“Japanese!” corrected Yamada, with an apologetic bow.

“Oh, Japanese!  Parisian Japanese, then!  At all events, it is very funny, and the title is Little Moo-Moo!  There is a scene on board a flower-decked boat!  Oh, it is so amusing, so original, so natural! and a delightful song for Little Moo-Moo!”

Then, as Zilah glanced at Varhely, uneasy, and anxious to get away, the Baroness puckered up her rosy lips and sang the stanzas of the Japanese maestro.

Why, sung by Judic or Theo, it would create a furore!  All Paris would be singing.

“Oh, by the way,” she cried, suddenly interrupting herself, “what have you done to Jacquemin?  Yes, my friend Jacquemin?”

“Jacquemin?” repeated Zilah; and he thought of the garret in the Rue Rochechouart, and the gentle, fairhaired woman, who was probably at this very moment leaning over the cribs of her little children—­the children of Monsieur Puck, society reporter of ‘L’Actualite’

“Yes!  Why, Jacquemin has become a savage; oh, indeed! a regular savage!  I wanted to bring him to Etretat; but no, he wouldn’t come.  It seems that he is married.  Jacquemin married!  Isn’t it funny?  He didn’t seem like a married man!  Poor fellow!  Well, when I invited him, he refused; and the other day, when I wanted to know the reason, he answered me (that is why I speak to you about it), ‘Ask Prince Zilah’!  So, tell me now, what have you done to poor Jacquemin?”

“Nothing,” said the Prince.

“Oh, yes, you have; you have changed him!  He, who used to go everywhere and be so jolly, now hides himself in his den, and is never seen at all.  Just see how disagreeable it is!  If he had come with us, he would have written an account in ‘L’Actualite’ of Little Moo-Moo, and Yamada’s operetta would already be celebrated.”

“So,” continued the Baroness, “when I return to Paris, I am going to hunt him up.  A reporter has no right to make a bear of himself!”

“Don’t disturb him, if he cares for his home now,” said Zilah, gravely.  “Nothing can compensate for one’s own fireside, if one loves and is loved.”

At the first words of the Prince, the Baroness suddenly became serious.

“I beg your pardon,” she said, dropping his arm and holding out her tiny hand:  “please forgive me for having annoyed you.  Oh, yes, I see it!  I have annoyed you.  But be consoled; we are going at once, and then, you know, that if there is a creature who loves you, respects you, and is devoted to you, it is this little idiot of a Baroness!  Goodnight!”

“Good-night’.” said Andras, bowing to the Baroness’s friends, Yamada and the other Parisian exotics.

Glad to escape, Varhely and the Prince returned home along the seashore.  Fragments of the czardas from the illuminated casino reached their ears above the swish of the waves.  Andras felt irritated and nervous.  Everything recalled to him Marsa, and she seemed to be once more taking possession of his heart, as a vine puts forth fresh tendrils and clings again to the oak after it has been torn away.