have written another specially for Mr. Heath?"

"I wrote another to please myself. His wife saw it and took it to him.
He was so foolish as to think it good enough to buy."

"Let us hope his music will be good enough to produce on the stage."

Gillier looked very sharply at her, and began to tug at his moustache;
but he said nothing. After a moment Madame Sennier said, with a change
of tone and manner that seemed to indicate an intention to be more
friendly:

"When you write another libretto, why not let me see it?"

"You desire to inflict a fourth rejection upon me, madame?"

"If you like, I'll tell you the only thing I desire," she replied, with
a sort of brutal frankness well calculated to appeal to his rough
character. "It has nothing to do with you. I haven't your interests at
my heart. Why should I bother about them? All I want is to get something
fine for my husband when a chance arises. I know what's good better than
you do, my friend. You showed me three libretti that didn't do. Show me
one that does do, and I'll pay you a price that will astonish you."

Gillier's large eyes shone.

"How much would you pay?"

"Show me a fine libretto!"

"Tell me how much you'd pay."

She laughed.

"Five times as much as anyone else offered you. But you would have to
prove the offer to my satisfaction."

Gillier fidgeted on his chair, took hold of the _Depeche Algerienne_,
and began carefully to fold it into pleats.

"I should want a royalty," he said, keeping his shining eyes on her.

"If I were satisfied I would see that you got it."

There was a long silence, during which they looked at each other.

Gillier was puzzled. He did not believe Claude Heath had shown the
libretto to her. Yet she was surely prompted now by some very definite
purpose. He could not guess what it was. At last he looked down at the
paper he was folding mechanically.

"I haven't got anything to sell at present," he almost growled, in a
very low voice.

"That's a pity. We must hope for the future. There is no reason why you
and I should be mortal enemies since you haven't had a chance to murder
my poor old cabbage."

"He's a coward," said Gillier.

"Of course he is. And I'm very thankful for it. Cowards live long."

She got up from the settee. Gillier, returning to his varnish, sprang
up, dropping the paper, and opened the door.

"Don't forget what I said," she remarked as she went out. "Five times
the price anyone else offer