Presently a messenger came, saying that Monsieur Belward would find
Mademoiselle in her dressing-room. Thither Gaston went, accompanied by
the manager, who, however, left him at the door, nodding good-naturedly
to Victorine, and inwardly praying that here was no danger to his
business, for Victorine was a source of great profit. Yet he had failed
himself, and all others had failed in winning her--why should this man
succeed, if that was his purpose?

There was present an elderly, dark-featured Frenchwoman, who was always
with Victorine, vigilant, protective, loving her as her own daughter.

"Monsieur!" said Andree, a warm colour in her cheek. Gaston shook her
hand cordially, and laughed. "Mademoiselle--Andree?"

He looked inquiringly. "Yes, to you," she said.

"You have it all your own way now--isn't it so?" "With the lions, yes.
Please sit down. This is my dear keeper," she said, touching the woman's
shoulder. Then, to the woman: "Annette, you have heard me speak of this
gentleman?"

The woman nodded, and modestly touched Gaston's outstretched hand.

"Monsieur was kind once to my dear Mademoiselle," she said.

Gaston cheerily smiled:

"Nothing, nothing, upon my word!" Presently he continued:

"Your father, what of him?" She sighed and shivered a little.