rted me everywhere like a guard of soldiers. Yet I liked him even
for that. He was genuine; so sincere, so masterful with it. In all
matters his methods were drastic. If he had been alive I should not be
tormented by the absurd fears which I now allow to get the better of
me."

"Fears! About what?"

"To be frank, about my debut at the Opera Comique. I can imagine," she
smiled, "how he would have dealt with that situation."

"You are afraid of something?"

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I merely fear.... There is Carlotta Deschamps."

"Miss Rosa, a few minutes ago you called me your friend." My voice was
emotional; I felt it.

"I did, because you are. I have no claim on you, but you have been
very good to me."

"You have the best claim on me. Will you rely on me?"

We looked at each other.

"I will," she said. I stood before her, and she took my hand.

"You say you fear. I hope your fears are groundless--candidly, I can't
see how they can be otherwise. But suppose anything should happen.
Well, I shall be at your service."

At that moment some one knocked and entered. It was Yvette. She
avoided my glance.

"Madame will take her egg-and-milk before going to rehearsal?"

"Yes, Yvette. Bring it to me here, please."

"You have a rehearsal to-day?" I asked. "I hope I'm not detaining
you."

"Not at all. The call is for three o'clock. This is the second one,
and they fixed the hour to suit me. It is really my first rehearsal,
because at the previous one I was too hoarse to sing a note."

I rose to go.

"Wouldn't you like to come with me to the theatre?" she said with an
adorable accent of invitation.

My good fortune staggered me.

After she had taken her egg-and-milk we set out.

CHAPTER XII

EGG-AND-MILK

I was intensely conscious of her beauty as I sat by her side in the
swiftly rolling victoria. And I was conscious of other qualities in
her too--of her homeliness, her good-fellowship, her trustfulness. The
fact that she was one of the most famous personalities in Europe did
not, after our talk, in the least disturb my pleasing dreams of a
possible future. It was, nevertheless, specially forced upon me, for
as we drove along the Rue de Rivoli, past the interminable facades of
the Louvre, and the big shops, and so into the meaner quarter of the
markets--the Opera Comique was then situated in its temporary home in
the Place du Chatelet--numberless wayfarers showed by their demean