e from Saint
Eugene. Gillier was once more in Algeria. He had never given them a sign
of life since he had tried to buy back his libretto from them. Now he
wrote formally, saying he was paying a short visit to his family, and
asking permission to call at Djenan-el-Maqui at any hour that would suit
them. His note was addressed to Claude, who at once showed it to
Charmian.

"Of course we must let him come," Claude said.

"Of course!"

She turned the note over, twisted it in her fingers.

"How I hate him!" she said. "I can't help it. His insult to you and--"

"Don't let us go into all that again. It is so long ago."

"This letter brings it all back."

She made a grimace of disgust.

"Why should you see him?" said Claude. "Let me see him alone. You can
easily have an engagement. You are going to those theatricals at the
Hotel Continental on Friday. Let me have him here then."

"Shall I?" She glanced at Claude. "No, I'd better be here too."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know--but I'd better! Tell him to come on Thursday."

"Lunch?"

"Oh, no! Let us just have him in the afternoon."

Gillier came at the time appointed, and was received by Charmian, who
made a creditable effort to behave as if she were at her ease and glad
to see him. She made him sit down with her in the cosiest corner of the
drawing-room, gave him coffee and a cigarette, and promised that Claude
would come in a moment.

In the morning of that day she had persuaded Claude to let her have a
quarter of an hour alone with Gillier. He had asked her why she wanted
to be alone with a man she disliked. She had replied, "After
Constantine, don't you think you had better leave the practical part of
it to me?" Claude had reddened slightly, but he had only said, "Very
well. But I don't quite see what you mean. We have no reason to suppose
Gillier has a special purpose in coming."

"No, but I should like that quarter of an hour."

So now she and Gillier sat together in the shady drawing-room, and she
asked him about Paris and his family, and he replied with a stiff
formality which had in it something military.

Directly Charmian had looked at Gillier she had realized that he had a
definite purpose in coming. She was on the defensive, but she tried not
to show it. Presently she said:

"Have you been working--writing?"

"Yes, madame."

"Another libretto?"

"Madame," Gillier said, with a sort of icy fierceness, "I cannot believe
that you are good enough