmingly unconscious demureness which was a part of her, her thoughts directed inward, as they always seemed to be. She had a gift of detachment; it was possible for her to be in the midst of a crowd, and yet to seem and to be unconscious of the crowd’s proximity or existence. She always seemed grave, with a tiny hint of apprehension, and when, as she rarely did, she raised her eyes to regard some passing individual, it was with a sort of na?ve wonder to discover that there was another human being in her neighborhood.... That is how she impressed one. What she was really thinking, how much she saw of what went on about her, nobody ever knew. Kendall, who had studied her every mood, had not the least idea of what her little head busied itself with. She was a dainty mystery to him. She was a dainty mystery to everybody who felt an interest in her.

“Good evening, Mademoiselle Andree,” said a voice in her own language, and she looked up with that childishly startled air which was hers alone. It was Monsieur Robert, smiling with handsome boyishness and with a twinkle of mischief in his eye. She regarded him gravely.

“Good evening, monsieur,” she replied, timidly.

“I have good fortune,” he said. “I have thought of you so often; I have wished to meet you, and, behold! here you are.”

She made no reply, but stood looking at him questioningly.

“Is it permitted to say that mademoiselle is very pretty this evening—as always?... Ah, we were to be friends, do you remember? It was agreed, was it not? And some day we were to talk of many things ... of the Académie and the Comédie and of yourself. Was it not so?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“It is well.” He laughed gaily. “Then shall we talk this evening? You shall dine with me, then.... It is impossible that you are much occupied. Fortune could not be so unkind. You will dine with me and we will talk of those plans of yours?”

She considered a moment unsmilingly, and Monsieur Robert wondered what were her thoughts. It was impossible to guess.

“Yes,” she said, presently.

“There is a café at the corner of the rue Soufflot. Does that please you?”

“Yes.”

He took his place at her side and they continued up the boulevard, Andree silent and apparently preoccupied; Monsieur Robert laughing, gay, exerting all his great charm and displaying his high abilities in droll humor. Occasionally Andree looked up at him a moment and smiled, but for the most part she was serious and gave what answers were required of her in monosyllables. They found a table on the sidewalk of the café and gave their orders.

“Mademoiselle desires to enter the Académie?” said he.

“Yes.”

“It is not easy to gain admission, which is correct. It is not every one who is fit.... There are the examinations, which are difficult.”

“I have not fear of the examinations, for I have studied very much. It is that—” She hesitated.

“That you have not an influential friend to make the recommendation. Is that it?”

“Yes.”

He laughed easily. “Why do you wish to become an actress?”

“Because I must do something—I must find a career, because it is necessary to eat. The stage is very well. I think I can do it; I have always felt I was for the stage.”

“That is very well. One must feel so.... You have the beauty that appeals, yes. You have the youth. You have the intelligence, that is clear. Now, if only you have the talent, the genius—”

“One does not know.”

“Until one makes the attempt, it is true.... But I have a feeling it is there, mademoiselle. Something tells me so. I am sure of it.”

“You are very amiable.”

“No.... No.... It is but the truth.... But there is much hard work. In the Académie one must work until one is ready to drop with fatigue.”

“It is nothing—if one succeeds.”

“True.... And the success is very good. Ah, mademoiselle, I can see the success of you. Behold!... To-day you are not rich, is it not so? You have no fame. But the future—what possibilities are there!... You succeed in entering the Académie. That is possible. You work, you study, you learn.... The teachers see that you have beauty, and they search for the talent.... That is their way, and when they see it to be present they make you work the harder and bestow upon you the extra pains. Oh yes.... I can see it. Then, with good fortune, you take the first prize of all the women, and that makes a place for you on the stage of the Comédie Fran?aise. You shall be a comédienne—that is for you.... And then—one day will come the great success....” He stopped suddenly and regarded her.

“Can you not see it? To-day you—you are very charming, but you are merely you. You have nothing, you are nothing. You have a room, perhaps, for which you pay seventy francs a month. Am I not right? You are not happy. Y............