aid.

"I'd give anything to read it. But if I were you I wouldn't let anyone
read it. As you probably know, I'm in half the secrets of the artistic
world, and always have been. But there isn't one woman in a hundred who
can be trusted to hold her tongue. Is this the hotel? Good-night. Yes,
isn't it a delicious coat? _Bonne nuit_, Amor! _A demain!_"

A minute later Mrs. Shiffney tapped at Henriette's door, which was
immediately opened.

"It is all right," she whispered. "I shall have the libretto
to-morrow."

CHAPTER XXIII

Two days later Mrs. Shiffney slipped Gillier's libretto surreptitiously
into Claude's hand.

"It's splendid!" she almost whispered. "With such a libretto you can't
fail."

They were in the deserted salon of the hotel, among armchairs, albums
and old French picture-papers. Mrs. Shiffney looked toward the door.

"Don't let anyone know I've read it--especially Henriette. She's a dear
and a great friend of mine, but, all the same, she'd be horribly
jealous. There's only one thing about the libretto that frightens me."

"What is it? Do tell me!"

"Having so many Easterns in it. If by any chance you should ever want to
produce your opera--" She hesitated, with her eyes fixed upon him. "In
America, I fancy--no, I think I'm being absurd."

"But what do you mean? Do tell me! Not that there's the slightest chance
yet of my opera ever being done anywhere."

"Well, it's only that Americans do so hate what they call color."

"Oh, but that is only in negroes!"

"Is it? Then I'm talking nonsense! I'm so glad! Not a word to Henriette!
Hush! Here she is!"

At that moment the door opened and the white face of Madame Sennier
looked in.

"What are you two doing here? Where is Max?"

"Gone to arrange about the sleeping-car."

Claude slipped the libretto into the pocket of his jacket. In London he
had been rather inclined to like Madame Sennier. In Constantine he felt
ill at ease with her. He detected the secret hostility which she
scarcely troubled to conceal, though she covered it with an air of
careless indifference. Now and then a corner of the covering slipped
down, leaving a surface exposed, which, to Claude, seemed ugly. To-day
at this moment she seemed unable to mask entirely some angry feeling
which possessed her. How different she was from Mrs. Shiffney! Claude
had enjoyed Mrs. Shiffney's visit. She had rescued him from his solitude
with Gillier--a solitude which he had endured for