Alresca was to consult him about the point. The truth
is, I am threatened with trouble if I appear at the Opera Comique,
particularly in 'Carmen.' The whole matter is paltry beyond words, but
really I am a little afraid."

"May I hear the story?"

"You know Carlotta Deschamps, who always takes Carmen at the Comique?"

"I've heard her sing."

"By the way, that is her half-sister, Marie Deschamps, who sings in
your cousin's operas at the London Diana."

"I have made the acquaintance of Marie--a harmless little thing!"

"Her half-sister isn't quite so harmless. She is the daughter of a
Spanish mother, while Marie is the daughter of an English mother, a
Cockney woman. As to Carlotta, when I was younger"--oh, the
deliciously aged air with which this creature of twenty-three referred
to her youth--"I was singing at the Opera Comique in Paris, where
Carlotta was starring, and I had the misfortune to arouse her
jealousy. She is frightfully jealous, and get worse as she gets older.
She swore to me that if I ever dared to appear at the Comique again
she would have me killed. I laughed. I forgot the affair, but it
happens that I never have sung at the Comique since that time. And now
that I am not merely to appear at the Comique, but am going to sing
'Carmen' there, her own particular role, Deschamps is furious. I
firmly believe she means harm. Twice she has written to me the most
formidable threats. It seems strange that I should stand in awe of a
woman like Carlotta Deschamps, but so it is. I am half-inclined to
throw up the engagement."

That a girl of Rosa's spirit should have hesitated for an instant
about fulfilling her engagement showed most plainly, I thought, that
she was not herself. I assured her that her fears were groundless,
that we lived in the nineteenth century, and that Deschamps' fury
would spend itself in nothing worse than threats. In the end she said
she would reconsider the matter.

"Don't wait to reconsider," I urged, "but set off for Paris at once.
Go to-day. Act. It will do you good."

"But there are a hundred things to be thought of first," she said,
laughing at my earnestness.

"For example?"

"Well, my jewels are with my London bankers."

"Can't you sing without jewels?"

"Not in Paris. Who ever heard of such a thing?"

"You can write to your bankers to send them by registered post."

"Post! They are worth thousands and thousands of pounds. I ought
really to fetch them, but there w