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There was a tinge of scarlet in the very air of the place that one could not merely see, thru the haze of smoke, but that one inhaled, as well, in the vivid blend of perfumes ; that one heard in the wild lilt of the orchestra, drenched in the voices of beautiful women ; that one felt passing into his or her veins thru the fiery liqueurs and volatile, sparkling wines that gave zest to every rich repast. Here was the last word of sensuous gayety, and the Temple of Feeling. Wine, women and song — and the kind of men who made them their gods.
This was "Maxime's."
The only discordant note in the garrulous scene was rendered by the occupants of a little table, who seemed to be crowded close against the wall by the very reason of the blaring contrast. Neither seemed to be interested
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in the scene. The man was excited, in a suppressed manner. His keen eyes sought the door, or scanned every face moving thru the gray pall that hung above the chatting, laughing, singing audience. Occasionally, they returned to the face of his young and exquisitely beautiful companion, who seemed strangely frightened over the influence of the place. At length, the man drew his hands together very tightly beneath the table-cloth, and his legs went taut against his chair, as tho bracing himself for an ordeal.
"Beatrice," he said, just loud enough to be heard across the table, "do you know why I have brought you here ? ' '
The girl gave a quick, almost frightened, look about her, and shook her head.
"Do you recall what happened twelve years ago today ? ' '