His servants carried the unconscious master of the house from the room.
Mrs. Taine, excusing herself, followed.
In the confusion that ensued, the musicians, hidden behind the floral
screen, struck up a lively air. Some of the guests made quiet preparations
for leaving. A group of those men--famous in the world of art and
letters--under the influence of the wine they had taken so freely, laughed
loudly at some coarse jest. Others, thinking, perhaps,--if they could be
said to think at all,--that their host's attack was not serious, renewed
conversations and bravely attempted to restore a semblance of animation to
the interrupted revelries.
Aaron King worked his way to the side of Conrad Lagrange, "For God's sake,
old man, let's get out of here."
"I'll find Rutlidge or Louise or some one," returned the other, and
disappeared.
As the artist waited, through the open door of an adjoining room, he
caught sight of Sibyl Andres; who, with her violin-case in her hand, was
about to leave. Obeying his impulse, he went to her.
"What in the world are you doing here?" he said almost roughly--extending
his hand to take the instrument she carried.
She seemed a little bewildered by his manner, but smiled as she retained
her violin.
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