or
such artists are liable to the accidents of earthly existence. But an
artist who shared the programme with nobody else was above the accidents of
earthly existence and magically protected against colds, coughs, influenza,
orange peel, automobiles, and all the other enemies of mankind. But, of
course, Musa was peculiar, erratic and unpredictable beyond even the wide
range granted by society to genius. And yet of late he had been behaving
himself in a marvellous manner. He had never bothered her. On the voyage
back to France he had not bothered her. They had separated with punctilious
cordiality. Neither of them had written to the other, but she knew that he
was working diligently and satisfactorily. He was apparently cured of her.
It was perhaps due to the seeming completeness of his cure that her
relations with Mr. Gilman had been what they were. ... And now, suddenly,
this!

So with clear conscience she pulled the bell cord.

Musa himself opened the door. He was coatless and in a dressing-gown, under
which showed glimpses of a new smartness. As soon as he saw her he went
very pale.

"_Bon jour_," she said.

He repeated the phrase stiffly.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

He silently signified, with a certain annoying resignation, that she might.
For one instant she was under a tremendous impulse to walk grandly and
haughtily down the stairs. But she conquered the impulse. He was so pale.

"This way, excuse me," he said, and preceded her along a short, narrow
passage which ended in an open door leading into a small room. There was no
carpet on the floor of the passage, and only a quite inadequate rug on the
floor of the room. The furniture was scanty and poor. There was a table, a
music stand, a cheap imitation of a Louis Quatorze chair, two other chairs,
and some piles of music. No curtains to the window! Not a picture on the
walls! On the table a dusty disorder of small objects, including
ash-trays, and towards the back of it a little account book, open, with a
pencil on it and a low pile of coppers and a silver ten-sou piece on the
top of the coppers. Nevertheless this interior represented a novel
luxuriousness for Musa; for previously, as Audrey knew, he had lived in one
room, and there was no bed here. The flat, indeed, actually comprised three
rooms. The account book and the pitiful heap of coins touched her. She had
expended much on the enterprise of launching him to glory, and those coins
seemed to be a