“Water!” she murmured.  “I shall die of thirst if you don’t give me some water to drink at once.”

There appeared to be no water within the theatre, but at last some one appeared with a carafe and glass.  She drank two glassfuls, and then dropped the glass, which broke on the floor.

“I am not well,” she said; “I feel so hot, and there is that hoarseness in my throat.  Mr. Foster, you must take me home.  The rehearsal will have to be postponed again; I am sorry.  It’s very queer.”

She stood up with my assistance, looking wildly about her, but appealing to no one but myself.

“It is queer,” I said, supporting her.

“Mademoiselle was ill in the same way last time,” several sympathetic voices cried out, and some of the women caressed her gently.

“Let me get home,” she said, half-shouting, and she clung to me.  “My hat—­my gloves—­quick!”

“Yes, yes,” I said; “I will get a fiacre.”

“Why not my victoria?” she questioned imperiously.

“Because you must go in a closed carriage,” I said firmly.

“Mademoiselle will accept my brougham?”

A tall dark man had come forward.  He was the Escamillo.  She thanked him with a look.  Some woman threw a cloak over Rosa’s shoulders, and, the baritone on one side of her and myself on the other, we left the theatre.  It seemed scarcely a moment since she had entered it confident and proud.

During the drive back to her flat I did not speak, but I examined her narrowly.  Her skin was dry and burning, and on her forehead there was a slight rash.  Her lips were dry, and she continually made the motion of swallowing.  Her eyes sparkled, and they seemed to stand out from her head.  Also she still bitterly complained of thirst.  She wanted, indeed, to stop the carriage and have something to drink at the Cafe de l’Univers, but I absolutely declined to permit such a proceeding, and in a few minutes we were at her flat.  The attack was passing away.  She mounted the stairs without much difficulty.

“You must go to bed,” I said.  We were in the salon.  “In a few hours you will be better.”

“I will ring for Yvette.”

“No,” I said, “you will not ring for Yvette.  I want Yvette myself.  Have you no other servant who can assist you?”

“Yes.  But why not Yvette?”

“You can question me to-morrow.  Please obey me now.  I am your doctor.  I will ring the bell.  Yvette will come, and you will at once go out of the room, find another servant, and retire to bed.  You can do that?  You are not faint?”

“No, I can do it; but it is very queer.”

I rang the bell.

“You have said that before, and I say, ’It is queer; queerer than you imagine.’  One thing I must ask you before you go.  When you had the attack in the theatre did you see things double?”

“Yes,” she answered.  “But how did you know?  I felt as though I was intoxicated; but I had taken nothing whatever.”