The figure struck him as familiar.

Presently the girl turned, throwing a glance round the theatre.

He caught the dash of the dark, piercing eyes, the luminous look, the face unpainted--in its own natural colour: neither hot health nor paleness, but a thing to bear the light of day.

"Andree the gipsy!" he exclaimed in a low tone.
In less than two years this! Here was fame.

A wanderer, an Ishmael then, her handful of household goods and her father in the grasp of the Law: to-day, Mademoiselle Victorine, queen of animal-tamers! And her name associated with the Comte Ploare! With the Comte Ploare?
Had it come to that?
He remembered the look in her face when he bade her good-bye.