“You are a friend of Frau Papadopoulos?”

“Friend!” I cried.  “She is to be my wife.  I am in a state of horror and despair.  Tell me what has happened.”

Seeing my condition, he laid aside his official manner and became human.  It was a dreadful accident, said he.  The beast had apparently got its claws in near her eyes; but what were her exact injuries he could not tell, as her face was all over blood and she had fainted with the pain.  The doctor was with her.  He had telephoned for an ambulance.  I was to be quite certain that she would receive every possible attention.  He would give my card to the doctor.  Meanwhile I was quite at liberty to remain in the box till the ambulance came.  I thanked him.

“In the meantime,” said I, “if you can let me have a word with Fraulein Dawkins, her maid, should she be in the theatre, or Quast her attendant, I should be grateful.”

He promised and withdrew.  The doorkeeper gave me a wooden chair, and there I sat for an unconscionable time, faint and dizzy with suspense.  The chance words I had heard in the crowd, the manager’s remark about the claws, the memory of the savage spring at the beloved face made me feel sick.  Every now and then, as some doors leading to the stage swung open, I could hear the orchestra and the laughter and applause of the audience.  Both Dawkins and Quast visited me.  The former was in a helpless state of tears and hand-wringing.  As she knew no word of German she could understand nothing that the doctors or others said.  Madame was unconscious.  Her head was tightly bandaged.  That was all the definite information she had.

“Did Madame know I was in front to-night?” I asked.

“Oh, yes, sir!  I think she had a letter from you.  She was so pleased, poor dear Madame.  She told me that you would see the best performance she had ever given.”

Whereupon she broke down and was useless for further examination.  Then Quast came.  He could not understand how the accident had occurred.  Hephaestus had never before tried to attack her.  She had absolute mastery over him, and he usually behaved with her as gently as any of the other cats.  With himself it was quite different.  He was accustomed to Hephaestus springing at him; but then he beat him hard with a great stick until he was so sore that he could neither stand up nor lie down.

“I have always implored Madame to carry something heavier than that silly little whip, and now it’s all over.  She will never be able to control him again.  Hephaestus will have to be killed, and I will be desolate.  Ach, what a misfortune!”

He began to weep.

“Good God!” I cried; “you don’t mean to say that you’re sorry for the brute?”

“One can’t help being fond of him.  We have been for five years inseparable companions!”

I had no sympathy to fling away on him at that moment.

“How do you account for his spring at Madame to-night?  That’s all I want to know.”