to my ear that I caught the strong reek of liquor:
"Ain't she a wonder! All Paris is mad to find out who she really is—and what. Somebody asked Kharkoff about her at the Automobile Club the other night,, just before they started to play. 'La femme du diable!' he growled. That's the name she goes by now."
"She looks it," I whispered, wondering what he would say if he was to know that she was the woman who had shoved the gun into my hand while she hissed into my ear to shoot him dead a couple of weeks before.
Léontine was wearing a pale green chiffon gown and her black hair was drawn down under a gold band set with emeralds. Her neck and shoulders glowed like old ivory. Edith and Miss Dalghren were stealing sidelong glances at her. Then the latter turned to me, and her blue eyes held a sort of inquiry which made me wonder if she had noticed Léontine's expression when she first looked into our box.
Presently the curtain rose and the stage took everybody's attention—that is, everybody's but mine. I was doing some mighty hard thinking, you can bet.
Just before the curtain fell Léontine and Kharkoff left the box. Edith turned to me.
"Did you ever see so wonderful a creature?" she asked.
"Did you?" said Miss Dalghren.
"She's rather too exotic for my taste," I answered.
"Do you know who she is?" asked the girl.
