“A prince in disguise, our Scaramouche!” said he.

Columbine clapped her hands and flashed her strong teeth.  “But what a romance for you, Climene!  How wonderful!”

The frown melted from Climene’s brow.  Resentment changed to bewilderment.

“But who is she?”

“His sister, of course,” said Harlequin, quite definitely.

“His sister?  How do you know?”

“I know what he will tell you on his return.”

“But why?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe him if he said she was his mother.”

Following the carriage with their glance, they wandered on in the direction it had taken.  And in the carriage Aline was considering Andre-Louis with grave eyes, lips slightly compressed, and a tiny frown between her finely drawn eyebrows.

“You have taken to queer company, Andre,” was the first thing she said to him.  “Or else I am mistaken in thinking that your companion was Mlle. Binet of the Theatre Feydau.”

“You are not mistaken.  But I had not imagined Mlle. Binet so famous already.”

“Oh, as to that... " mademoiselle shrugged, her tone quietly scornful.  And she explained.  “It is simply that I was at the play last night.  I thought I recognized her.”

“You were at the Feydau last night?  And I never saw you!”

“Were you there, too?”

“Was I there!” he cried.  Then he checked, and abruptly changed his tone.  “Oh, yes, I was there,” he said, as commonplace as he could, beset by a sudden reluctance to avow that he had so willingly descended to depths that she must account unworthy, and grateful that his disguise of face and voice should have proved impenetrable even to one who knew him so very well.

“I understand,” said she, and compressed her lips a little more tightly.

“But what do you understand?”

“The rare attractions of Mlle. Binet.  Naturally you would be at the theatre.  Your tone conveyed it very clearly.  Do you know that you disappoint me, Andre?  It is stupid of me, perhaps; it betrays, I suppose, my imperfect knowledge of your sex.  I am aware that most young men of fashion find an irresistible attraction for creatures who parade themselves upon the stage.  But I did not expect you to ape the ways of a man of fashion.  I was foolish enough to imagine you to be different; rather above such trivial pursuits.  I conceived you something of an idealist.”

“Sheer flattery.”

“So I perceive.  But you misled me.  You talked so much morality of a kind, you made philosophy so readily, that I came to be deceived.  In fact, your hypocrisy was so consummate that I never suspected it.  With your gift of acting I wonder that you haven’t joined Mlle. Binet’s troupe.”

“I have,” said he.

It had really become necessary to tell her, making choice of the lesser of the two evils with which she confronted him.