In the mean time the great Le Mire kept herself secluded in her
hotel. She had appeared but once in the public dining-room, and
on that occasion had nearly caused a riot, whereupon she had
discreetly withdrawn. She remained unseen while the town shouted
itself hoarse.

I had not mentioned her name to Harry, nor had I heard him speak
of her, until one evening about two weeks after my return.

We were at dinner and had been discussing some commonplace
subject, from which, by one of the freaks of association, the
conversation veered and touched on classical dancing.

"The Russians are preeminent," said I, "because they possess both
the inspiration--the fire--and the training. In no other nation
or school are the two so perfectly joined. In the Turkish dancers
there is perfect grace and freedom, but no life. In Desiree Le
Mire, for example, there is indeed life; but she has not had the
necessary training."

"What? Le Mire! Have you seen her?" cried Harry.

"Not on the stage," I answered; "but I crossed on the same ship
with her, and she was kind enough to give me a great deal of her
time. She seems to understand perfectly her own artistic
limitations, and I am taking her word for it."

But Harry was no longer interested in the subject of dancing. I
was besieged on the instant with a thousand questions.