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have danced before, Le Perle de Seville, and The Mountain Sprite. For these röles Novarro would be useless— worse than useless. And it is quite possible that I may have to produce The Ondine once more, although I have not yet made up my mind as to that."

Her voice was low, unflurried, monotonous. She spoke French like a Frenchwoman, but made no attempt to talk Russian. This did not surprise Borek, who knew very well that she belonged to some other vague nationality. It was in any case obvious that she was Jewish. He studied in silence her averted profile—her arched thin nose, and eyebrow that slanted like a dark wing, the powdered ivory of her cheek, the bitter line that ran from nose to mouth. And once again, seen thus, she seemed to him old, faded, exhausted, almost defeated. And then she turned to him suddenly with her face alight and her eyes glowing, and put one hand upon his, and was young again.

"Never mind," she said, "the matter is settled, and The Ondine has nothing whatever to do with it."

"Settled?"

"Yes. All that remains is for you to see Kessel tomorrow to arrange terms. The financial side of the business has of course nothing whatever to do with me. I have no head," she concluded mendaciously, "for figures, and am inclined always to be too generous. . . . However, you shall see Kessel, matters will doubtless arrange themselves, and sooner or later we shall both be rehearsing like demons! And so I won't keep you any longer, my dear Borek, but I can only say to you that I am quite enchanted by our whole arrangement!"

Once again the yellow diamond glittered close to his lips, once again he kissed a thin and tiny claw-like hand, and then was ushered, very courteously, very firmly, from a presence more imperial than that of the Tsarita. And

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