In a way, I suppose, it is Keeora I have to thank for the fact that, when I finally left my room in the _Continental_, it was to be headed for the _Grand Palais_ instead of to _La Morgue_. I am quite convinced that nothing short of the violent eruption of hysteria that soulful lady brought off outside my door would have induced me to open it, and probably no one else in Paris could have been equal to just that kind of an outburst. In passionate French-Cockney, Keeora told how, after failing for days to reach me by 'phone and telegraph, she had at last come in person to bear me to the _Salon_ to share with her our common triumph. That didn't move me greatly, but when she swore that she was going to stay until she "jolly well croaked, G'bly'me," unless I let her in, something inside of my head snapped and I gave way. (I always was like that with hysterical women.) When I opened the door I discovered that she was dressed in some Mogul princess sort of a rigout, and accompanied by an Italian _Marchesa_ and two or three lesser satellites. Between them and my valet they got me dressed and down to a waiting carriage.
To get away from the mob at the main entrance, they took me around to the _Avenue d'Antin_ side of the _Grand Palais_, where Keeora pointed out with glee that the _Salon_ of the _Société des Artistes Français_, which had opened a week or two previous to that of the _Beaux-Arts_ outfit, was almost deserted. "_Et tout, mon cher Monseer W'itney, por raison de--de la grand success de 'Aykootillys don fur.'_"
"And what might they be?" I asked dully, rather fancying some new sort of epidemic had broken out.
"Madame means to say '_Ecoutilles d'Enfer_,'" began the _Marchesa_ politely; "eet--eet ees--"
"Eat your bloomin' 'at!" cut in the lady impatiently, indignant that anyone could be so stupid as to have her Parisian interpreted to him. "Don't you twig me, old cock? That's wot them French Jo'nnys calls 'Ell's 'Atches."
The picture was extremely well hung, both for position and light; though whether this had come about as a consequence of a reshuffle after it had turned out to be the main drawing card, I did not learn. There was a roped-off area in front of it, and through this a number of perspiring attendants were feeding the crowd, working hard with tongue and hand to keep the chattering line in motion. Keeora called my attention to a woman who had fainted and was being carried out on a stretcher. "Bowls 'em over just like that right along," she giggled. "Six of 'em squealed and keeled back just w'ile I was 'angin' on 'ere yustidy. But it ain't _me_ wot gets 'em," she hastened to explain; "it's that crazy bloke at the w'eel, wiv 'is bloomin' eyes borin' right through your chest an' raspin' up an' down your spine. Don't see wot you wanted to put _'im_ in for any'ow."
