I assured him that it was.

“Agreed then,” he said.

By this time we were back at the door.  The whole thing had not taken five minutes.  We re-entered the theatre, and walked hurriedly through the lobby to the foyer.  As we were about to separate, he laid a hand on either of my shoulders, and with a whimsical smile, said:  “I’ll dare swear I shall try to give you the slip.”—­The smile died on his lips.  It never reached his eyes.  “Don’t let me do it.  After the next act, then,” and, with a wave of his hand, he disappeared.

I thought I was ridiculous enough when he had gone, and I realized that I had promised to follow this man, I did not know where, I did not know with whom, I did not know why.

It was useless for me to go back into the auditorium.  I could not listen to the music.  In spite of myself, I kept approaching the entrance opposite the box, and peering through the glass, like a detective.  I knew I was afraid that he would keep his word and try to give me the slip.  I never asked myself what difference it would make to me if he did.  I simply took up the strange unexplained task he had given me as if to me it were a matter of life or death.

Even before the curtain fell, I had hurried round the house and placed myself with my back to the door, so that I could not miss him as he passed, and yet had no appearance of watching him.  It was well that I did, for in an instant the door opened.  He came out and passed me quickly, followed by a tall slender woman in a straight wrap that fell from her head to the ground, and the domino-like hood which completely concealed her face.

As he drew her hand through his arm, he looked back at me, over his shoulder.  His eyes met mine.  They seemed to say, “Is it you, old True-penny?” But he merely bent his head courteously and with his lips said, “Come!” I felt sure that he shrugged his shoulders resignedly, as he saw that I kept my word, and followed.

At the door he found his carriage.  He assisted his companion in.  Then in the gentlest manner he said in my ear, as he stood aside for me to enter, “In with you.  My honor is saved, but repentance dogs its heels.”

To the lady he said, “This is the friend whom you were kind enough to permit me to ask for supper.”

She made no reply.

I uncovered my head to salute her, murmuring some vague phrase of thanks, which was, I am sure, inaudible.  Then Rodriguez followed, and took his place beside me on the front seat.

As the door banged I could have sworn that the lady, whose face was concealed behind the falling lace of her hood, as if by a mask, spoke.

He thought so, too, for he leaned forward as if to catch the words.  Evidently we were mistaken, for he received no response.  He murmured an oath against the pavements and the noise, and turned a smiling face to me—­and I?  Why, I smiled back!

As we rattled over the pavings, through the lighted streets, no one spoke.  The lady leaned back in her corner.  Opposite her Rodriguez hummed “Salve! dimora” and I beside him, sat strangely confused and inert, still as if in a dream.