“Naturally.  Do you care?”

“Certainly I care.  I’d like to be one of them, not a—­a specimen.  Wouldn’t you?”

“Um-m, perhaps.  I dare say I could be one of them if it weren’t for Courteau.  People forget things quickly in a new country.”

“Why did you take him back?  I’m sure you don’t care for him.”

“Not in the least.  He’s the sort of man you can’t love or hate; he’s a nine-spot.  Just the same, he protects me and—­I can’t help being sorry for him.”

Rouletta smiled.  “Fancy you needing protection and him giving—­”

“You don’t understand.  He protects me from myself.  I mean it.  I’m as unruly as the average woman and I make a fool of myself on the slightest provocation.  Henri is a loafer, a good-for-nothing, to be sure, but, nevertheless, I have resumed his support.  It was easier than refusing it.  I help broken miners.  I feed hungry dogs.  Why shouldn’t I clothe and feed a helpless husband?  It’s a perfectly feminine, illogical thing to do.”

“Other people don’t share your opinion of him.  He can be very agreeable, very charming, when he tries.”

“Of course.  That’s his stock in trade; that’s his excuse for being.  Women are crazy about him, as you probably know, but—­give me a man the men like.”  There was a pause.  “So you don’t enjoy the thing you’re doing?”

“I hate it!  I hate the whole atmosphere—­the whole underworld.  It’s-unhealthy, stifling.”

“What has happened?”

Slowly, hesitatingly, Rouletta told of her encounter with Laure.  The Countess listened silently.

“It was an unpleasant shock,” the girl concluded, “for it brought me back to my surroundings.  It lifted the curtain and showed me what’s really going on.  It’s a pity Pierce Phillips is entangled with that creature, for he’s a nice chap and he’s got it in him to do big things.  But it wasn’t much use my trying to tell him that he was cheating himself.  I don’t think he understood.  I feel almost—­well, motherly toward him.”

Hilda nodded gravely.  “Of course you do.  He has it.”

“Has it?  What?”

“The call—­the appeal—­the same thing that lets Henri get by.”

“Oh, he’s nothing like the Count!” Rouletta protested, quickly.

The elder woman did not argue the point.  “Pierce has more character than Henri, but a man can lose even that in a gambling-house.  I was very fond of him—­fonder than I knew.  Yes, it’s a fact.  I’m jealous of Laure, jealous of you—­”

“Jealous? of me?  You’re joking!”

“Of course.  Don’t take me seriously.  Nevertheless, I mean it.”  The Countess smiled queerly and rose to her feet.  “It’s improper for a married woman to joke about such things, even a woman married to a no-good count, isn’t it?  And it’s foolish, too.  Well, I’m going to do something even more foolish—­I’m going to give you some advice.  Cut out that young man.  He hasn’t found himself yet; he’s running wild.  He’s light in ballast and he’s rudderless.  If he straightens out he’ll make some woman very happy; otherwise—­he’ll create a good deal of havoc.  Believe me, I know what I’m talking about, for I collided with Henri and—­look at the result!”